What is "real"?

John 3:16   For God so loved the world that he gave his one and only (his biological) Son, that whoever believes in him (and is adopted by him) shall not perish but have eternal life.

  Galatians 4:4-5  
But when the set time had fully come, God sent his Son, born of a woman (biological), born under the law, ⁵ to redeem those under the law, that we might receive adoption to sonship.^[b]

Ephesians 1:5  He predestined us for adoption as sons through Jesus Christ, according to the purpose of his will...

Romans 8:14  For all who are led by the Spirit of God are sons of God.  For you did not receive the spirit of slavery to fall back into fear, but you have received the Spirit of adoption as sons...

(words in red added by me)

So, my children have a mother who loves to write.  I would write all day if I had the chance.  I write for this blog, I used to write for Associated Content, which is now Yahoo something or the other and an online site called HUB.  
A friend of mine who read some of my articles and was compiling a book on the harder side of adoption, asked if she could use a couple of my articles in her book.  I told her I was glad for anyone to use them in any helpful way they wanted too.  Foster and foster adoption is my heart, and I was happy to help.
The book was published, and I was thrilled.  I bought 12 copies right away to give to my children.  It's a lovely book, called "Tied With Heartstrings" and I cried as I read the struggles other adoptive moms have gone thorough.  Adoption is pretty tough, and foster adoption toughest of all, in my opinion.
Adoption is also beautiful, and, if you will read the verses above, it was God's idea before the world began.  Because ALL of us, if we are Christians, have been adopted by God.  God had ONE biological son, Jesus.  The rest of us were adopted and given full heirship as God's sons and daughters.  Aren't we thankful that God loves us, his adopted children, just as much as he loved his biological son, Jesus?

I write about fostering and adoption a lot, because I believe it's something every Christian family should consider.  No child should be left in the system to age out with no real family.  Every Christian should think about welcoming a child without a family into their home.  It doesn't have to be through the state.  Just pray.  Tell God you are willing to take a child, then stand back and see what happens.  That's what I did.  And over the years, I have cared for more than 60 foster children, and have adopted five.  Am I done?  I don't know.  Let's wait and see what God does.

So, on with my story.  And I am not angry, honestly, but it may sound a bit like I am...

Angel-Leah has always struggled a bit with things people say to her about her adoption.  It's not adults but children.  There have been many times in her life that children have said hard, ugly things to her.  I don't think the children mean to be as ugly as they sound.  I think they truly do not understand.  And that's the fault of the adults in their lives.  Some of the meanest things said to Angel-Leah have been from children whose parents know her story well, in fact, know her birth parents, and have not explained what adoption means and why adoption sometimes occurs.  It's not fair.  I understand the need to protect their own children from a life story, but I need to protect my daughter - and yes, she is MY daughter, too.

Last week our church had an ordination and there were a LOT of visitors.  It seems that several of these families were families that had read Tied With Heartstrings, and they either read it to their children or their children (several of them) were old enough to read it themselves.  And they must have been told that Angel-Leah was the same little girl who went to Osceola church.

Now, let me give you a sample of some of the things that were said to her.  Here we go:

"Don't you love your birth mother?  Then why did you go live with Carla?"
"You love your birthmother?  Don't you love Carla?  She didn't HAVE to adopt you, you know."
"You love Carla?  It wasn't your birthmothers fault you got adopted.  She didn't HAVE to give birth to you, you know.  You should be grateful she didn't abort you."
"You should be grateful to Carla.  She didn't have to keep you.  Maybe she didn't want you.  Maybe CPS made her keep you."
"Do you miss your daddy that died?  He wasn't even your real daddy, you know."
"So Tommy is your only real brother?"

Yes.  These were real things that children said to Angel-Leah last week.  And people, this is terrible.  And it is horribly hurtful to a little 11 year old girl.  The children who were talking to her were both older and younger.  She says there were about 5 or 6 of them in about two different groups who said these things to her in the same evening.

Here's the truth about Angel-Leah, and Selah, and Luke, and Tommy and Cynthia.

They have two mommies.  They have the real mommy that birthed them. And they have me, the mommy who changed their diapers (well, okay, I didn't change Cynthia  :) ), who wipes their tears, who cleans their faces and the floor when they are sick, who makes sure they take their baths and brush their teeth, who makes sure they eat something besides candy at least some of the time, who makes sure they wear their coats, who kisses them when their noses are runny, who taught them to read and to add and to say thank you and to pray and taught them about God...and I am a real mommy, too.

It's okay for them to love both their mommies.  I would not have it any other way.

I didn't HAVE to adopt any of them.  I WANTED too.  I was and am GRATEFUL for the gift of them.  I am GRATEFUL, and I am sure the other two real mommies are too, that they had them and didn't abort them.

The daddy that died was their real daddy, and they mourn him like any other child would.  Two of them never knew their birth daddies.  Bill was the only daddy they ever knew.

And yes, Tommy is Angel-Leah's real brother.  Angel-Leah also has two half brothers that are real brothers.  She has five adopted brothers who are real, too, and a real half biological sister and five real adopted sisters.  None of us are play dough.  All of us are real, and we are a real family who lives together just like anyone else's family does.

Angel-Leah isn't the only one who has had hard things said to her.  I have too.  Here is a sample:

"You should mentor her birthmother.  Then maybe someday, she will get better, and you can give her her child back.  What?  You wouldn't give her back?  Have you no mercy?"
"There is NO WAY you could ever love an adopted child as much as you love a biological child."
"I would NEVER adopt an older child.  You just don't have as good a chance that they will become Christians."
"Someday, that child is just going to run back to his/her birth family and break your heart." 

My answers to those statements?


No, I won't give them back.  A child is not a commodity to be passed around.

Yes, I can and do love all my children with the same fierce love that would have me lay down my life for them.

God does not have grandchildren.  Each one of us must choose to serve the Lord, or serve the world.  No matter how your children come to you, or at what age, they must make their OWN decision.

My children will not have to run away from me back to their birth families.  One set of siblings, we have a wonderful open adoption and see some of the birth family often.  One 18 year old adopted child has already made a bit of contact with her birth family through facebook and the phone.  The other two, when the time comes, I will stand beside them and help them do this difficult thing, if that's what they choose to do.

So, what am I hoping to accomplish with this blog?  Just this, I guess...

The story in the book stopped when Angel-Leah was four years old.  It was written about a time just before and after her adoption, while she was still struggling with who she belonged too.  She loves me and I love her.  We have worked through that difficult time, and we will likely work through other aspects of her adoption for the rest of her life, like now, when people have said ugly, hard things to her.  As of now, she is firmly established in our family, she is OURS, I am her MOTHER, and she is my DAUGHTER, and we love each other as fully as any other mother and daughter love each other.  We are both "real" to each other.  Bill was "real" as her daddy.  And Rachael, Celeste, Gage, Max, Spencer, Beau, Mary Susannah, Cynthia, Luke, Selah and Tommy are "real" brothers and sisters, along with her two birth brothers and her little birth sister.  How horrible to try and say otherwise.

Mommies and Daddies, if there is an adopted child in your church or homeschool group, or anywhere else, help your child understand what adoption is.  Help them understand that it was not the adopted child's choice to leave their family.  Help them know they just might love both their birth family and their adopted family, and that is OKAY!!!  Hear me, that's OKAY!  Explain to them that an adopted family is a REAL family in the same way we are a REAL child to God our father, because He adopted us.  It's hard enough for your daddy to die without someone asking if you even miss him, since he wasn't your "real" daddy.  It's crummy to have someone tell you that your brothers and sisters and your mother and father aren't "really" your family.

So this was hard to know how to write.  I hope I have conveyed to some of you what your children may be saying to an adopted child, because although I am writing mostly about last Sunday, which was by far the worst it has been, this has been happening to Angel-Leah all her life.  When you talk about adoption to your child who was not adopted, be sure and explain to them that adoption makes a real family, and it doesn't necessarily erase the love that a child who was adopted at an older age might have for their first family, and that's okay.  It's okay to love both.  And it wasn't the child's fault that he or she lost that first family.  They didn't get to choose where they wanted to live.

Help your children learn to be gentle with my children, please.  They have been through so much, already...

Here is the latest picture of me and my six children who still live at home.  I love all 12 of my "real" children so much!!


1 John 3:1   See what kind of love the Father has given to us, that we should be called children of God; and so we are.

Left Field

Philippians 3:13-14    But one thing I do: forgetting what lies behind and straining forward to what lies ahead, I press on toward the goal for the prize of the upward call of God in Christ Jesus.

 Peaches are everywhere.  Pressure canner brought in from storage.  It's a 100 degree Texas day, but I have two boxes of peaches to take care of.  I'm cutting, dicing, peeling, sticky, and HOT.
And an 8 year old girl sticks by my side like glue, talking all the while.

I tune in to her chatter just in time to hear:

"Sometimes, I think this is just a dream, and I will wake up, and I will be with (birthmom)."

Wow....that came out of left field.
 And it hit me right in the chest.  I was not expecting that blow.

Take a deep breath, Carla, and be calm, because this is one of those things adoptive moms cannot make a mistake with.

"So, what do you think you would be doing if this was a dream and you woke up with (birthmom)?"
"Oh, I don't know.  I'd probably eating dry cereal for supper instead of peach cobbler."

She's been listening to big sister.  It's been half her life since she lived with her first family.

"Have you been dreaming about her?"  I ask.
"I dream about her a lot." she answers.

I live in right field.  All the time.  And sometimes, I forget that there will always, always, be left field for the older adopted child.
And even though I ALWAYS live in right field, there are times I have to deal with left field, anyway.

I know she loves me, and I love her.  I forget there was ever another life before she came here, because I didn't live it.  Her big brother has lived here with me since babyhood.  I rarely think about that first family.

But she does.

And that's okay.  That's her truth.  If I try and deny it, or sweep it away, or insist that she cannot dream about waking up and being back with birthmom, I will damage her.

I have to stop in the middle of peeling peaches, and let her talk if she needs too.

Adoption for the older child is not always rainbows and butterflies.  Sometimes, most times, it is.  But sometimes, it hurts, even if bad things happened in the birth home.  Even if you are well adjusted and happy in your adoptive home.
Sometimes, you have to revisit left field and try to make sense of it all.

Because you can't help what you dream...

And hopefully, your adoptive mommy is strong enough to step into left field, even is she doesn't live there, and help you work through it.

The ups and downs of foster care and adoption

“I have told you these things, so that in me you may have peace. In this world you will have trouble. But take heart! I have overcome the world.”  John 16:33

 Recently, I got two of my essay's put into a book.  The lady who put the book together told me that a man in the writing class she attends approached her and her sister and asked them if they would put together a book by adoptive moms about the trials of adoption.  He wanted this because so many people who want to adopt but haven't yet only focus on the sweetness of the new baby, without ever comprehending the trials that often go along with adoption of any sort: domestic, international or foster.
Then I began to notice that several blogs I follow and links on facebook were about the trials of foster care and adoption.
I love facebook.  I have renewed a lot of old friendships on there, have kept up with my grandkids and even my own children I don't see often and have made new friends.  One of my missions on facebook is to help other moms realize that children are truly kind of fun.  Sometimes when we are in the midst of it all, we don't realize that.  But I am older and have raised several children to adulthood and watched them move off away from me, and I realize how terribly quickly it all goes by.  I don't want anyone to miss just enjoying their children before they aren't children anymore.

Another mission is to encourage people to foster and adopt children in the foster care system.  In doing that, I am afraid most of the time I only write about the funny and sweet stuff.  And maybe that's not fair, because along with the sweetness, it can be HARD!  It can be scary, and it can make you cry a lot.
So, with fairness in mind, I thought I would write a blog, exploring both the pros and cons, so that in encouraging you to consider this mighty work with God, I won't leave you with the impression that it's all - as the song goes and I age myself - "sunshine, lollipops and rainbows."  It's a hard, messy, tear stained, hurtful, scary, wonderful, happy, awe inspiring, loving and fulfilling experience.

So I am going to list some things, both good and bad, that have happened to me in doing foster care and foster adoptions.  I have actually had it pretty good, considering what some of my friends, both in real life and online have gone through.  I don't regret it one bit, although there are many things I will be just glad NOT to do over again.  And other things that still make me tear up because they were so beautiful.  Some of these things are experiences with children I have gone on to adopt, others are experiences with children who went on to be reunited with their families, or adopted by someone else. 

I will start with the cons.  These are only a small handful of things that I have actually gone through on this journey:

falling in love with a sibling group, only to watch two of them go back to their mother, a situation that no one but the main worker thought was a good idea and, years later, that fear was an actuality.

desperately wanting to adopt the baby of that sibling group, a baby who we were attached too and who was attached to us, only to have one social worker who should NOT have had anything to do with it fight us every step of the way.

and after that child was awarded to us by a judge, and we were going through the six month period before we could finalize his adoption, having that social worker tell me, "I can still remove this child if there is a serious incident."  And realizing she was watching, and had the power to decide what the serious incident could be.

fallling in love with a little boy I cared for from birth to seven months of age so desperately in the days when foster parents were not allowed to adopt their foster children, and watching him leave for an adoptive home.  And never knowing again what happened to him.

and many years later, falling in love with another foster baby I had from six months to twenty six months of age, and wondering if I would EVER be whole again when she was reunited with her extended family in another state.  The grief I felt had to be akin to a death.

standing in a court room while the father of the above baby accused me of sexually abusing her.  Sitting there in my long dress and headcovering, not allowed to say a word, just having to sit and listen and be ordered to take her to the doctor to have it checked out.  And she wasn't abused, the doctor determined, but by the time the exam was over, I almost felt like she had been...

having the same daddy scream and scream right in my face over a bruise on the baby until the social worker who tried to keep Luke from us hotlined me herself, and I had to be investigated.  Again, I was cleared.  But that was hard!

having a social worker call me and warn me NOT to bring baby to visits because daddy has gone crazy and they don't know what's going to happen.

having a social worker call me on a different day and tell me to meet them several blocks away and they will bring baby to me because daddy has gone crazy and they are afraid for my safety if I come to pick the child up.

having my 15 year old son tell me he doesn't care what I say as I am parked a few blocks away waiting for the social worker to bring baby, he will NOT lay down in the back seat if daddy shows up, but instead will fight to the death to protect me.

having a four year old I am in the process of adopting stand at my feet and declare "you will NEVER be my mommy!!"  "I will NEVER love you!"  "I only love my other mommy!"

trying to explain to a two year old that he's going back home to "mommy", who he has rarely seen in the past seven months, and doesn't really remember and only knew "me" has mommy. And watching him walk out the door with a social worker, then suddenly turn back and run to me, and I cupped his little face in my hands and assured him "it's okay" even though I wasn't sure it was, before he went on down the walk.

realizing my newly adopted two year old has a serious problem with rages so bad even my big 16 year old son can't control him.

having an adoption agency call me and ask me to adopt that same little girl I wanted to adopt seven years ago, the sister of my first adopted child and to take her little sister along with her, and I say yes and go through all the classes and spend the money I need to spend in order to get re licensed, and get accepted by the adoption agency, only to have the rug jerked out from under me when it was taken to CPS, who decided I couldn't have the girls after all because I am "too religious."

to have a child lay cuddled in my arms in bed while she describes the things that have been done to her.  And to later tell me things that she has seen.

to have people who don't understand what this is all about get mad and say things to me that hurt deeply, and make me cry.

to have to leave the church I love and moved to be with because they don't understand what I am doing and won't accept it.


Those are a few on the cons.  Now on to the happier pros!!

watching over the years as God gave me six sons to replace that foster baby twenty years ago that I loved and had to give back.

hearing a judge say "I move that the Raley's be allowed to adopt the minor child" when I went to a court parental termination hearing (after the social worker who was fighting us went on leave for a short time) praying only for hope that the baby won't be given to someone else.

leaving that same court hearing and looking up to see a church sign that declares "My peace I give you.  John 14:27" and feeling like God had just reached down and patted me on the head and said, "See?  I told you he was yours all along!"

seeing the children from that first sibling group I wanted to adopt seven years before, and watching the older girl sob as she hugged the little brother she had forgotten she had.

to have the child who stood at my feet and declared she would never love me, put her arms around me and tell me she DOES love me after all.  And she just didn't understand back then.  And I am her ONLY mommy.

to watch the little boy with rages come under control with diet and turn into the sweetest, most beautiful child who only has problems very rarely.

to have the mommy of the foster baby whose daddy was such a nightmare to work with friend me on facebook because "you were always so good" to her daughter.

to watch later as that same mommy regains custody of her daughter and see in pictures that the little girl looks happier than she has ever looked in the pictures I've seen of her over the years.  Her eyes no longer look so sad.

to have the adoption agency call me when the adoption of my sons sisters fails, and tell me "we try not to drop the ball, but we really did in this case.  Your family is the only stable influence in these girls lives.  Are you still interested in adopting them?"

hearing that my little daughter, on her last day of public school before she was adopted, when asked by her teacher to tell the class what "adoption" means, replied, "Adoption means you stay, and you never have to leave again."

hearing the little sister of this sibling group ask me over and over after her adoption, "I'm just one of your regular kids now, right?"  and "You won't forget I'm adopted tomorrow, will you?"  yes, you are, and no I won't!

To have the 16 year old tell her sister this is the first place she has ever lived where she felt safe.

There's so much more I could write on both pros and cons.  This is just a little bit.  I have learned that anything worth having is usually hard.  Pregnancy is hard.  Giving birth is terribly hard.  Fostering is hard.  Adoption is hard.  But in the end, the things you work the hardest on are usually the best things in life.  You don't appreciate something you don't put effort into getting near as much as you appreciate things you brought forth in blood, sweat, tears and anguish.   Like the Bible says in Psalms 126:5, I have sown in tears with all my children and still do, but I am reaping with songs of joy.

And sometimes, I even think of the oldies songs of my youth when I think about my life!!


My life is sunshine, lollipops and rainbows
That's how this refrain goes.
So come on Join In. Everybody.
Sunshine, lollipops and rainbows
Everything that's wonderful is sure to come your way
When your in love to stay.

All but two of my children and all of my grandchildren on Easter 2013

On being a foster parent: when accusations come

I wrote this article on June 26,2010, I thought I would reprint it on my blog today:

Being a foster parent is a fulfilling job, but there are risks involved. Separating a parent and child is a serious thing, and most parents react violently to having their child removed. Once the shock wears off, the parents will sometimes come to the realization that they are going to have to work with the state to fix what ever caused the removal, although it's still a volatile thing and parents can be quick to accuse the state of anything they can think of.
As a foster parent, I am usually able to have a good relationship with the parents of the children I care for. They soon realize I had nothing to do with their child being removed; I am just the lady hired to care for the child while they are going through this hard time. I do what I can to give the parents peace of mind. If they seem stable enough, I will usually give them my cell phone number so they can call me and check up on the child, or just talk. I enjoy the mentoring part of my job.
But once in a while there will be parents who are just angry. Usually those are the ones whose anger problem is why they are in this situation. Maybe they abused the child, or maybe they tore their family apart because they abused themselves and each other. Whatever the case may be, these parents are out to get everyone, including the foster parent.
I took care of a lovable little girl for twenty months who had parents like this. We called her MiMi. I loved MiMi immensely, but her father gave me trouble the whole time she was in my care. In fact, I was finally investigated myself because of accusations he made.
It began at court. I always attend the court hearings for my foster children. It gives me the opportunity to talk to the child's caseworkers, CASA workers and attorney. They hand me copies of their reports. I can listen to what is said to the judge by everyone involved. By the time I leave, I know where everything stands in my foster child's case, and what still needs to be done in order for the parents to have their child returned to them.
One hearing, while we waited for the judge, I could see MiMi's father talking angrily to his attorney and hand him a paper. The attorney glanced at me, looked embarrassed, and walked over to the CASA worker, showing her paper. The CASA worker soon came over to me. "Has MiMi had a bad diaper rash recently? Or a yeast infection?" She asked.
"Yes, she has. I showed it to the doctor at our last check up. I suspect it's because she has been taken off formula and put on whole milk, and also, she had some pineapple juice that she hadn't had before." I answered.
"Oh, you've had her at the doctor recently?" She asked.
"Oh, yes, just this month." I replied.
The CASA worker visibly relaxed.
I soon discovered what was up. MiMi's father had a letter from her mother, who was in jail. He had told her about MiMi's bad rash, and she wrote a letter to the court accusing me of abuse. She even had a letter from a "doctor" who had never seen MiMi, who said that the only way a child would develop a yeast infection was if they had been abused. I was horrified that anyone would think I had hurt this precious little girl.
The CASA worker stood up for me, telling the judge I was a good, experienced foster mother. The state's attorney showed the father that I had had MiMi at the doctor just within a day or so of his accusation. The father began to back track and try to change the dates. The judge finally ordered that I take MiMi to the doctor, along with the mother's letter, within the next 48 hours and have her examined.
I called my pediatrician when I got home, and made an appointment for the next day.
Although MiMi had not been abused before, I felt like she was by the time she had been examined. Although the doctor's examine was gentle and careful, I hated that she had to be put through that. The doctor confirmed she had not been abused, and agreed it was probably the milk causing her rash. He said yeast infections were so common in babies; they actually had a medicine for it. He gave me a prescription for the rash and also for the eczema and croup MiMi was prone too. The medicine and advice worked wonders, I was especially careful, and we didn't have problems after that.
But the embarrassment of being accused of such a serious charge made me overly cautious around MiMi's father, and caused me to make a mistake a few months later.
One morning, the day before MiMi had a visit with her father, I noticed a bruise that almost encircled her tiny forearm, and looked just like a grab mark. I knew I had not grabbed MiMi, and because she was always with me, I knew no one else had, either. She did, however, have a terrible sensory disorder, and often threw herself around while having tantrums.
Oh, how I dreaded the next day. If her father would accuse me of abuse over the toddlers diaper rash, what was he going to say about this bruise? My stomach clenched as their visit grew closer. As I dressed her the next day, I decided to cover some mosquito bites with little band aids, and put one over the bruise, too. I couldn't stand the thought of the confrontation he and I would have if he saw the bruise.
As I lifted her from the car at the CPS office, I considered taking the band aids off. I had not hurt MiMi, why did I feel like I had to hide anything? I struggled with indecision, and then decided to leave the band aids where they were. I took her into the office, handed her to her father under the supervisor's watchful eye, and as they went back to the visit room, I asked to see her caseworker. When she came out, I told her about the bruise and the band aids. I was glad I did.
Two hours later, I returned to pick her up and was ushered back to the visit room. Her father was throwing a fit. I saw right away he had taken off the band aids. He threw them at my feet as he screamed at me about covering up the bruise. I told him I was scared of him because of what he had done in court. I said I didn't expect him to be reasonable, and certainly he was not being reasonable. The caseworker nodded her agreement. My own worker quickly took the children into another room. I found out later she had quizzed my ten year old daughter while they were alone.
MiMi's father calmed down some after I talked to him, but he was not happy. After he left, I went to the room where the children were. MiMi ran into my arms, settling her head comfortably on my shoulder with her arms around my neck. I took another child's hand and we started out the door, with a caseworker on each side, studying MiMi's reaction to me. It was one of complete love and trust.
That night I received a call from my worker. She had decided to open an investigation. I could expect a visit very soon.
I was horrified. I had opened my home to these children and now "I" was being investigated? Was I in danger of losing my own children because I was a foster parent? How could the state do this to me? Weren't we supposed to be working together?
I considered telling them to come get the children and close my home. But when I calmed down, I knew I wasn't going to do that. I was committed to seeing these children through this awful time. In fact, the parental rights of our other foster daughter had been terminated, and we were planning on adopting her.
I knew, too, that sending the children away and closing our home wouldn't stop the investigation. Feeling helpless, I would just carry on and wait for the investigator.
The next two days were hard for me. I was so stressed it was hard for me to function. Being on the other end of Child Protective Services was a scary thing.
I settled into prayer, and asked God for peace every time I felt overwhelmed. And suddenly, it came. I had not hurt MiMi and I knew God would be faithful to keep us all safe. I calmed down enough that I began to almost forget what was coming.
It must have been a low priority, because was six days before the investigator came out.
But finally, there was a knock on my door, and I could see the shadow of a woman with a clipboard in her hand. She was nice and friendly and put me right at ease. She opened her notebook and began to ask me questions. She looked MiMi over. We talked.
Then, MiMi got mad. She wanted the rocking chair my son was in. When he wouldn't get up, she went into a full blown melt down. She screamed and thrashed and wouldn't be comforted. The investigator watched as I tried to talk to MiMi, who wasn't responding.
"Does she do this often?" The investigator asked.
"Well, she has a sensory disorder." I replied.
"Yes, that's in her records." The investigator said, looking at her notes.
"But she's really a sweet child when she's calm." I said, defending her. "She is a wonderful little girl and she doesn't always do this."
The investigator smiled at me. "I'm trying to establish another way she may have gotten the bruise." She said
."Yes," I said, feeling foolish. "She is prone to tantrums just like this."
The investigator soon closed her notebook, thanked me for my time, and got up to leave. Nervously, I asked her, "Did you find anything that concerns you?"
"No," She replied. "This case is closed. You will be getting a letter in a week or so. I am satisfied that everything is alright."
I closed the door, feeling a bit weak. God had been faithful and gotten us through this. I was so glad I hadn't done anything rash when my emotions were running so high.
We had MiMi for another five months after the investigation. Her parents lost their rights, and another relative did a homestudy and got custody of her. I miss her so much. I learned a lot from my experience with her family, and I hope I did them some good.
And I still love being a foster mother.

Rainy day outing

Changes are always hard.  Even changes that you really, really, REALLY want to happen.  Changes you have waited thirteen months for, and thought for about six of those that the changes were not going to happen...

But they did.  And while we are happy, we've also had kind of a rough time...

So when the grandkids called wanting to come over, I felt for one of the few times of my life that maybe I couldn't quite do it this week.  So I offered a day out instead, and I would take them back home afterwards.

Yesterday was pretty hard, with the little ones spending the entire day tattling on each other.  So even though we woke up to rain, I decided that we were going to go ahead, get out of the house and get the grandkids, anyway.  The grandkids felt the same way, a phone call from their mother let me know.

Tell them I'm coming, I assured her!

I picked them up, and we went to the park in the steady rain.  We ate peanut butter sandwiches and animal crackers, me holding my plate under a picnic table to try and keep it dry.  I finally retreated to the car while the kids played on the merry go round.  It wasn't long, though, before they felt done.

Besides, the park wasn't really their main goal.  The Botanic Gardens was where they really wanted to be.  The park has swings and climbing things, but the Gardens have ponds, creeks and turtles. And the big girls had cameras.

Can someone tell me how I have lived in Texas all but six years of my life, and have been a mommy for 36 years, and have never discovered until now that Botanic Gardens is a wonderful place to spend a free of charge afternoon?

I hate that I can only show my new daughters from the back right now:

But I am being promised that they will be made adoption placements very soon, and then I can show the world how beautiful they are!

In the meantime, I can show you my other beautiful kiddos (although my pictures of Tommy were all blurry ):

 

 And beautiful grand daughter Chloe:

 

It seems like when ever I am with grandson Mikey these days, he is catching turtles!  

It was a great afternoon, even if little sister, Miss S, did fall into the creek:

 She loved Botanic Gardens.  I thought it was funny once, watching her look at the fish in that beautiful setting, how loud the highway was right next too it.  It seems like we can't get away from highways, either at home, or at the park.  Can you see it in the background?  It seemed VERY out of place!

 

It was nice to see Miss S and Angel-Leah make peace with each other and act like the sisters they are now.  For the first time in five days, they were united enjoying the flowers:

We needed this day.  Rain and all, it turned out great.  Sometimes, you've just got to get away!

The Day I Had to Give My Foster Daughter Back

January 2, 2008, we handed our 26 month old foster baby, MiMi (my nickname for her, since that's how my son pronounced her name), who had lived with us for 20 months, back to CPS so they could transfer her to a relative placement in another state. I met the worker at 4:45 in the morning at a restaurant near the highway here in our small town. It was one of the hardest things I've ever done...
The night before I could hardly sleep. The grief was so physical, it hurt between my shoulder blades to breath. I barely slept the whole night, and finally crawled out of bed around 3:30 to get us ready. She was so sleepy; she hardly knew what was going on. I cried as I placed her in the workers car. The worker was very nice, patting me and assuring me everything would be alright.
We had decided to take a trip to Red River, New Mexico, and felt like leaving the same day MiMi left would be good for me. So I came back from dropping my little foster baby off, and tried to sleep a little more, but since that was impossible, I finally got up and began to get ready to go. At around 7, I went to wake up my son, Luke, and Angel-Leah, the four year old whose adoption was just finalized the month before. I had worried a little over how all this was going to affect Luke (who is also adopted) and Angel-Leah. I had warned them the night before that MiMi would not be here when they woke up the next day. They said their goodbyes with the rest of the family the night before. But when Angel-Leah woke up, her eyes wandered to MiMi's bed, and she sat up, stricken looking and said, "Is MiMi gone?" I said yes, and she burst into tears, crying "I didn't get to tell her goodbye! I wanted to say bye to her!" My tears began to flow hard, too, as I tried to reassure her that she HAD said goodbye. We sat in the bedroom and cried together.
We finally got off on our trip around 9 that morning. I was very grateful to know I would not have to spend the next few days at home as we tried to get used to life without her. Too many memories there. That did not help my grief, though, and I spent most of that day either in tears, or trying hard to fight them off so that my children could enjoy going on the trip. The Lord is so faithful in little ways. At one point in the morning, sitting in the back of our big van with my 11 year old daughter, Mary Susannah, I opened the newspaper to Dear Abby. And there, the first letter was from a former foster child, telling how much she had been loved as she grew up, and as an adult, she wanted to give back to the world all that she had been given. I felt like the Lord had planted that letter that day, and I was so grateful, and it DID help!
The next few days were a time of constant communication with God for me in a way I haven't had for a while. With the older children and my husband gone most of the day skiing, and not being able to sleep at night, I spent most , if not every minute, of my waking hours praying. Praying for comfort for MiMi and I, and praying that the Lord would help me make sense of all this, and give me insight.
That night we stopped at a Best Western motel, and my son Spencer was able to get wireless service on his laptop. I checked my email, and there was an email from the worker who had taken MiMi to Florida, assuring me she had done fine on the trip, that she had asked for me several times, but did not cry, that she enjoyed the plane ride, and that the worker felt very good about the great aunt's house where MiMi was going to live. She thanked me for what a good job I had done caring for MiMi for 20 months. That helped, too, to know that MiMi had not been scared all day. But sleep was hard to come by again that night, and once, when I did fall asleep, I woke up thinking I heard her calling mommy!! After that, I don't think I slept at all.
The next morning, we arrived at Red River. My husband Bill and children Spencer, Beau, and Mary Susannah headed for the slopes, while I stayed with Luke and Angel-Leah. We unpacked our things and went shopping for snow shoes, and later headed for the slopes to watch the older ones ski. A big boy had built a tunnel in the snow near the bunny hill where Mary Susannah was skiing, and the little ones had a wonderful time playing in it. A very nice lady sat down by me, and began to talk to me about my 'cute children.' Poor lady, before long I was telling her how we had lost MiMi the day before and I teared up, although I did keep under control. She told me about some friends of hers who were foster parents and had recently adopted their foster child, and decided they could not do it anymore. Soon the little ones and I headed back to the hotel to get warm. I was so worried about MiMi, and finally gave into the urge to call her great grandmother. I'm not sure if it was a mistake, probably not, but as soon as I heard her voice the tears started. The grandmother is so very nice. She told me that they were taking good care of MiMi. She told me all the things they had bought her, and all the things they had already done. She did tell me that MiMi had woken up three times during the night crying for me, and that she had finally thrown up, but that they were able to settle her down and comfort her. That was hard to hear, but I was so grateful to her for being honest with me. When I cried about how hard it was to let MiMi go, she reminded me that their family had also lost her 20 months ago, and that it had been very hard for them, too. And I know she is right. She assure me once again that they would be sending me updates and pictures of MiMi for the rest of her growing up years, and that when they visited Texas, I could see her. I decided after hanging up that it was not good for me to keep calling her grandmother and crying like I did during the time that they needed to re-get to know her (having only seen her twice since she was 6 months old) and that unless I KNEW I could control myself, I would communicate over email from then on.
Hanging up from the phone, I decided it was time for me to get a grip on all this. So I made myself really look at all this. I made myself realize that MiMi was not really ever mine, I was just a surrogate mother, a temporary mother, while her extended family was not allowed to, could not, or would not, take care of her. I was there to take the place of 'mother' during a time when she needed one. One terrible feeling I had was that I had betrayed her. I had allowed her to know me as 'mommy' when I knew all along that I might not get to raise her. But at the same time, I knew that had I held her at arms length during a time when she needed a mommy, she would not have thrived the way she did.
But oh, how this hurt. It hurt me, and it hurt her. I began to wonder if there was any way I could ever do this again. I began to pray that night when sleep would not come again and ask God what He wanted me to do. In less than two years, I had added two children to my already large brood by adoption through the foster care system. I asked God, was that enough? I love these two children who did not come from my own womb with the same fierce love that I love the ones who did come from my womb. Would just raising these two along with the rest of my children fulfill James 1:27's teaching that pure religion was take care of orphans and widows? Do I stop now? Maybe I was like some other people try to tell me that they are: too sensitive to take foster children, that I, too, get too attached, and obviously can't give them up without great grief. Did God really want me to keep doing this? Or do I quit now? But as I prayed, I suddenly got a very clear picture in my mind of holding out my arms, and taking a child, and feeling the heaviness and warmth of them, and also the excitement that comes with a new foster care placement, and I knew I had my answer. Yes, God still wants me to foster. Whether it will continue to be through the state, or taking prison babies as I have done privately twice before, or however He wants me to do it, I said yes to Him. And I know He will help me.
A few days later we arrived home, and the next morning seeing MiMi's empty bed brought tears once again. I knew it was going to take a while to get over this. I decided to take the bed down, and rearrange the room, so I wouldn't remember her every-time I walk in. I tried to disassemble it as little as possible, so I could put it back up quickly again when and if I need too. I cried as I took down the bed. Angel-Leah sat with me, and told me she loved me and she was sorry for me. Then she and I moved some of the furniture around so there wouldn't be an empty space.
As I fed them lunch, MiMi's great grandmother called me. She said she wanted to give me an update. She said MiMi cried for three nights, but it seems to be getting better. She says she was playing now on her own. She told me some more of the things they are doing, and that they were going to the beach that day. I told her that as I was trying to get MiMi prepared to go live with them, I told her Nana was going to take her to a water park, and that she was excited about that, because she loved the one here in Grandview so much. So I suggested she use those words, and she said she would. She told me she loved me for all I had done for her great grand daughter, and that she would call me often, and send me pictures very soon.
Thanks to everyone who prayed for us. We continue to need the prayers.
UPDATE:
Six days after MiMi left, I received a call from CPS. Angel-Leah’s birth mother and father had a new baby, now five months old. A relative had been caring for him, but they had decided they would rather have him grow up with his sister, since it had become apparent that the birth parents were not going to make enough progress to have this child returned to them either. Would I take him, the family wanted to know?
So just less than one month after MiMi left us, Angel-Leah’s brother Tommy came to live with us. One year later, almost to the day, we finalized our adoption of him. He doesn’t replace MiMi in our hearts; he has his own special place. It took me a while to realize that God has a plan. MiMi didn’t need a ‘forever home’, she just needed a safe place for a while during a terrible time in her life, and we gave her that. Tommy needed a ‘forever family’, along with his sister, and our son Luke, and we are very blessed to give them that. God doesn’t make mistakes, he uses us to the brim, when we let him.

funny socks

I’m an older mom with a large family of nine children, and also a foster mom for the state. Sometimes the sheer amount of caring for others, makes us moms of big families neglect ourselves a little bit.
One afternoon, I remarked to three of my children, two boys, then ages 16 and 14, and a girl age 11, that I was not feeling pretty anymore. As children will, they began to tell me that I wore drab, uncolorful clothes, and that I was always bending over taking care of some child, so when people looked at me, that’s what they saw. My drab, uncolorful behind.

Okay, that was the wrong thing to say. That afternoon, I got on ebay, and I bought some colorful cow socks. See, I told my children!! Drab ladies don’t wear cow socks. From now on, I will buy funny, colorful socks, and I won’t be drab anymore. My children MOANED!!!

I wrote the ladies on my email list about my idea. They thought I had lost my mind, too, but they were a little nicer in the way they tried to tell me…

A couple of weeks went by, my cow socks came in the mail, I continued my quest to find other undrab socks. But soon that was all pushed aside by the fact that my beautiful little two year old foster daughter, who had lived with us for 20 of her 26 month old life, would be leaving soon in a relative placement in another state. My heart was broken, and I wondered how I would ever live through losing her. There was no changing it, though, and soon the day came, and she left. The ladies on my email list walked through it all with me, from the day she came, to the day of her leaving.

Our family was already planning a small vacation, and they decided leaving the same day our little foster daughter left would be a good idea. I agreed, because I knew that I would see her everywhere I looked in those first few days of missing her. I wrote the ladies on my list the night before the baby left, pouring out my heart, and then I went ‘no mail’ and clicked off the computer until we got back home.

The next week was one of the hardest of my life. I spent much time in tears and prayer, as I tried to reconcile my heart with letting my little foster daughter go. I had loved her so much. Being away from home did help, but finally the week ended, and we came back. Going back into what I called the ‘babies room’ and seeing her empty bed was so very hard. I decided the next day I would take it down until a new foster child came to live with us. In tears, the bed went out to the storage shed. I came back in, and took up my life without my foster baby.

Later that day, my son went to get the mail, and he came in and wanted to know what I had ordered. “Nothing,” I said. “Well, you got two packages.” He tossed them on the table. Puzzled, I looked. One had a return name that I recognized from my email list, the other one didn’t have any name. I opened them, and out fell a pair of bear socks from one, and a pair of fuzzy brown socks from another one. I laughed outloud for the first time in a week. They were sending me socks to cheer me up. Over the next week, socks kept coming: cat socks, fruit socks, poodle socks, all kinds of socks. I don’t know what they could have done that would have cheered me up more. It was such a sweet thing to do, with such sweet timing!

Matthew 5:4 says blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted.

Thank you to my friends who comforted me in my latest trial. It worked, and it taught me a good lesson in reaching out!

Welcoming a Foster Child Into Your Home

When you become a foster parent, even after all the classes you take and training you receive, you often have a rosy view of how it’s going to be. You imagine a sweet little child coming into your home, and responding happily to the love and stable environment you are going to give them. You imagine you are going to love them, while at the same time, maybe you will be able to keep yourself from being ‘too’ attached, since you know chances are great that the parents of this child will get their life together and be able to take the child back home. You imagine you will be doing a great work, and indeed, you will be.
However, few great works are accomplished without a great deal of sweat, hard labor, and sometimes heartbreak. And such is the life of a foster parent.

Few children will come into your home without being afraid. No matter if they have been beaten to within an inch of their life, they are going to want that mommy and daddy back. That is mostly just the way humans are made. It may take a while for the child to attach to you. Or they may seem to attach to you right away, but you must remember that can sometimes be a survival instinct, or actually – as hard as it is to believe – an attachment disorder, rather than a true attachment.

The children may come to you dirty, hurt, and with lice in their hair. They may have nothing more than the clothes on their backs, and it usually takes several weeks for any kind of clothing allowance to come in, if it comes in at all. It’s always wise to have a little money set back to buy what they may need. Good friends and other foster families are also good resources to have to during this time to share outgrown or unneeded clothing.
They may also come to you healthy and well, because they have actually been well loved, but the parents are abusing themselves, and can’t keep the child safe. These children will often have a whole suitcase full of clothes sent with them, along with some of their favorite toys.

A new foster parent needs to be prepared to not get much sleep those first few nights and maybe even weeks. The child may have nightmares, if they can sleep at all. During the day, they may need to talk over and over again about what has happened to them. They will ask over and over when their mommy or daddy is going to come get them. If they are preverbal, they may just scream and scream. It’s important to see this for what it is, fear. It’s important that a foster parent have great patience to help the child get through what is a terrible, scary time in their life.

A foster parent who has had a rosy view needs to be strong enough to reevaluate and restructure the dreams of foster parenting they may have built up. They must understand that they will probably not take the place of the ‘first’ mommy and daddy, but will build a new relationship with the child. They must be ready to accept that the child will still want the birth family, even if they have been much mistreated. They must be able to work with the child protective services towards reuniting the family, even if they think it is the worst idea in the world, and the child will be in great danger. It’s good for the foster parent to be ready to document everything the child says that might help the CPS make the right decision for the future of the child. Don’t make it better or worse, just make it the truth. Get to know the case workers, the guardian ad litem, and the CASA workers (if your foster child is blessed enough to have one) well, and make sure they are well supplied with updates on the child. A good way to do this is to write emails often, and send them to everyone involved in the child’s case. The workers can save or print these out and put them in the child’s file. Remember, you are all working together towards a common goal, the best interest of the child, and as the foster parent who hears what the child has to say, you may end up with information that no one else has.

A foster parent needs to reserve their judgment of the biological family, too, and try to work with and mentor the parents. This child may well go back to them, and you want to do all you can to help the parents learn how to care for this child well. Most of these parents have been abused themselves, and they need to heal. Do what you can to help them do that. Show them how a healthy family functions.

And never think a foster parent does not get attached. They do, and it’s a gut wrenching thing when a much loved foster child leaves your home. Allow yourself to grieve, but at the same time, don’t let this grief overtake your life to where you can’t function. Pray for the child every time they come to your mind, this will help you a lot. Remember that your have done a great thing in giving this precious child you grew to love so much a safe place to stay during a hard scary time.
And when people tell you – and they will! – that they could never do what you do because they are too sensitive and would grow too attached - that they are not sensitive, they are selfish. Because little children are sensitive too, and they hurt, and they need foster parents who get attached, so that they can get through this bad time in their lives with as little permanent damage as possible.
Be gentle with yourself in the weeks after they leave, as you try to adjust to life without them. It hurts. Take some time to come to grips with what has happened.

And know that sometimes, they won’t leave, but be released for adoption. If, at that point, you adopt them, you will know you did all you could do to help the family, and you can adopt with a clear conscience, knowing this is truly God’s plan for your life.

Loving MiMi: loving and letting go of a foster child

On April 13, 2006, we finalized our adoption of our son, Luke. He was our first adoption after seven biological children. We had a party to celebrate, inviting many of our friends. They had almost all gone home when we got a call that the court had ruled our seven month old foster daughter, that we had had since birth, be given back to her parents by five that evening.
We were sad to see her go, but happy, too. As I told my heartbroken nine year old daughter, Mary Susannah, “Today we got Luke forever and for always, and today (foster baby’s) mommy got her baby back forever and for always, too.”

A day or so went by, and I put our name back on the list for more foster children. We had two openings, and a week later, late at night, I got a phone call asking me to take a two and a half year old girl, named Angel-Leah. We accepted, and the little girl who is now our adopted daughter came to live with us.

One week after that, we got another call, asking us to take a six month old baby girl. We said yes, and MiMi arrived that day.

These two girls looked enough alike to be sisters, except that MiMi’s hair had a redder tint to it than Angel-Leah’s. Both were blue eyed, light haired, delicate looking girls. But while Angel-Leah was very verbal, and handled her grief at being separated from her mother with words, MiMi screamed. And screamed. And screamed. She cried all day unless she was being held. In desperation, I finally told the children that I would hold her for 15 minutes every hour, and then for 45 minutes, I would get my work done. My daughter Mary Susannah said if I would hold her 15 minutes, she would also hold her 15 minutes an hour, which gave Mimi half of each hour to be held and comforted. It also gave our household 30 minutes of peace each hour, because as soon as MiMi was sat back down, she screamed.

I finally took her back to her doctor to see if he could help her. He was upset that MiMi was in foster care, not because of anything I had done, but because her parents had messed up. He was not much help to me; he just kept telling me it was exposure to drugs in the womb that had done it. I tried to explain what I was looking for, exposure to drugs had never been determined, but even if it was, now that we know what the problem is, what can I do about it? He didn’t have any answers.

I reported my problem to the social worker, and she suggested I get Early Childhood Intervention (ECI) to come look at MiMi. I did that right away! They came out and evaluated her. They gave me a checklist of questions to answer, and said that they suspected she had a sensory integration disorder. This is an autistic like problem, although they did not suspect MiMi of having autism, mainly because as we talked, she would be curled up in my lap, totally at ease and bonded with me and the family around us. They began to come out once a month or so to give me instruction and therapy to do with her.

And so, life went on with MiMi in our house. We learned what we could and could not do. She had a lot of trouble being out of the house when she was little. She screamed throughout entire car rides. She never did learn to handle church. Sitting in the seat of a shopping cart brought hysteria. I became a kind of recluse, because taking her out was too hard. I began to rely on my older children and husband to run the errands I used to run. No one wanted to babysit for me, because it was too hard, and to be honest, I didn’t feel safe leaving her with anyone.
But all this was teaching me great lessons in patience. And somehow I felt like if I could get this little girl through her problems, I would have really done something.

Getting other people to understand MiMi’s problems, though, could be a challenge. The church we had attended for so long split, and two more churches were formed from that split. For many reasons, we decided we needed to leave the original church, and we visited the second one. But they were not really equipped, physically or emotionally, to handle a child like MiMi. I tried to struggle on there, for the sake of my older children. One Sunday, during one of MiMi’s meltdowns, I took her back to the nursery. Even shutting the door did not drown out her screams, and the other mothers in there were trying to get their babies asleep. When it was obvious that MiMi was not going to calm, I tried to slip quietly out the nursery door to take her outside, but a brewing Texas storm caught the door and slammed it shut behind me. I cringed, and began to walk MiMi. Sprinkling rain soon drove us closer to the church building for shelter, and in a minute I saw the windows begin to shut against MiMi’s screams. Feelings hurt, I covered her and walked her further away from the building. When I finally managed to quiet her, I tried to slip back into the nursery door, only to find someone had locked it.
The next Sunday, we began to visit the third church, which was meeting in a wedding chapel. I found more sympathy there, which is something that is really appreciated in times like these! There was no nursery at all in this wedding chapel, so I would take MiMi outside during her meltdowns. But there was one lady in particular who noticed, and if I was out there too long, she would come out ‘to sit with me’, she said. She would even walk MiMi for me, and sometimes just having another, unfamiliar person hold her would quiet her.

When MiMi was a year old, she was switched from formula to regular milk. Now we had a new set of problems. Her light colored skin was always sensitive, and now she broke out in patches of eczema on her face. She got raging diaper rashes. I took her back to her doctor, and told him I thought milk was causing this, and also aggravating the croup she always struggled with. Once again, the doctor would not help me. In fact all he would do was rant over and over that I had to give her milk. I was also informed at this visit that this doctor would not see her anymore unless her Medicaid could be changed to Americaid. I left the office and called the social worker with this news, telling her not to try too hard to change the insurance, because I desperately wanted another doctor. She said don’t worry, they couldn’t change it anyway.

But the eczema problem actually helped solve itself. MiMi had an angry young daddy, who grabbed at whatever he could to get at the Child Protective Services for taking his daughter, and I was included in his anger. At the six month court hearing, he stood in front of the judge and accused me of terrible things because of MiMi’s diaper rash. He really made a mess of his accusations, because the CPS attorney informed him that I had had her at the doctor’s office within a day or so of the time that he was accusing me of abuse, so he began to try and change the dates. Finally the judge said to take the child back to the doctor, with a letter from the parents, within 48 hours.
I didn’t have any problem with that, in fact, I took her straight to the pediatrician I had used for 30 years with my own children. I knew he would listen to me, and he did. He said if I felt like milk was the problem, it probably was. He gave me permission to take her off cow’s milk, and gave me a prescription for the eczema, the diaper rashes, and the croup.
It was almost like a miracle, everything cleared up. MiMi was more comfortable, which helped her meltdowns. I was very thankful!

And MiMi grew older. Her hair grew long, soft and very blond. She learned to walk at 10 months, and talking soon followed. Her voice was LOUD, in fact, she never talked in a normal voice, she talked in almost a scream. Her social worker described her as intense, and that was a good description. She didn’t scream all day anymore, but had regular meltdowns, where she would resort to tantrum like episodes that no amount of work could end. ECI had suggested isolating her in her room when she did this, and we did try, but someone would have to hold the door shut because she would not stay there. They were rough on all of us, and when she would finally quit crying, I would rock her while her wide, wild looking eyes would search my face. I would sing a song to her about being a happy baby, and she soon came to call being rocked “happy baby,” saying, “I wanna happy baby, mommy!” She greatly loved me, and my feelings fast followed, as I grew VERY attached to her.

And we did begin to make some progress.
I tried to get my homeschooled children out of the house whenever I could, and we spent much time at the zoo and the museum, which I discovered was very good for MiMi. It was an atmosphere where she could wander and play, and being a very smart little girl in spite of her troubles, she thrived in that environment.
I bought a backpack leash, something I just knew I would never do. But having MiMi on this allowed her some freedom when we went go out in public but she had to stay close to me. I bought the cutest leash I could find, a little puppy dog on the top peeked over MiMi’s shoulder, and the legs hung at her sides. She loved this little contraption, and surprisingly most of the time did not chafe at the boundaries it made her stay within. We learned that letting her carry a bottle most of the time also helped her calm herself, probably having something to do with the sensory issues. She had a favorite small, bean bag type black cabbage patch doll that she loved very much. I enjoyed seeing the contrast of the black doll and blond haired, blue eyed MiMi, as she cuddled it in her arms just like I cuddled her.


And sing! Oh, could MiMi sing!! She only had to hear a song a couple of times before she learned the words. One of the first songs she learned to sing was “Tis So Sweet”. She had perfect pitch, and sang with great enthusiasm, tilting her head back and closing her eyes. But my favorite was hearing her baby voice sing “Amazing Grace” in a perfect alto. She knew the whole first verse, and didn’t add words to it like Luke and Angel-Leah did. Once at a cottage meeting for church, the man leading decided we should sing a song for the little children to help with . When he suggested “Jesus loves the little children”, and asked my children if they knew that one, Angel-Leah said, “Let’s sing Amazing Grace!” The man looked surprised, but said okay, and they sang it, with MiMi leading out the loudest.
Most of my days were spent with my little MiMi shadow following me around, hanging on the back of my dress. She loved to help with the laundry. She helped me with the dishes, which could result in a lot of spills. When she wanted me to sit down, she ran and got my crochet basket, screaming, “Here crochet, Mommy!” because she knew I always sat down to crochet, and she could sit next to me and talk and draw. She loved my son Beau, who spent a lot of time doing ‘happy baby’ with her, too, only his rocking was much wilder than mine and more like play.
When MiMi would visit with her father once a week, she had what I would call blank outs. Her face went totally slack and without expression. The workers who would supervise the visits were often known to remark that that child had ‘no personality whatsoever’, at which MiMi’s own worker would reply, ‘Oh, but you should see her with her foster mother, she’s a whole other child!” When she would come out the door after visits, her face would break into a wide grin, and she would run to me with outstretched arms. She would run around the CPS waiting room, playing with Angel-Leah and Luke, often causing the supervising workers to also remark “I’ve never seen her act like a normal child.”

A year past, and final court dates for both Angel-Leah and MiMi rolled around. Angel-Leah’s parents rights were terminated, and she was freed for adoption. But MiMi’s mother was given a six month extension, because she had been in a place where it was impossible for her to work her plan, but now things were looking up for her. We began adoption proceedings on Angel-Leah, and settled back in to wait to see the outcome for MiMi.

Our little town opened a free splash pad, which was a series of sprinklers for little children to play in. Oh, how MiMi loved it. We went at least once a week, and she would SCREAM in delight when she saw where we were going. We moved the swing set and had a third swing put on it. We bought a sandbox, something ECI had suggested. MiMI thrived. During a week of meetings, we visited the church we had attended where I had the trouble with MiMi’s crying. The people there were astounded at the difference in her. They would say, “Is this the same little girl?” And “I’ve never seen her smile! The difference is amazing!”

Summer passed, our last summer with her. It became obvious that MiMi’s parents were not going to be getting her back. At this news, a great grandmother and great aunt in another state stepped forward to claim her, and began to do the steps they would need to do to get custody of her. Although I knew I should steel myself to release her, I couldn’t do it. I finally comforted myself with remembering what Jesus said when John’s disciples asked Him why His disciples didn’t fast? He said, “How can the guests of the bridegroom mourn while he is with them? The time will come when the bridegroom will be taken from them, then they will fast.”
That became my philosophy: while MiMI was with me, I would enjoy her. There would be time enough to mourn when she was gone.

So we continued to love her, while showing her pictures and talking about her Nana and aunt. I tried hard to explain to this little barely two year old girl, that soon she would go live with them. I told her over and over that we loved her. My heart broke sometimes, knowing she would be leaving. One night, I was reading a new book to them. It was about a farmer rocking all the animals on his farm to sleep. All three little ones were listening, but MiMi was just enthralled with the horse in the book. When I finished, she took it and turned the pages to the horse while I read another book, and she kept saying "Mommy!! Horsey CUUUUUTE!" As she showed it to me with her little bright eyes, and all I could think was, one more month, and she will be taken out of here, and she isn't going to understand. Right now she is secure and happy and she has NO IDEA that we aren't her family forever. She has no idea what is about to happen to her!
And we were planning to take a trip the day she left. My family hoped doing this would make it easier on me. As we would talk about the trip, MiMi would stand at my feet and scream “And me, Mommy? And me?” I always felt like she knew something was up. I would pick her up and we would ‘happy baby’, and I would tell her again that she wouldn’t be going with us, she was going to live with her aunt. She would curl up in my arms confidently and say “No, I stay with Mommy.” I would fight tears, knowing that was impossible.

But time passed, and one very cold January morning, I put the little girl I had loved so much for the past 20 months into a social workers car, and watched them drive away.   And that was it.  The little girl I had loved and cared for for 20 months was gone.  I didn't know if I would ever see her again.  It was one of the hardest things I have ever done. I spent much time wondering if foster care was worth the heartbreak I was enduring.

MiMi was a special little girl, and for 20 months, she needed a home. We gave that to her, and we are the richer for it. I just pray that she is, too. I pray that we gave her what she needed during that hard time in her life. That what we gave her will carry her throughout the rest of her life, even if she does not remember us. It’s my hope that someday I’ll see her again, if not in this life, then surely in the next one!

Thought for the day: James 1:27 Pure religion is taking care of the widows and the orphans in their distress…

Musing of a biological, adoptive and foster mommy

January 2, 2008, my 26 month old foster daughter, MiMi, who I had raised for 20 months and loved desperately, left my foster home to go live with some extended members of her biological family. Six days after she left, Child Protective Services called and asked our family to take our adopted daughter Angel-Leah’s five month old baby brother, Tommy. Angel-Leah had come to live with us when she was two and a half. Unlike MiMi, she had been released for adoption, and we adopted her when she was four years old, just less than two weeks before MiMi left our home. We knew Tommy had been born just a few months before, and had gone into a relative placement. But when it seemed certain that the birth parents were not going to be able to regain custody of Tommy either, the family decided to see if we would take Tommy and adopt him, too, so that he and Angel-Leah could grow up together. We said yes, and one day less than a month after MiMi left, and one day less than Tommy’s six month birthday, he moved in with us. Two days less than a year later, on January 30, 2009, Tommy’s adoption was finalized, and he became our son.
Right now, Tommy is 21 months old, just five months younger than MiMi was the last time I saw her. And he keeps doing things that remind me of her. Now, Tommy is my tenth child. I've also cared for more than 50 foster children during my adult life, and I ran a day care in my home for many years. I also worked in the preschools of some of the churches I've attended over the years. So you would think that any kind of toddler behavior would be so familiar to me.
But today, I was getting him out of his highchair, and I was playing with him, and he laughed. You know how before they can really talk, babies will react to you’re teasing with laughter instead of words. His laughter was throaty, and wow, did I have a flashback of MiMi. Those flashbacks still hurt. I miss her horribly when I have them. They bring tears into my throat and my eyes. And they set me off for the rest of the day, where I keep thinking about her.
So today, when it hurt, and I missed her, I thought - Tommy is my son now. I was only a temporary mother to MiMi; she was never really mine in the way a child you have given birth to or adopted is. In my heart, it felt the same way. But legally, bindingly, she wasn't mine. So my mind went to Tommy. He's mine. I don't ever think about his leaving, like I did with MiMi those last four months I had her, and I knew her extended family were trying to race through a homestudy to get custody of her. I thought, do I value Tommy, like I did MiMi? Was the whole heightened emotion of those last months with her simply because I knew I was going to lose her, so I valued every minute and everything she did?
When I laid him down to bed, he took his bottle and his blanket, settled them the way he does in his going-to-bed routine: bottle in his mouth, and finger trying to find the sensory ribbon he likes to hold when he sleeps. Once he had it all together just right, he looked up at me with sleepy eyes. I smiled at him, and thought, he's not going to leave me. He is safe and secure here. I wonder how I would be feeling if he were in the position that MiMi was? Those last months were such a frantic feeling of 'hurry up and love her'. With Tommy, it's just a 'goodnight, baby boy. I'll see you in the morning.'
I have ten children. Three have left my nest, but are still active in my life and heart, and seven are still here for me to see and touch everyday. Do I value them the same way I would if I knew they were going to leave me, like I knew MiMi would leave? Can I capture those little things, like a throaty laugh, and ‘hide them in my heart’ like MiMi’s laugh is hidden?
In five months, Tommy will be older than MiMi was the last time I saw her. He’s going to stay. He’s my son now. I don’t have to worry that someone will take him away from me. It’s a nice feeling.
Tonight, I keep remembering that children’s song:
“Love is something if you give it away, you’ve got to give it away, give it away. Love is something if you give it away, you’ll end up having more. Love is like a lucky penny. Hold it tight and you won’t have any. But give it away, and you’ll have plenty. You’ll end up having more.”
I took a chance and loved MiMi. As a foster mother, I knew how big the chances were she would not be staying. But I gave her a home when she needed one and in doing that, I also gave her my heart. And in loving her and losing her, I cherish Tommy just that much more. And in cherishing Tommy, I cherish, again, what I have with my older children.
I’m a mother, biological, foster and adoptive. I have a wonderful life. I am a blessed lady!