Play Nice?

I was told yesterday /by my social worker/ that I need to be good and play by the rules or it will hurt me in the end. WTF??? I have no idea where that comment came from. I'm the person who gets mad when people don't play by the rules.

If I'm not nice or accommodating, someone better tell me now. Yeah yeah... we are "in competition" for the baby we have placed with us, and both of us want him to live with us, and each of us has very valid reasons to want him to live with us. So what? We BOTH care about this little boy and want the best for him. When nobody cares about a child... the child suffers. From one foster mother to another -> We care plenty and that's a good thing. I'm sure we both have friends on either side of the fence, telling us both why "we" should get to keep him. This decision is not up to us, or our social workers. It's up to some pannel of people, who have never met the child in question, who get to make the life altering decision. However, these people are suppose to be smart about these kind of things. These are the rules. Say with me in a mocking tone - Hurray for rules!

Almost eight months old now. We are hearing words like "Atka", "Mommy", "Daddy", "Hi", "BB" "Annnan" We think "BB" is for MissyB and "Annnana" is for Nancy the cat.

Our best intrest staffing has a date now for MissyB. I don't know more details other than that. They used to send letters, but they don't now. SRS seems to like to preform more background checks at the last minute I guess. I wonder if they are reading my blog. If so... since you clearly send abused kids back with their abusive parents, and I'm the one who gets hit, because the kid thinks that's normal, so I'm left with bruises and no apologies What a hard job you have. Social workers don't get paid enough.

Oh... more about kids that I didn't birth. The teens want to borrow my truck and  want to decorate it for the Shawnee Mission North Parade, but get me to drive it, since they can't drive. Husband thinks I should ask another friend to offer up his army truck to them. It's way bigger. Although, then I'd need to learn how to drive an army truck. 

*Sigh*

... and I would too... because that's just how accommodating I can be. I never knew teenagers could be so much fun. They know I have a soft spot for them - and I've been promised, by one of the girls, she will bring home her first gay best friend for me to pet and praise, by the end of the school year. I can't wait. I'll wear my "It get's better" Tshirt, if it EVER comes in the mail.

"Looking back, I have this to regret, that too often when I loved, I did not say so."

I've waited all my life to be a real mom. I've wanted to be the comfortable safe person I remember my Poppa being... once-upon a time.

• I've got some questions for God: 
• Is it okay for babies to be born exposed to harmful drugs? 
• To people who never wanted or cared for them, even in the womb? 
• Did god say it was okay to molest children? 
• To beat them? 
• To deprive them of love and affection?
• To neglect them? 

When I walk through a store with my foster daughter and foster baby boy, everyone stops and assumes these are my kids. They even look a bit like me, as all of us have dark hair. Some people start asking questions about my pregnancy, when the baby was born and so on. When it gets to this point, I can't lie and pretend, because these children aren't mine. I mention I'm a foster mother as I'm cornered with the baby birth questions. Say I can't take credit for my babies great hair - and joke what an easy pregnancy I had. 

Then come the baby questions:

"Where is his mother?"

"Why is he in foster care?"

"What happened?"

I can't answer that, life happens, things happen.

"But… how did you get him? Will you keep him? Do you want to keep him?"

Yes, I'd love to keep him, but the situation is complicated. 

"That's not fair - You've had him for so long."

Yep... not fair. But, I'm a foster parent, this is my job.

"Why is he in foster care, what happened to his mother and father?"

Again, not a question I can answer.

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I'm getting ready to loose it. Hormonal I guess or verging on an emotional breakdown. I keep shouting to myself in my head - Get over it…. this is something you wanted to do. You knew what foster care was. You knew what you were getting yourself into. 

In the last few weeks baby peanut has learned to crawl all over the house. Each day he learns some new skill. He seeks me out whatever room I'm in, finding me without difficulty. When he does find me, he tugs at my dress/skirt/pants, whatever he can reach. He will pull off my sandals when I'm sitting down at a chair or at the sofa. He has started to babble a word that 99% resembles the word "mommy" or "mom". He even now responds to his name. 

But here we are tonight - I was laying on the floor with baby peanut who is now just over six months old. We were playing with his toys, changing his focus, trying to wear him out. He was tired but just wanted to keep going, playing, climbing on me like I was a jungle gym. I picked him up and danced with him around the room to some classical music. He puts his head on my shoulder while I take the lead, twirling him around the room, dipping him and spinning him. He laughs at me and grabs on harder, taking it all in. We do the two step, then we lead into a waltz. Later after playing, we lay on the sofa together. I was talking to him about what parts of his body were most ticklish. I poked him gently in different spots, trying to pin down magic locations, each time he lets out tremendous belly laughs that make me laugh too, which makes him laugh even harder.

All of a sudden an image pops into my mind - What life would be like without THIS baby as our son. 

Tears started streaming down my face. I had a flashback to me as a little girl, in my pajamas, climbing onto my Poppa's lap so he could read me a story.

I heard his voice in my mind. 

I could remember the smell of the air in my grandparents house. 

I remembered the texture of his chair and stroking the fabric. 

Where my Poppa picked up the book he was preparing to read to me. 

How he used the remote to turn off the T.V.

The precision of how he took off his glasses.

I remembered my grandmother across the room in her rocking chair, knitting.

I could hear the sound of their dishwasher in the kitchen working. 

I saw in my mind the painting of trilliums on the wall next to Poppa's chair and the framed poppy needlepoint next to the painting.

My heart jumped then ached. I suddenly was thinking with my grandfather gone, I may never get the chance to have a memory like that with baby peanut. A beautiful, pure memory of him talking, walking, bringing me a book to read him... Some unfulfilled future memory of knowing I was his mommy.

It's painful to think that the dancing will stop - the laughter will stop. He will no longer know who I am.

To be honest, it is really very easy after all to love someone else's children like they were your own. The hard part is, letting them go. Tonight most of all, I miss being a little girl and the feeling of being loved and safe in the arms of my Poppa. I know baby peanut feels my love for him and it breaks my heart that it's not permanent.

I used to hope it would be that way for us. But it is not going to be that easy.

"I'm glad mom can't have a baby"

Tonight, that comment left me with a bit of whiplash. Made me very angry despondent to here our long time foster daughter utter such an insensitive remark.


I had some responses to see if she understood what a comment like that, how a comment like that, could deeply hurt someone inside. Words stick I told her, and once they are said, it is hard to take them back. All week I've been saying treat others as you would want to be treated. This was not one of these moments. I'm very sensitive about the subject of my infertility, and when someone this naive about the subject says something rather cruel in passing, it really makes my blood boil.


1) How would you feel inside, if I told you, I wished you were never born? Would that be a hurtful thing to say to you?


2) When your foster father comes home, tell him that you are happy that his wife is defective and cannot have babies - see what he says. If you think it is okay to tell me that, then it should be okay to tell him.


3) Do you really think, with my background, with my family struggles, that even if I could have my own children, I wouldn't do foster care and take other young people into our lives? Clearly I'm not in this for the loving words and gestures shown to my family. I'm more in it for the rehabilitation of broken little souls. Remarks like this are hurtful ➜ upsetting ➜ extremely ➜ unpleasant. Learn some manners and put a filter on your mouth!!

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I'm reminded of a time when I said to my mother, about a guy she had been dating for many years whom I liked, that I thought she only wanted to marry him for his money. She left the room and didn't speak to me for an entire weekend. I was forbidden to go to the homecoming fair with my friends. I was left to cry in my room for the next 50 hours, with nobody to talk to. My mother went to bed and didn't get up for several days after my remark. What I said hurt, but she had no fight in her to defend my comment. Clearly I struck a nerve with her also. 

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If I'm wrong to bombard my foster child with questions directed towards empathy and compassion for others, how will she ever learn the concept? If I can turn an off putting remark into something that will enlighten her feelings, maybe she might open her eyes on occasion and think about how she makes others feel with her words. I never want to end up in a situation they way my mother treated me - she couldn't even tell me what I said was wrong, or why it upset her.


Putting someone's needs or feelings before your own seems hard to grasp in this house with the older children who stay with us. The 3 year old twins I babysit, thoughtfully do it each day for one another though. I'm hopeful that the young ones can inspire the older children to be better people.  Each day is a challenge and I thought it might be easier, but it is not going to be that easy.

“To love at all is to be vulnerable. Love anything, and your heart will certainly be wrung and possibly broken. If you want to make sure of keeping it intact, you must give your heart to no one, not even to an animal. Wrap it carefully round with hobbies and little luxuries; avoid all entanglements; lock it up safe in the casket or coffin of your selfishness. But in that casket- safe, dark, motionless, airless--it will change. It will not be broken; it will become unbreakable, impenetrable, irredeemable.” C. S. Lewis

"Children begin by loving their parents; as they grow older they judge them; sometimes, they forgive them"

I'd like a sign to wear when I go out in public that says: Foster Mother, Don't Judge. 

I'm mostly embarrassed that someone might mistake my child's misbehavior for my DNA.

Looking at pictures the other day, staring at the past. I reconfigured some framed photos recently.

Wanted a mother or husband to hold me while I cried myself to sleep the other night. Maybe it is just

stress. I've been wishing for some comfort, a connection. Things with my foster children are really taking a toll on my physical and mental well being.

We have a 4 month old baby since he was 3 days old. I picked him up from the hospital on January 21st, 2011. Baby Peanut looks up at me with love in his eyes. I don't see that in my foster daughters - her hurt runs too deep to even care about anyone but herself, and even caring for herself is a challenge.

Naptime with Peanut - Two months old

Baby Peanut experienced a rather abrupt boarding into his car seat one afternoon this week. It was raining, I slipped, he slid in, bumped his head lightly on car seat arm-beam but didn't cry. Turned around 3 quarters of his body to look for me, to make sure I was okay? That totally deserved kisses, no matter how much It hurt when I skinned my knee on the truck. 

We have a 1% chance of keeping this lovely boy forever. But, it's likely that he will move on. I keep telling myself that Baby Peanut isn't mine - and won't be since day one. It is so hard because that little voice inside my head, that has been there all along, says to me I'm not worthy of having a baby. I don't know what God's plan is, but it sucks. Having someone this small in our lives, who truly loves me and my family, and having to give him away is really hard and disappointing. I keep telling myself I'm a bridge for a young life to find peace. 

I don't know how much we will be involved after he moves, since every time we see him it will break all of our hearts that he couldn't stay with us. I know deep down, being with his brother is likely the best fit. He will be missed greatly and we will all mourn his loss. I can see taking another baby in time. Maybe this is what I was meant to do. Going through menopause at 32 isn't fair, I'd love to have my own children, but that must not be what was meant for me.

"The will to win, the desire to succeed, the urge to reach your full potential... these are the keys that will unlock the door to personal excellence.”

I don't like:

Always having to raise my voice

Not having anyone listen to instructions

Not having a daughter in my life who respects me or my authority

Not having a deep bond with this person who lives in my home

Not being able to trust

Stealing, lying, hoarding food. All the things I did as a child, but only because my mother didn't care to get out of bed to take care of me.

I meet the needs of my children and that doesn't make a difference. How do I love someone who breaks my heart frequently? I'd like to be more proud of my children. I'd like to be more proud of myself.

I was threatened by my daughter the other morning, when I told her not to wear flipflops to school Wednesday. It's against school dress code. She told me that "I" would need to drive her up shoes if she got caught. The punishment didn't sound fair to me, so I called the school and explained the situation. I'm delighted to get the principal, on the last day of school, to rip my daughter a new one (to tears) over her flipflop wearing. This is why I joined the PTA. It takes an army to raise a child. I take my delights in a different way. Although, someone did earn $5 for every grade she brought up to an A. Which is being credited towards some money she owes me, that was stollen out of my purse, to buy the above snacks at a value of $75 dollars.

“Child abuse casts a shadow the length of a lifetime.”

Goodbye 2010 - A year of change

As the holidays approached, I found myself quicker to tears on occasion. The last 11 months have been a challenge and a gift at the same time. We have a foster child, and with that comes tantrums, disobedience, anger and tears. We all know how to behave, but showing an emotional reaction isn't always the right solution. Especially when you are being tested on a daily basis. We've had an upswing in behaviour changes over these last few months with the holidays. It's emotional trauma time, and as clear as day, I can remember loads of it from way back when. If anyone thinks I go overboard with Christmas, well... maybe I do. I've certainly calmed down over the years. It is something I can almost control if I drink enough in a good way. I'm aiming for special, and with the friends we've made here over the years, I think we have done really well.

Our child is a "professional foster child" which means: She has been in foster care long enough to know how to work the system and how the system works. When we talk about a permanent home, or she tells us she wants us to adopt her, I don't let emotion slip in… I calmly say it is forever - there is no going back. You can't leave because you decide you don't like us anymore. However, my reaction to her announcement is seen as hurtful. Rose petals and unicorns should dance at this notion, and we should all break out into song like a musical. ♩♪♫♬♭ Errr... um... no. That's Disney - that's not real family.

Christmas time isn't my most favorite time of the year. I lost my grandfather Poppa several years ago, just days after Christmas. My husband's father passed last year. Our daughter has been separated from a sibling for the first time ever, and has a deep hole in her heart. I found myself one evening, driving home from a garden club Christmas party, suddenly crying.  A clear feeling emerged: I made pumpkin pie that night - It was his favorite. The very last thing I remember making for my Poppa before he died. 

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We came up for Canadian Thanksgiving with husband about 5ish years ago? I convinced the family I would make a traditional Thanksgiving meal at cousins house. We had the whole family around one table; About nine adults and four children. When it came down to the pie, Poppa did his usual back handed comment that it wasn't spiced the way he liked. Which was not really my fault, since I didn't bring my spices from home, so I ended up using some of the old ones my grandmother Grama had on hand. Oh… and I made him eat it with real whipped cream from a cow, not that petroleum based Cool Whip crap like he was accustomed to eating. 

The day we left for home, I came early to say goodbye at their apartment. It was 8:00 in the morning. My grandmother Grama was in the shower with her Nurse's aide. Poppa was sitting at the table, with entire pie plate in front of him, eating my "not spiced as he would have liked" pie for breakfast. This is one of my last memories of him. Now, each time I make a pumpkin pie (from scratch people, NO CANS) I always spice it for him, with extra ginger, fresh grated nutmeg and cinnamon. If he ate my pie today, he'd never complain. Now I make a point of travelling with my own favorite spices. Who knows when I might need some.

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As we were driving home with tears streaming down my face, I felt compelled to tell my daughter some truth about life. When someone dies, they are gone - we are left with memories of them, sometimes heirlooms or small treasures of their life. We can do good deeds in memory of them, spread stories about them or re-tell famous family anecdotes, the way they told them. Their spirit is not forgotten. When you are separated from someone you love who is still alive, like a sister or brother... time often heals by bringing people back together.

It is not easy or fair that you must accept that a person: 

Who is part of you + Who you love = Is out of reach

• Write them letters, poems, drawings. Make a box for them of your dreams
• Remember them and know that you will be reunited again 
• Live as you wish they would live = happy and healthy 
• Continue to be a big sister or brother as a role model, even when distance divides

I can't get on the phone anymore and talk to my Poppa. The closest I can get to him now is in my dreams… but we do manage to have some pretty good conversations.