Category: being a mom

The Next Seat Up

Well it happened. I switched her pumpkin seat out for the convertible carseat. And as I was preparing to wrestle that seat into safety, a little lump welled up in my throat.

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She’s getting so big.

It may seem a little whimpy, but it is real.

She’s getting so big.

Abi’s third birthday has come and gone. (I promise I’ll get that birthday post up before her next birthday… er maybe before she moves out.) And while Hannah is “Mommy’s baby” … so is Abi.

There’s this little part of me that holds the bittersweet memory… sweet little blondie in my arms. Oh she had her flaws – she would be in no one else’s arms…. EVER. But it was just my Abi Grace. Those piercing blues.

And look at her now.

I see Abi in Hannah’s eyes.

And I see a Rachael I struggle to remember in the wake of her four year old personality. She really was tiny once, right? It’s hard to remember what the normal felt like.

So maybe that’s why Hannah moving to the convertible seat comes with a little sting.

I know how quickly she’ll soon be forward facing.

And then in a booster.

She is my Joy.

And I have learned that Joy comes with some bitter moments at times too.

Just like retiring the little patten-leather church shoes. Size ones come with a slight laugh. They’re so not going to happen anymore.

That little squishy stage has slowly rippled away. 10 and a half pounds at birth has melted into a long, skinny busybody.

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Thank You, Lord, for Hannah’s Mommy-clinging times. Thank You, Lord, for those quiet nursing moments when she lets me just stroke her strawberry locks. Thank You, Lord, for that smile only Mommy and Daddy can get out of those beautiful browns and open-mouthed squeals. Thank You, Lord, that she still comes to find me on those knees, sharing her delighted exploration finds.

Thank You, thank You, Lord…

it helps this Mommy let go

…and install the next seat up.

– I love you, my babies. From four on down to the floor. [And my extras ; ) ].

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Guess

Guess who’s thrilled to be in the big tub with her sisters now?

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My Word! Makes me want to grab her right out of that tub and smother her in kisses til she belly laughs.

 

And she’s THRILLED with the floating by buffet bar.

 

– Contagious Joy.

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With Hugs

Big Guy,

 

I remember when you first came here. You were nervous. Would you need to take care of your baby brother? What is a foster home? “You are foster people!” you tried to make sense of it while talking to Rachael the next morning. But thank you for telling your worker that you felt comfortable here within an hour of meeting us for the first time. You were welcome before we knew your name.

 

I’m sorry about the lice and the baggy clothes. You were such a trooper. I don’t know what you came from, but you handled shots and dental care like a hero. Fillings are uncomfortable. Doctors are unfamiliar. And the ‘all new’s sure can overwhelm someone. Thank you for trying to sit so still through all the combings, and pickings, and recombings. And thank you for being brave while your hair was cut short. I know you didn’t want to. I didn’t want to either. But it had to be done. And now you no longer itch. We hope you never have to go through that again. You know, it’s funny how all that feels like an unreal bad dream when we look at you now.

 

I’m glad the spiderman border helped you feel loved. You matter so much to us. We were still just starting to get to know you back then. Feels like so long ago. We were just beginning to mesh together. Learning your favorite color, favorite foods, and favorite activities. We watched a lot of movies back then. Remember? You were still getting used to Rachael and Abi. New roommates are easier to handle with time. And it was still cold outside. And Little Man was sick.

 

It seems so long ago that all that happened. Such a blur. Introductions. Opening our arms and hearts.

 

And now it’s just like you’ve been here for years. We’re past the beginning rules. And on to the regular challenges.

 

You don’t put your hands up anymore. Remember that? You used to be scared when anyone would get into an argument. Now you know we’ll work it out. And we still love each other. And we’re going to keep each other safe.

You don’t need the closet light on anymore or the bedroom door left open. Remember that? I know, we still leave the closet light on. Helps to see Little Man when he sometimes needs a night bottle. But I’m glad you said you’re not scared to go to sleep anymore. And you jump into your bed with a hug without needing someone to sit with you. You’re so brave. And I hope if you do go back to Mom that you won’t feel scared to go to sleep there. Even if right now you’re still not sure.

I’m proud of you for making a friend (even if Daddy helped a bit). It’s so cool to get to see Bobby come over to play, even when he rings the doorbell while everyone’s napping. I’m glad he wants to see you. You are a great kid. You are A LOT of fun!

And honey, I know you hear me say this to you a lot, but that’s because I don’t want you to ever forget it… I love you. I love you so much and I care about you so much. I want you to be your best. And feel brave. And safe. And thank you for sharing with me when you don’t feel as brave.

I don’t know how long those adults at children’s services are going to be working with your Mom and Dad. And I know it’s a long time and feels like a long time. But thank you for being okay with staying with us for a long time while your Mom gets things done. And even if we’re only a stepping stone to renewed stability (you’ll understand what that means when you’re older), I’m really glad that you are with us. Yes, even when you get in trouble for bad choices. I’m still glad. Yes, even when we tell you to calm down and that you’re choosing to be annoying. We’re still glad that you are here with us. We are so blessed.

 

Thank you for asking me to push you on the swing. And hold your hand to play jumping games on the sidewalk. Thank you for running to show me a picture you drew at school or what you got from your Mom and Dad at visit.

 

I love being a part of your world.

 

I love you, Big Guy,

Always.

 

With Hugs,

Mommy Monica

 

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Home

It’s been a wonderful Saturday, taking 5 out to a few stores and poking around on clearance racks for additions to the boys’ wardrobes. There were a few holes now that summer is creeping into the tail-end of spring. Two happy boys with new shorts and a few new shirts. Three happy girls, one who was napping and the other two adding creativity to the shopping experience of others. 😉

 

It was a simple morning, followed by lunch and two kid haircuts. One in the kitchen and one in front of the TV.

 

It is really simple. But it felt like home.

 

 

I remember sitting in the court room. There were just four of us back then. We sat in a line with the rest of the clan. We held signs, “we’ll take her!” and “we love you Aunt Alyssa!” We got the privilege to attend our Alyssa’s adoption court hearing. She completed the eight of my Matthew’s side. It was cool to hear a dusting of her case. She had been looking. Different foster homes. Trying on families. And then she came home. She choked through tears as she explained to the judge, “When I came to the Stauffer’s I just felt like I was home.” My skin still pricks up when I recall it all.

 

Sweet child of ours. The one that’s out there somewhere wanting a home. I don’t know if we’ve already met you. I don’t know if you’re already going to sleep in the boys’ room. But know that we are longing for you. Like a Mother hen collects her chicks. We’re waiting with anticipation. One is missing.

 

I pray that one day soon. Maybe sooner than I know. You will find us your home.

 

And to “my” sweet boys, I don’t know if I’ll ever get to call you mine. But I love you so. A choice love. And a love that can’t be changed by you not having our last name. And Big Guy? I agree. It would be pretty “cool” if you were born here. Right here amongst this home. And I pray that if we never get the privilege to call you our sons, I pray that you’ll find home. Real home. Where you can feel safe and loved and needed and adored.

 

Home.

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Open Letter

Dearest Mom,

I know you’ve made some bad choices. I know you’ve made some bad priorities. Thank you for letting us in as you try to figure this all out. And I’m sorry that it must feel alone. Yes, the consequences are real, but you’re still a hurting person… you didn’t create all this chaos.

It’d be so easy to stereotype you. But you are far more than a stereotype.

I can’t possibly explain to you how I changed today. It hurt me to watch you crying. And no one from the county would offer you a tissue from the box on the table. I’m glad Matt reached over to get the box.

Forgiveness has to come, Mom. Hurts hurt deep, but there IS hope.

You have hard decisions. You have many pieces to get together. Hard pieces. Complicated peices. Pieces that require you to overcome fears and reset priorities. There are serious hurts. And I can tell how it’s worn on you.

Thank you for wanting your boys back. I saw it in your eyes far before you ever voiced it today. And I saw it in their eyes that you love them.

Thank you for choosing to let us in. It must feel so cold. And so ripped open. And so vulnerable.

Things are spinning, Mom. You’re stuck and in the driver seat all at once. And it’s easy to point fingers and feel like everyone is giving you the blame.

Yes, there are responsibilities. Chances missed.

But you are a person. And we all make mistakes. And thanks to Jesus we are all given a second chance.

My heart breaks for you, Mom. I was just asking my Matthew the other day on the ride home… your sweet boys in the back seats. Your oldest playing with our girls. I just listened to them. Giggling over a bad “do you know what” joke.

“What would you do if you only had two hours with our girls each week?”

Matt fired off adventures in piggy-back rides, tickle wars, horsey rides, Bible stories and reading fairytales until he was blue in the face.

I thought about my baby in the back seat. The one with the sweeping red hair and those big beautiful eyes.

“I would nurse that baby the whole time. Read to my precious girls and snuggle. No, I’d nurse that baby for an hour and 55 minutes, pack up everyone and run for the border.”

Mom, I can’t even imagine. I would literally come undone.

You don’t have to make perfect choices to love your kids. Sometimes we do things without thinking. Sometimes we are unaware of the consequences. Sometimes we feel “above” the consequences. Sometimes we just make dumb moves. Sometimes we find ourselves in situations we never thought possible. Sure there are things we can do to avoid those kinds of situations, but sometimes life seems to spin out of control. And one bad choice seems to multiply out into utter chaos.

I know you love them. I can’t even imagine how you go on in the quiet house.

It hurts. I can see it on your face. Your body language. Though you hold a smile of sincere joy when they see you. Two hours go by too fast.

He told me he doesn’t like to meet in room four at the visitation center. He informed me room four has a clock. And that way you know what time it is and when the visit has to end.

I love how he wants to defy time with you.

You are still his hero.

Thank you for trying hard. Thank you for rising above the stereotype laid at the doorway of Children’s Services. Thank you for trying. Thank you. Keep trying. Keep changing.

Please don’t give up.

Please.

We are praying for you, Mom. We are praying for healing. Soul healing. And wisdom.

We are praying hard for you, Mom.

Remember those dear little faces. Those precious hands in yours. Those beautiful eyes.

Please don’t give up.

Even when it hurts to change.

You boys are amazing.

And they are so worth it.

Sincerely,

Mommy of three.

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