Forever Family

No, my mind is not in the toilet today.  Scratch that…my mind is not in the toilet today any more than usual.  Yes, I admit that potty humor sometimes makes me snicker, but we all need to smile every once in a while.  Studies have shown laughter is good for your juju. 

So what’s up with the catchy headline then?  Well, we’re having a bloggy potty party for my remarkable little toddler.  He stayed dry ALL DAY yesterday AND while wearing underpants!!!!!!!!!!!!!!  HUZZAH!!!!!!

He stayed dry all day Monday too, but while still wearing a pullup.  I sent him to school yesterday armed with 4 changes of clothes and lots of cute little underpants.  He even made it during the 20 minute car ride home and through supper before going potty before his bath.

I’m positively swelling with pride today.  My little boy can use the potty.  He’s not going to grow up to be some freak of nature that wets himself without warning.  He’s a freakin’ genius.

I was a little concerned there for a bit.  He started using the potty at school, but wasn’t good about using it at home.  Every once in a while he would, but it started to get worse till he flat out refused to use it at all.  I think he just got lazy, and it was way more fun to torture Mommy with his shun of the toilet.  I went from casually concerned to downright panicked.  What if never uses it?  What if he spends his life wearing Depends?  The girls will surely avoid him and the boys will laugh.  He’ll be a social pariah, and I will be his failure of a mother.  

You think I’m blowing it out of proportion a little?  So maybe I am a little, but I have no control over my late night restless thinking.  It takes me into all sorts of strange conclusions.

But, it’s all moot anyway because there’s hope.  My son has bladder control after all, and isn’t hell bent on tormenting his mother.  Woohoo!

Well, for those of you who were actually hoping for toilet humor and stuck around this long but fear you may have been disappointed, think again.  After all, I’m a full service blog, remember?

Well, not THAT full service.  Sheesh.  Get your mind out of the toilet.

Here’s a link to site with some funny jokes found on bathroom stall walls throughout the country.  

My favorite?

A Woman’s Rule of Thumb: If it has tires or testicles, you’re going to have trouble with it.
* Women’s restroom, Dick’s Last Resort. Dallas, Texas.

Do you have a secret?

Is it a tiny little secret, or a big whopper that haunts you in the dark?  Are you keeping it from someone you barely know, or hiding it from someone you deeply love?  Are you looking for the perfect time and place to tell someone your secret, or are you perfectly content to let it stay clandestine?

As you can tell, I have a secret.  It’s from my son.  I haven’t told him yet because….well…he’s not quite 3.  He wouldn’t get it.  But I will.  Yeah….I’m pretty sure I will.

No really…I will!  I promise!

But how?  How do you tell a little kid that they’re adopted?  What will that mean to him?

I have some great commenters.  On my post yesterday, Ken @ Dad to Two mentioned he found out about his secret when he was 39.  Kristy mentioned she found out when she was 7.  Shelly revealed she’s adopted, but didn’t mention at what age she found out.  Carl said that his uncle didn’t find out till he was 40.  I could go on, but the theme here is that there is no magic formula to follow.  When is the best time?  When is the worst?

This dilemma is something I’ve considered since the day I started thinking about adopting.  I know it’s something I’ve come to terms with, which I hope would be obvious.  I don’t care that my son is not biologically mine.  I love him with all my heart and soul.  But that doesn’t necessarily mean he will have an easy time dealing with it.  I sincerely hope our good bond and healthy parent/child relationship will mean something, but I can’t say we won’t have our challenges.

I know…I just KNOW…that day will come when we argue about something.  I’ll send him to his room or ground him, and he’s going to fire back with “you’re not my real mom,” or “I want to go live with my real mom.”

Well, you’re stuck me, Kiddo.  You’re wasting your breath.  After all, I’M your real mom, for better or for worse.

Anyway, I’m slipping off subject.  What I want to know is when I should tell him.

I did a lot of research on the subject before and during our license process.  The experts generally agree that the child should be told early and often.  It should be treated like it’s no big deal, and just a part of who they are.  One suggestion was to start telling to them as infants like a bedtime story.  Sure, they may not understand what you’re actually saying, but to think of it as a rehearsal.  That way, when they were finally old enough to understand, you are so used to telling the story that it’s not a big deal.

At first, I liked this option.  I thought for sure I could do that.  But the more I thought about it, the more I decided against it.  First of all, you’re then talking about adoption with your kids ALL THE TIME.  It’s like you spend time every day pointing out the differences in your family.  Then your kids are always thinking about it, then comparing themselves to the kids around them, and constantly dwelling on something that makes them different.  I don’t want him to do that.  I want him to enjoy being a kid.  I want him to know, but not obsess.

Then there’s the “son we need to talk” approach.  Wait until they’re of an age they can comprehend these kinds of things (like Kristy’s 7 years) and sit them down.  I’m not sure I like that approach, either.  How do you determine that magic age?

My approach thus far has been to document.  I have scrapbooks about the early days, with bubbles of dialog filled in that say things like “Our first visit” and “The day you came home.”  The picture that follows is clearly NOT that of a newborn.  His previous foster mom was good enough to give us a few pics of some of the firsts we missed, and those are in his scrapbook, too.  My labels says “Even though we weren’t with you yet…”

Kiddo loves to look at these books.  Although it’s somewhat accidental, I suppose this will be the tool we use to help start that understanding with him.  We’ll see how well that works out.

I’m feeling the need to confess, and I’m not even Catholic.

 In the post before my rude Entrecard interruption, I delved into our experience meeting Kiddo’s birth parents.  The comments to that post got me thinking.  Thanks for all the comments, by the way.  Without you guys, my brain would just stutter and stop.

Actually, this is a thought I’ve been toying with for some time.  It’s a very naughty little thought, and you’re going to demand lots of penance.  

Here it goes…I have actually considered not telling my kiddo about the adoption.

Yes, I know.  It’s horrendous.  How could I even think such a thing.  Go ahead…judge me.

But it’s soooooo tempting.  If you saw a picture of us all together, you would never guess he’s not my biological son.  In fact, I found a picture of myself when I was one year old.  We all thought it was a picture of him.  He has the same coloring, and even a scientifically inclined person with some knowledge about dominant and recessive genes would look us and never guess.  

Plus, he was so tiny when he was placed with us.  His adoption was finalized not long after he turned a year.  He will have no memory of any of that.

Then there’s the whole being a kid thing.  It’s HARD to be a kid.  Other kids are cruel.  It’s difficult enough trying to find your place, fit in, and just be a normal child, without a monkey like adoption hanging off your back.  

Our family is so perfect.  We just fit!  I don’t want to disrupt that.  I want him to be happy and loved and have a great life.  I want to protect him from pain whenever I can.  Telling him just irks my sense of mommy.

But, I’m also a semi-intelligent and logical person.  I know that would backfire horrendously, and I may end up losing him all together.  I should not deny him his heritage or his identity.  There’s more to him that meets the eye, just like his beloved Transformers.  What a terrible crime it would be for me to try to keep that from him, just to satisfy my selfish need for a perfect family.

So calm down.  I won’t keep it a secret.

What I am thankful for is that it will entirely up to him to share that info with other people.  Since no one will know by looking at us, it will be his little secret to do with as he chooses.  The big bad bully at school doesn’t need to know (and it’s not his business, anyway).  If Kiddo decides to share with someone, then that’s his choice.

Are we ok?  You still like me?  After all, if we punished everyone for having a bad little thought, we’d be way too busy giving out spankings to worry about pesky things like bank bailouts and stimulus packages. 

Actually, it helps to document my thought and post it out there for the world.  I’m releasing it, and now I won’t think of it again.  See?  Therapy is a good thing.

I was checking out the new spring line in toddler clothes at Target this weekend, and once again I became frustrated with being the mom of a little boy.

The girl stuff is just SO darn cute!!!!!!!!  The sun dresses, the little capri pants, and even the ruffled little summer tops are just about the most darling things I’ve seen.  Every estrogen hormone in my body quivered at the prospect of buying up some of those adorable outfits and dressing up my daughter.  Oh!  And look at this adorable pink hat!!  It completes the look!

Oh…wait…I don’t have a daughter.  Darn it!!

I put down the the pretty little dress with matching cardigan, cursed under my breath, and moseyed over to the boys section.

Hmmmm.  The coveralls are cute.  Hah!  Here’s a funny little tshirt; Kiddo will like it.  I like these button down tops.  Is that it?  There are only like 3 racks of clothes here.  The rest of this stuff is clearance winter clothes.

I stopped and looked back at the section of toddler clothes I had just traversed.  The sea of pink and ruffles stretched back as far as I could see, with just a itty-bitty section of boys clothes.  Oh yeah, I forgot.  It’s always like this.

My little shopping trip got me thinking.  It ROCKS to be a little girl.

Not only do girls get expansive racks of the most adorable clothing on the planet, they aren’t confined to just the girls section of the store.  It’s completely acceptable and even encouraged for girls to wear boys stuff and play with boy toys.

For example, a few weekends ago Kiddo was invited to a birthday party for a female schoolmate.  She was having a Spiderman themed party.  EVERYTHING was Spiderman, including the cake.  When we arrived, the little birthday girl greeted us at the door with a very boyish Spiderman tshirt, and wearing pink pants with little ruffles on the ankles.  I thought it was just the cutest thing, as she was embracing both her girly-girl and her unconventional tomboy all at once.

When I was growing up (I’m the eldest of 3 girls), my sisters and I had the Ewok Village and Castle Grayskull.  We used to wage epic battles between He-Man and She-Ra in Castle Grayskull and the Barbies that had taken over the Ewok Village. However, a contingent of the Guardians of the Gemstone led by Golden Girl lived in our toy box, and sometimes they would become involved with the battle.  Mostly they joined forces with She-Ra, but occasionally they would betray her and attempt to take Castle Grayskull for themselves.  Voltron was also an unreliable interloper, but always on the side of Barbie.

Like the little birthday girl, we embraced both the typical girl stuff along with the boy stuff.  Santa was just as likely to bring us a boy toy as he was to bring us a doll.  We played and dressed with whatever we desired across either gender, and it was even encouraged to act more “boy.”

My son doesn’t have it so good.  When we shop for toys, we tend to skip over the aisles of Barbies and baby dolls.  We really only get to shop half the store.  Clothes, as I indicated in the start of my post, are always a disappointment to shop for, because there just isn’t as much stuff as there is for girls.  A girl may be able to wear that Spiderman shirt, but can a boy wear the pink ruffle tank top?  What would people think if I had a party for my son, and it was themed My Little Pony?

I would like to think people are as open minded about my son having an affinity to My Little Pony as they are about a girl liking Spiderman.  Yeah right, and pigs may fly out of my butt.  For the most part, people would judge us and my son and label him a pansy or a girly boy, and accuse us of raising a gay kid.

Is that a bad thing?  I’m relatively sure that playing with My Little Ponies is not going to turn anyone gay.

But let’s think about this for a sec.  It sounds like girls have it made, right?

The more I thought about this, the more irksome it became.  I’m glad girls are being encouraged to reach out beyond the typical female stuff and not be limited to only girl things.  Our mothers and grandmothers worked very hard to push for equality for women, and a girl playing with Spiderman and being encouraged to do so seems to be a step in the right direction.

But if we’re truly equal, then that pendulum needs to swing both ways.  If my son wants to play with Barbies, he should be able to do so.  What would you think of if you saw a boy playing with Barbies?  Would you wrinkle your nose and say with disgust “those are GIRL toys?”  Heaven forbid any little girls around you just saw you do that.  What kind of message are they going to hear from you about girl toys, and thereby what it means to be a girl?

Besides, we all know Barbie would kick GI Joe’s butt any day of the week.

Davida and Danny over at Glue 4 Families seem to have been reading my mind, as their post today is about the movement among men to dress more metrosexual and embrace some trends that are typically identified as being female.  I would love to see some gender specific clothing to go by the wayside, but not totally.  It’s ok to embrace being a girl or boy and wearing something that enhances that.

Girls and boys both need to understand that we’re not defined by what we wear and what we play with.  We can use these things as a way to express ourselves, but seeing a boy (or a man) wearing something pink does not mean he’s a fruit loop who fell off his rocker.  Not only do we make a judgment about that individual, but we also send a signal to girls/women that pink is substandard and weak.

And then we take our little girls shopping, and it looks like Pepto Bismal exploded all over that sea of clothes.  That could be really confusing to a developing girl’s sense of self worth.

By the way, I happen to love having a son.  Fortunately, I can appease my need for cute frilly outfits by buying them up for my niece, and she adores them.  I’m not quite prepared to send my son out in that ruffly top just yet.  The public isn’t ready.

Does that headline grab ya?

Well, it’s Friday and it’s been a hellish week.  I’m almost dreading this weekend, primarily because I know it’s going to go by too quickly and I’ll feel super bummed about it.  I know Sunday night and that usual icky go-back-to-work feeling are going to be here in a flash. 

Yes, it’s Friday afternoon and I’m already bummed about Monday morning.  That’s gotta mean something.

Since I’m in such a super duper fantabulous mood and I always like to end my week on a high note, I am going to do a post on a story I heard on All Things Considered on NPR yesterday.  

**side note:  It’s too bad sarcasm isn’t easily conveyed in written form.

Back to the topic at hand, click here for the full article from NPR.   Be prepared.  It’s kinda ugly.  It deals with poor economy, family values, birth control, and abortion in one fell swoop.  Told ya it was a happy story.

First of all, I’m struggling a little with all these bad economy stories.  It’s starting to feel like a crutch…like we’re making excuses and blaming EVERYTHING that goes wrong on the economy in some way.  I’m also tired of this blame game.  Everyone is on a witch hunt to attach a name and a face and focus all our rage on that person or entity.  Is it Bush, or Republicans, or Democrats, or Congress, or Goldman Sachs, or AIG, or Lehman Brothers, or the SEC? 

If we want someone to blame, we need to start looking in a mirror.  Our government officials were elected…BY US.  Corporate America has been acting shifty and robbing us blind for YEARS…decades even.  Our ELECTED officials have chosen to line their own pockets rather than do anything about it, and now this is what we’re left to deal with.  We allowed ourselves to be distracted by fear, religious arguments, interns in the White House, and steroids in baseball.  I don’t think anyone was standing there with a gun when someone signed the bottom line on a mortgage deal they knew was too good to be true, or told them to not read the fine print.

Ok, I gotta stop.  I don’t want to make this a political post about the economy.  Refocus.

What I find most interesting and startling about our shift in financial security is the almost overnight change this has made to the American family.  Some changes are for the good and I’m glad we’re bringing it back to basics.  Others have been not so positive, and I think this story falls squarely into that category.

Losing a job means more than losing a steady source of income for many families; it also means losing health insurance.  Medical costs are obscene and difficult for many to afford WITH health insurance.  One trip to the doc can send an already financially struggling family over the edge.  It’s fortunate that many women have access to the free or discounted services offered at clinics like Planned Parenthood, but legions don’t.

Then there’s the numbers.  In some parts of the country, they’re seeing an increase in abortions.  It boils down to simple math.  More families (and not just young single mothers) are realizing they just can’t feed another mouth.  I can’t even fathom how difficult it must be for a family to come to that realization and follow through with a very difficult decision.

What saddens me is that this another shiny object that will distract from the real issue at hand.  I don’t care how you feel about abortion, if you’re pro-life or pro-choice.  PEOPLE are suffering…mothers, fathers, and CHILDREN.  My heart is broken for a mother that is faced with that kind of decision to make, and she’s reached that crossroads because of finances.  Whether or not I agree with her ultimate choice is irrelevant.

Let’s not attack the mothers for making their choices, and let’s not point our finger at the clinics providing these services.  Where would these women and children be without that access to medical care they can’t get anywhere else?????  

Instead of blaming them for the downfall of the American family, we really need to look in a mirror. 

What I would love to see in a follow up story is an examination on how our current economic climate has impacted the child welfare system.  Now that the house of cards has collapsed, how many have been forced to reach out to WIC or the Department of Child and Family Services to get assistance?  How many are running out of options and coming to the ultimate conclusion that they just can’t manage, and simply walk away.  Are we going to hear more stories about children abandoned?  Will adoption rates go up, or simply the number of foster kids lost in the system?  How long will our current welfare structure be able to hold up?  Will we start to see a collapse of it if the pressure becomes too great? If that happens, what becomes of the kids?  Will the number of foster families start to dwindle as finances dry up?

Our dear younger generations will have such a legacy to inherit from us.  We haven’t been doing such a good job protecting it for them.   

Did you know that for the most part, we are emotionally stunted 14 year old teenagers?

We’ve never left high school.  We still act and think like a bunch of horny, giggly, silly little teenagers.  Yuck!

This is not the first time I’ve come to this conclusion.  After all, I work in silly corporate America.  It’s a haven of pubescent conduct.  

If you’ve been following along, you know I was off last week on furlough.  It’s the closest I’ve been to not working since I started working.  It was great.  I got to be a stay at home mom for the first time ever.  

The gods were smiling down upon me and graced my furlough with fabulous weather.  It was in the high 70’s, the sun was shining, the time had changed so we had long evenings, and spring is in full rage.  Cherry and magnolias are blooming, and flowers are sprouting from the ground.  The grass has turned a merry shade of green.  So we spent lots of time at the park, going to baby gym, walking, visiting the library, and just getting out as much as possible.  

As I hit all the typical SAHM hot spots, I began to notice a few things.

First, I was clearly an outsider.  I was regarded coolly and distantly by the other moms, who obviously were experienced in the ways of park attendance.  As I pushed my son on the swing, I caught glances and snickers from the other clusters of moms scattered around the playground.  

At first, it didn’t bother me.  I could really care less what they thought.  But I even tried to be nice and spark up some conversation, and all I got was the cold shoulder.

HELLO!!!  THIS ISN’T BEVERLY HILLS 90210!!!!  GET OVER YOURSELVES!!!!!

After being snubbed and so clearly off put by grown ups, I started to wonder what was wrong with me.  My self confidence was quite bruised.  Ok, so I was soooo glad to be off work that I didn’t spend much time in front of the mirror trying to make myself look nice.  Sure, my hair was pulled back in a ponytail and I wasn’t wearing a lick of makeup and my tshirt and mom jeans might not be fresh off the runway, but it’s the park!  I want to play with my son!  I want to build sandcastles and go down the slide!  It’s kinda hard to do that in a strapless dress (and yes, one of these moms preferred strapless dresses).  Did they judge me for not looking nice like them?

Was it because my stroller is just a plain old Graco and not some Peg Perego?

Did they find my early 90’s Volvo station wagon too unsexy?

Did my butt look too big in my mom jeans?

I started to regress to some old feelings about being inadequate and awkward, but stopped myself.  Look at these women.  They are stuck in high school.  They have their little cliques and their image to uphold, but I’m pretty sure my kiddo and I were the only ones really having any fun.

Then there were the nannies, who clearly do not mix with the moms.  They were at least a little more friendly, and I wondered if they would have been more so.  They appeared a little shocked that I even said anything to them.  Although, most of them are so fresh out of high school that they haven’t really had time to know anything else, so I forgive them their behavior.

I started to look forward to our outings as an opportunity for some social observation. 

Sure you had your nannies and your moms, but then there were subgroups in those classifications.

In the moms, there was the designer moms.  These were the ones dressed to the hilt, looking beautiful and flawless with their perfect nails and high heel sandals, hair coifed and legs smooth and tanned.  They clustered around a bench, because it’s impossible to maintain that look anywhere near the sandbox or equipment.  Their children cried a lot.  They were likewise dressed in name brand clothes, and often looked longingly at the sandbox.  If a mom caught them yearning for a romp in the sand, they typically got yelled at.

Then there were the athlete moms.  They were all in the matching jogging suits, with their jogging strollers.  Their kids seemed to at least be enjoying themselves, but there was a lot of schedules and clock watching with this group.  They also owned a very interesting and colorful collection of water bottles.  

Next we come to the preggo moms.  I wondered if this group was women who knew each other before and happened to all get pregnant at the same time, or if they all met at the lobby of their OB/GYN.  It was just odd to me that this many women knew each other so well and were all coincidentally pregnant.  Track suits were the attire of choice for this group as well, but they worked in the makeup, nails, and hairdos of the designer group.  They were camped out on the picnic tables, sharing pregnancy stories.

Then there was the earthy moms.  They at least appeared more my kind, ’cause they were attired in jeans.  However, their shirts were plastered with causes they support, and they toted around their organic snacks in earth-friendly tote bags.  They looked down their noses at me when I gave my son a Mott’s juice box (I’m pretty sure I heard one say “so much sugar”).  These were the ones who did EVERYTHING with their kids, and I’m pretty sure one of them even got stuck in a tunnel meant for toddlers.  Stop bouncing around already!  

The nannies were much easier to classify.  They mostly were all very young and very cute (I wondered about some of the dads in these households.  After all, it’s an old story…).  They basically fell into 2 categories…English speaking and non-English speaking.  Some were Hispanic, there were some Czech ones (4 of them, surprisingly enough), and another group that I think was speaking French (Canadians?).  Of all these nannies, they either clustered together and spoke their native tongue, or they branched out and spoke with other nannies in English.

It was definitely interesting, and I’m sad to say that no lasting friendships came out of any of that, even for Kiddo.  He’s usually good about finding a child on the playground to have fun with, but I’m pretty sure he picked up on this vibe, too.  The only partial success we had was with a Grandma and her 2 granddaughters.  We talked for a while as we pushed our kids on the swings, and Kiddo ran around a bit with the oldest.  It was clear she was a loner in the group too, so we had that in common.  

It’s too bad that even though we’re in our 20’s, 30’s, 40’s, or even 50’s; and even though we’re a sisterhood of mothers, we’re still lost in stupid superficial details.  

I’ll admit, I’m probably as much to blame as them.  After a few attempts at being friendly, I stopped trying.  It’s likely by the end of the week, a mom looked at me and thought “what a snob!”

Oh yes…I’m back.

I can’t even tell ya how much I enjoyed my furlough.  It was so liberating.  Even the Mean Moms didn’t bring me down (and I have a few words to say about that in a later post).

So I’m ready.  I’m gonna share the dark side of our foster tale.

Before I begin, I should mention that I’m going to be kinda vague on some details.  Our case was unique.  I want to protect my son’s identity, because this is really HIS story.  I’m trying to walk a fine line of disclosure; not to give away too much, yet still promote a greater good.    

In an earlier post , I told y’all about that day when we got the call that we’d been matched with a baby.  I can only compare it to the day you’ve gotten the positive pregnancy test and you’ve been trying REALLY REALLY REALLY hard to get pregnant.  You’re on cloud 9, and everything is roses.

We went into our meeting with the social workers and got to see Kiddo for the first time.  I fell in love with that kid…HARD.  To me, it was no different than the first look you give your birth child once the labor is finally over.  He looked into my eyes and I looked into his, and the bond was instant.  

When we went into that meeting, we didn’t really know what to expect.  We doubted we would be taking him home with us that day, but we knew it would be soon.  We assumed some kind of game plan would be discussed.

The plan came up for his transition into our home, but it was vague.  We walked out of that meeting a little confused.  There were still some matters to be cleared up regarding possibilities for placement with some of his birth family, and for some reason they wanted these things to be resolved before moving him in with us.

Frankly, at the time all I heard was “blah blah blah.”  I only remember that baby and how good…how RIGHT…it felt to hold him.  

So we went home, armed with pictures and memories of him, and started gearing up to make home ready for baby.  

The crib went up.  I found out what formula he was using and I bought some.  The bottles were opened and sterilized.  Diapers were loaded and I stocked the changing table.  We took the car and had the car seat inspected.  My fantastic coworkers threw us a baby shower.  Presents started arriving in the mail.

I’m tellin’ ya…the only difference between us and any other expecting parents was that my tummy was small.  Well…smaller.

About a week later, the social worker called with the happy news that a schedule had been established.  Since Kiddo was in a temp home, we had the luxury of time.  We were going to slowly transition him so it wouldn’t be such a shock.  

Now that I had a date, I got my leave set up at work.  I spent a whole day just prepping contacts on my schedule over the next several weeks and how to reach me.  I worked with my staff to try to make sure they would know what to do.  Hubby made arrangements to take some time off.  We were all set.

We spent a week doing visits with him.  We changed his diapers and gave him baths.  We fed him and snuggled with him, and sent him back to his foster home with fuzzy blankets we had slept with so he could get to know our smell.  I sang to him and he fell asleep in Hubby’s arms.  It seemed so perfect and so right.  I took pictures like crazy and emailed them off to everyone we knew.  

Then the day came.  We were supposed to meet up at the DFACS building at 10am to do the final hand off.  I ran around like a mad woman all morning, checking and rechecking the diaper bag to make sure we could anticipate his every need during our 20 minute car ride home (and this was after I had checked it a million times over during the days before).  We were 10 minutes from walking out the door, when the phone rang.

I was tempted to just let it ring.  I was already frantic, and didn’t have time to deal with telemarketers, well-wishers, or anything else.

Hubby picks it up, and notices the caller ID is the DFACS office.  He answers.

The hand off is postponed.  A problem has come up, but they can’t give us any details.  They will call back.

Yeah…that sucked.  I can’t tell you how to compare it.  I guess pretend you’ve gone through labor, they hand you the baby, then say “oops, that’s not your baby” and take it away.  You’re left there, just hanging.  WTF????????

Finally, later that day, DFACS calls back.  This time it is our social worker, and not Kiddo’s.  She explains that they had an emergency hearing that day and the judge stopped the hand off.  We were FORBIDDEN to have any contact with Kiddo or his foster home.

Yeah…they said FORBIDDEN.  Like we’d done something wrong.  

I had the mother of all meltdowns.  I don’t think I’ve ever cried so hard in my life.  By then it was late afternoon, and all of our friends and family were calling to check in with the happy new family.  I couldn’t talk.  What could we say?  We had no idea what happened.  I called my boss and tried to explain that I would be back at work sooner rather than later, but I’m not sure she understood a word I said.  Fortunately, she is also a mother and she understood that I was clearly in a lot of pain.  She knew just what to say, and I managed to ask her between sobs to PLEASE have everyone not contact us.  We needed to just be alone.  She allowed me to take 2 days to try to collect myself, and she promised she would quietly make sure everyone knew we’d only had a slight delay, I was coming back to work till it was resolved, and to just leave it at that.

And so our life was, for almost 3 months.  We harassed DFACS trying to keep things moving.  They had dropped the ball…BIG TIME…and now we were losing out on precious time with our kiddo.  Holidays came and went, and each time it broke my heart. 

This is his first Halloween, and I’m missing it.  I wonder if he’s sitting up yet.  I’m missing his first smile. 

Hubby and I were drifting apart.  We were both miserable, and were closing ourselves off from each other.  We slept every night with an empty crib in our room, if we even slept at all.  I started to look and feel like a zombie.  I had a nervous breakdown at work…and it was bad.  In front of our big boss man, no less.  Lovely.

Our social worker called and asked us if we wanted to be taken off this case and matched to a new baby.  I wouldn’t even consider it.  I mean it when I said I bonded with that child, and I knew in my soul he was meant to be mine.  I couldn’t give up and say “gimme another baby.”  I just couldn’t reconcile myself to that.

Yet, another part of me was torn.  There were other babies in the system that could use a home, and we’re just sitting here being miserable and feeling sorry for ourselves.    

We called all the social workers involved at least 2-3 times a week.  Mostly they wouldn’t answer, and we would leave v/m’s begging them to call us with an update.  When all we got back was silence, I contacted the board of directors.  I explained our whole story, and finally I started getting information back.  Kiddo’s social worker started contacting me once a week, and slowly we started moving forward again.

What should have only taken a few weeks to iron out took months, but finally DFACS met the requirements the judge had stipulated.  We were going to schedule another hand off.

This time, I wasn’t trusting anything or anybody, and fortunately the circumstances of the situation put us in a position of power.  DFACS had screwed up, and we now got to call the shots.

When final hand off happened, we were in and out as fast as we could.

That’s kind of an abrupt retelling of our story, but I want to make something very clear…

It was worth every tear, every sleepless night, every new wrinkle, and every gray hair.  I have this absolutely fantastic son, and I would do it all again, a million times over, just to be with him.  Everyone we knew thought we were nuts, or pitied us.  We are not crazy and we should not be pitied.  In fact, I pity those parents who have great kids, but don’t fully appreciate just how precious they are.  

When those same people would look at us skeptically and ask us if we’re going to do it again, we answer with an emphatic “absolutely.”    

I have a WHOLE new respect for anyone with multiple children under the age of 5.  My sister just left after spending a long weekend with us, and while we had a blast, I am EXHAUSTED!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

We had 4 children, ages 5, almost 4, 2 1/2, and one that just turned 2.  They behaved pretty well, but it is go, go, go ALL the time.  

Even Kiddo looks a little peaked.  Right now we’ve got a movie plugged in, and we’re both sitting here and drooling a little.  Whew!

I was feeling a little bad about not updating my blog, but then I read Rocket Scientist’s post today , and my guilt is gone.  My attention has been much better spent playing and having fun with my family.  Now that my sister and her kids are gone, it is gonna be ALL about my kiddo.  We’re gonna enjoy the beautiful weather and go have a picnic at the park.  After that, we’ll see what he wants to do.  

I have no fear of distractions from work (that pesky furlough thing), and I need to take advantage of it.  No need to carry my cell phone…no need to check my email…no need to even wonder if things are going ok.  I feel liberated, and I’m going to embrace it.

So more to come, but for now, it’s Kiddo’s time.  See ya!

Yes.  It’s time.  I haven’t been fully upfront about of foster to adopt experience.

Stephanie at Rocket Scientist had a wonderful, fantastic, awesome post about our current child welfare system.  Go read it …it is a prerequisite to my post today. 

Before I begin, I need to say a couple things.  First of all, I can’t even convey just how much I love my little boy.  Sure, he doesn’t share my genes, but it SOOOOOOOO does not matter.  I would actually challenge I love him more than some bio parents love their own kids.  I would NEVER EVER EVER give him up or change anything.

Second, for all the pitfalls and challenges of foster/adopt, I would absolutely do it again.  In fact, we probably will be doing it sooner rather than later.  I’m not naive enough to expect that the road to parenthood should be trouble free, no matter what route is taken.  I wouldn’t be wasting my time with this blog trying to convince people to consider it, if I didn’t feel very strongly that it is probably one of the most rewarding things you can ever do in your life.

Now, that being said, I’m going to dismantle a few mental blocks I’ve erected, and recall some of the emotions I was experiencing in the early days of our license and placement process.

No doubt if you’ve been following my blog, you’ve picked up on some cues that it was a difficult time.  They place this darling child in your care and ask you to love and care for it as if it was your own, but at the same time expect you to be prepared to give the child up at a moment’s notice.

As you raise that child, the system (being DFACS and the court) is doing everything in their power to reunite that child with its birth family.  They will mandate court ordered therapy, rehab, financial assistance programs, shrinks, docs, social workers, and time frames to try to aid those parents to regain custody and make them “fit.”  When they don’t follow the mandates, the courts will give them another chance.  They are given every opportunity to pull it together.

They will be allowed to have some access to their child, and as the foster parent, it will be your responsibility to produce the child on a schedule that suits THEIR needs.

Imagine you’re fostering this darling child you plan to adopt (if possible), and once a week, you have to take him in for a visitation.  You are willingly delivering that child into the hands of the person that abused or neglected them.  How does it feel to send your child into a room with the person who was hitting them?  How does it feel to watch your child spend time with a person who was too busy getting high to take care of them?

Then after the visit, you have to deal with helping the child understand what is going on.  They are confused…torn…afraid.  Even in an infant, they are aware enough to know something is horribly wrong.  They are conflicted with love for their bio parents, but also love for their foster parents that are providing them with a safe and caring home.

As a foster parent, I felt an immense amount of guilt and pain during these visits.  My son was extremely distressed afterward for the rest of the day, and sometimes even into the next.  He TRUSTED me.  He was BONDED with me.  His time with his bio parents was awkward at best.  They DID NOT KNOW how to care for him.  They DID NOT KNOW that this cry meant he was hungry, or this cry meant he was wet, or that this cry just meant he wanted to snuggle.  They brought in formula that made him sick and they stunk of cigarettes.  Sometimes they just wouldn’t show up at all.

For all of his trust in me, every week like clockwork we would pull up to that building and prepare for another visit.  In his tiny little eyes, I could see the confusion as he was taken from me by a strange social worker and whisked away.  I could not help but feel like I was betraying that trust and that bond, but what choice did I have?  Playing by the rules was the only way to get the outcome I wanted, but how do you make a child understand that???  

Think of taking your child to the doctor and it’s time for shots.  You act happy and try to distract the child from what’s coming.  You bring some toys, or maybe even promise a treat afterward for being such a good boy.  Then comes the needle, followed by an unearthly howl, tears, and a look of accusation.  That look only says “how could you do this to me?”  Ok…now take that feeling of guilt and look of accusation and multiply it times a hundred.  Now do it once a week (or more).  That’s kinda what it feels like to be a foster parent doing visitations with your child.

When the visits were finally over (those were the LONGEST hours of my life), the social worker would bring my kiddo back out and report how it went.  She would say things like “they changed his diaper,” or “they held him today,” and she would report these things like they were A BIG DEAL.  These were parenting milestones for them!!!!!!!  Yet, I’m supposed to be ok with the fact that DFACS is working to reunite them together…even though holding him was the most that could be hoped for in a 1 hour visit.  

I had a very awkward relationship with these social workers.  I LONGED to speak my mind and say what I was thinking, but absolutely under no circumstances wanted to jeopardize my position.  What could I do?  What could I say?  

They held him today.  Just smile and nod…and get the hell out of there and back home so I can check him over for lice.

And no…I’m not being sarcastic or even judgmental.  Lice was a problem.

Wow…I’m emotionally taxed.  My next post (can’t promise it will be tomorrow, but in the next 2 days at minimum), I’ll write about our fight to get Kiddo out of temp care and into our home.  That was really ugly.

Whew!  I have been so busy lately!!!!  Thank heavens tomorrow is Friday, because a rest is needed.  Oh but wait.  I can’t rest on the weekend.  I have guests coming into town next week and a LONG LONG LONG list of things that need to get done.

I do have good news to share.  Work has been nuts.  If you know me and what I do, you would know that is symbolic, because the industry I work in has been HURTING BAD.  I was preparing one of my monthly reports and doing some analysis, and while things are certainly not as good as they were, there is some improvement.  Let’s just say that for the first time in months, our supply isn’t keeping up with demand.  We haven’t been this busy in a long, long time.

I am using the word long a lot today. It’s been a long day.  I have no other way to describe it but long.

While I am no economist, I wonder if maybe things have bottomed out and we might start our pendulum swing the other direction.  Financially, I certainly hope so.  We’ve been weathering, but I worry all the time about what happens to me or my hubby’s jobs if things get worse.

We’ll see how March plays out.  Q2 projections are still way down, but it’s so hard to predict any more.  People aren’t buying our supply till the last minute, and our historical information is pretty much useless.

That’s enough about work.

I don’t have the energy to change any minds today, so I’m going to combine the relaxation technique I am currently employing with my blog topic for the day.

If you’ve been following my blog, you know I’m a big music nut.  Huge.  I would die without it.  If I had to pick blindness or deafness, blindness would win hands down.  I don’t even need to think about it.  Take my eyes, just leave me my ears.

I previously posted about some of the fun songs Kiddo and I listen to during playtime and in our car ride home.   We’ve added a few to the list, but our favorites are still intact.  Here’s a funny story…Kiddo loves the Superman theme.  You know, the one from the Christopher Reeves movies.  He puts his arms up in the air likes he’s flying and runs around yelling “SUPERMAN!”  It’s very cute.

Anyhoo, Kiddo and I like to dance together.  We have a completely different mix for that.  The type and tempo varies, because sometimes we like to shake-a-booty, and sometimes we like to swing around the room with him in my arms.  

I have an iMix created for this list on iTunes, which I will include in the post if iTunes ever feels like working again.  My patience is nil, so I’ll just post it the old fashioned way.  Hopefully you’ve heard of these songs.

1.)  Africa, by Toto

2.)  Into the Mystic, by Van Morrison (I LOVE this song)

3.)  Big and Chunky, by will.i.am

4.)  If You Want Me to Stay, by Sly and the Family Stone 

5.)  Walk This Way, by Run DMC

6.)  Sweet Pea, by Amos Lee

7.)  Beyond the Sea, recorded by Kevin Spacey  (he has a GREAT voice)

8.)  Express Yourself, by Charles Wright & the Watts 103rd Street Rhythm Band, remixed by Mocean Worker

9.)  Stop the Rock, by Apollo Four Forty

10.)  Jump In the Line, by Harry Belafonte

11.)  I Like to Move It, by will.i.am

12.)  Thayya Thayya, by Sukhwinder Singh

13.)  Beautiful, by Moby

14.)  Mondo Bongo, by Joe Strummer and the Mescaleros

15.)  Feeling Good, by Nina Simone

16.)  I’m a Man, by Black Strobe

17.)  J’ai Deux Amours, by Madeleine Peyroux

18.)  Beware of the Boys, by Panjabi MC

19.)  To Be A Lover, by Billy Idol

20.)  New Shoes, by Paolo Nutini

21.)  All Night Long, by Lionel Richie

22.)  The Time Warp, from the Rocky Horror Picture Show

23.)  Cha Cha Slide, by Mr. C

24.)  Keep It Loose, Keep It Tight, by Amos Lee

25.)  Shake Ya Boogie, by Mocean Worker

26.)  Istanbul (Not Constantinople), but They Might Be Giants

27.)  The Traveling Song, by will.i.am

28.)  Trouble, by Ray LaMontagne (one of my current favorite artists)

29.)  Wooly Bully, by Sam the Sham and the Pharoahs

30.)  Battle Without Honor or Humanity, by Electric Samuri

31.)  Panini Puakea, by IZ (Israel with the impossibly long last name)

32.)  Nothing But Flowers, by The Talking Heads

33.)  Hold You In My Arms, by Ray LaMontagne

34.)  Space Oddity, by David Bowie

35.)  Take the Long Way Home, by Supertramp

36.)  Goodbye Stranger, by Supertramp

Good stuff eh?  May it give you a few suggestions for some happy family dancing time in your home!