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.

Rising

So I wanted to take a moment to share how we are doing and how we have come to where we are today.

It’s a little hard to believe that 11 weeks ago (12 tomorrow) we first met “our” boys. It was just 3 days after my birthday. And while I had this feeling it could be “just around the corner” I had no idea how close the corner really was.

Our honeymoon was no honeymoon. Night 1 Little Man was up every 20 minutes. Every 20 MINUTES people and Matt and I got the opportunity to put our teamwork to the greatest victory we have had to date. It was rough. But we kept a lighthearted “don’t nurse the wrong baby” vibe as our new foster love began his round-robin of wake-up calls, echoed by our Hannah.

Day 2 was a blur of sleep deprivation followed by the termed “Jesus wrap” swaddler that took a “every 20 minute” cryer into the land of 8 hour sleeps. Suddenly the clouds broke on Day 3 and 5 felt manageable. We were still in the land of excitement decibel monitoring, “welcome to the new rules” management, and “that’s my Mommy” sharing training. Night 3 proved a wonderful 7 hour swaddling, while Big Guy continued to cry himself to sleep. We were still new. And confusing. And fun and exciting, but still “not Mom”.

Day 4 added some new groundwork on “this is how we do it here” training and then came the little cough. It was 8pm. Most were settled or close to settled in bed when the “little cough” began. The little cough returned our sleeping Little Man to 20 minute sound-offs. And by 4am, the little cough had turned to full-blown wheezing. We knew it was beyond us right then and there, but we didn’t know how bad it truly was. Looking back now I’m glad we didn’t know. I’m glad we didn’t know what we signed ourselves up for. Cause it was hard. Very hard.

A routine Dr. appointment  turned into a trip “straight to the ER”. 70% oxygen level in the blood plus the wheezing and the mucus faucet meant my girls were having an extended play visit and Matt was meeting me downtown.

No one plans to move into the hospital for 2 days when they leave the house to go to work. But the unknowns of Little Man’s response to illness and his weakened immunity sent us through a whirlwind of crisis management. Little Man rode the rollercoaster of waiting out the illness while Matt caught the flu from the hospital and I tried to figure out balancing four kids who wanted their father ad brother back. The “i don’t know” hurt the most when asked constantly when Little Man and Daddy would return. We felt stuck. And out of control. Family swooped in to help ease the blow, allowing Matt a moment to get away to eat “non hospital” food and see his teary-eyed girls. But he was sick. And we couldn’t afford to be sick too. So there was still some hard distance.

After 2.5 days Little Man was released to go home. But it took the good part of 30 days to overcome his illness with choppy sleep and newborn-like discomforts. We were still studying him. And he does sick very ugly. He didn’t know us. And we didn’t know him. So comfort was hard to come by.

In the mean time, Hannah was being slowly untrained to sleep through the night and was learning separation anxiety early. My big girls took on the stress in different ways. Sometimes they just wanted to play by themselves and sometimes they would cry a little longer or be more stubborn in their defiance. They were testing that we were still as in love with them as we were before the boys. And happily, we passed the test. =)

Big Guy hit it off well with me. Playing built trust quickly. And stability breathed comfort into him. And honestly, it was Christ and Christ alone that covered the burns of the past when we could only assure him of his safety and rub his hair through the tears. Slowly the bedroom door was able to be closed more and more. He trusted we were still going to be there. And he was safe. Today it’s only open a crack.

Little Man healed from his 30 day bug and returned to sleeping well at night for 4 days. Then he got bronchitis. And we were back to square one. Only this time we got a suction machine from urgent care. Yay for tools! And we sucked that boy into a greater ability to sleep and eat to overcome his illness. After 2 weeks the oogies had cleared enough that he sounded “normal.” He stayed normal until the weather change and now sounds terrible again. But we’re used to how he does sickness now. And we’re used to identifying what we can and cannot suck out of him. Congestion is the poor boys default. And it’s not always accompanied by illness.

So here we find ourselves. embracing the new normal. Everyone going to bed in their own beds. Everyone comfortable enough with each other to sleep to their full potentials. Little Man is Matt’s baby at night. And I’m in charge of our Little Redhead. Then we flip coins for the older girls on growing pain and “have to go potty” random nights depending on how our assigned babies are sleeping.

Big Guy is no longer staying awake until 11pm in is bed, he has now become accustomed to a more typical 5 year old bedtime. He has begun memorizing Scripture with the family at bedtime and is delighting in his Sunday School class. He’s stopped being completely shy amidst the “let’s talk to the assistant pastor’s kids” addresses. And he is one seriously skilled madman on his “new to us” bike. His eyes hold trust. And he is expressing his deep hurts and his deep loves. And he’s stopped crying when it’s time to come back with us after his visits with his Mom. Matt’s “Daddy” many times and I’m “Mommy” “Mom” or “Monica” depending on his mood. We’ve never introduced ourselves as anything other than Matt and Monica. We let him decide who we are to him. =)

Little Man is showing increased muscle toning and accepting more and more distraction from toys and dustings of self-soothing. He is becoming more of a smiler and more predictable in his wants/needs. He was a harder cookie for me to love at first. (Just being honest). I am one the can handle sleep interruptions (within reason), but when you add that to a constant crying unless a bottle was held in the child’s mouth for the first weeks… it was quite hard in my balancing of 5.  But we’re building a better relationship now and time to grow, mature and change has really helped mesh us both better.

And my girls… well with the grace of God we’ve been able to still preserve their innocence in all this. While it’s a challenge to stifle “too informed” announcements at the dinner table without peeking our Commentator’s interest, Big Guy is quite receptive to “yeah, let’s not talk about that” cues while still trusting that when he needs to talk to us about things we are more than willing to walk the harder roads with him. I am thankful for God’s grace in Big Guy’s quick-learning in this area. The Lord is sheltering my babies while opening their eyes to a Jesus love alive in compassion.

We still have our hiccups. And our silly tufts. And our control-issues. Oh and then there’s the frequented time-out corner…

But we’re meshing still. And we’re talking about sharing life together. And planning for “in the summer” without tears forming in Big Guys eyes at that reality. We’re still praying for Mom. She needs Jesus. And she needs healing. But she’s got the love of her boys right. And for that we are thankful.

You know, it’s funny in all this… the very fear of foster care that I had to begin. You know that one everyone so happily brings up in every conversation when they realize the boys aren’t ours… “Oh, how are you going to give them back? I could never do that.”

I don’t know. I really don’t. But it doesn’t scare me. It doesn’t keep me up at night. I can’t change it. And it’s what God has given us. And if after I love these boys unconditionally for months or years they go back to Mom, then I’ve done what God has called me to do. And we’ll cry and we’ll carry on as a family. And if after I love these boys unconditionally for months or years and I become their legal Mommy, then I’ve done what God has called me to do. And we’ll cry and we’ll carry on as a family.

It is hard work.

But it is the right work.

And I trust my Maker.

He designed us for this.

So cheers to the challenge.

– To God be the glory.

Music Monday: From Exasperated Lips

Running is a very spiritual thing for me. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to tell by my overly-labored breathing and red face that running comes in no way naturally to me. It is a fight. A battle between flesh and spirit.

Sometimes the flesh wins and I cut the run short, giving up on finding a rhythm or pace in which to endure.

But the majority of the time the spirit wins… overcoming the frustrated and throbbing flesh.

I have gotten the opportunity to begin running again. The weather’s turned just warm enough to not completely burn my throat. The world is a little less hectic. And it just feels like time. In so many ways. It’s just time.

I picked up the old mp3 player . (Yes, I’m still living in the world of record players. 😉 No I don’t have an iPod).

With a new battery, underarmor, and a selected route I hit the great outdoors.

The first mile was the usual “dragging from the tailgate of a car over shards of glass” and then the breathing and rhythm regulated. The body hit the groove. And the slower songs on the mp3 player weren’t as bothersome. I was in the groove. I no longer relied on the bass drum to keep pace.

I skipped a selection here or there when I hit a funk, fell a little off balance and needed the “keep up with me” pace.

My usual mix is a bunch of worship songs from various places and stages in my life. There’s the classic Apex worship. And the deep Job-like raw songs.

But somewhere near the end of my route this one came up. It’s an automatic “crank up the volume and be ready to hit repeat” one. There’s something about it. Those words. That all-out truth. A lifesong.

An absolute lifesong.

I tripped and fell on the median grass while closing my eyes. I couldn’t have cared how stupid I looked. My only audience was smiling. And I was pouring it all out for Him. He’s the reason I run. He’s the reason I want to whip this body into shape. I want to be used. Because He’s everything. And I’ll never be the same.

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ywzlq2AiAuM]

So if you see me running through the neighborhood, with my beat red face, arms raised and a mud stain on my right pantleg, you’ll know I’ve been listening to it again. Come and join me in singing along… from exasperated lips.

In the Morning.

Today I am feeling really beat down by orphan care. Between the bickering, twin 2’s constant discontentment and downright screaming today, my Hannah’s undoing of her sleep training (be it due to the added stress of our household, the addition of Twin 2 in our room for the 1.5 months before we moved him out, or her own demise), and now round 3 of lice as discovered once again in my two year old’s hair after the culprit being our oldest foster son. Today I just want to run away. I want to take my biological family and run away. I want to hide from the constant beat-down. I want to hide from the sicknesses of twin 2. I want to hide from the chaos of five kids. I want to hide from the constant battles and struggles. I just want to take “my kids” and run away from all of this orphan care.

I won’t. But I just want to be honest.

Not every day is glamorous. And this Mommying is really hard. And it hurts. And it brings me to tears. And there are moments I just want to run away. It’s hard to love someone so much that you want to run away from them and yet take them with you as well.

Today I want to blame someone. I want to call up his Mom and ask her how she could do this to them. I want to call up his “Dad” and ask him why this was ever okay. I want to yell at someone for the harm they have done to these kids. And I want to cry and hold them and just run away.

And I want to yell at someone for how little of a Mom I have left to give to my girls after dealing with the babies. I want to cry to someone about how much it hurts to tell my four year old that no I can’t play with her AGAIN because I have another diaper to do, or a baby to calm, or I just can’t think straight after another hard night of being up every 45 minutes. And I want to cry to someone as my baby screams at bedtime because she’s overwhelmed and tired and just flat out mad – coping with all the changes. And I want to take my favorite blanket and hide away at the bottom of my closet because it all feels like too much and it all won’t stop swirling.

I may sound like a wimp. I may sound like a fool. But I just wanted to be honest.

This hurts. And this is really hard.

And I want to fall on my face again before God and ask Him why. Why is it so hard? Why does it have to be this way? And what will I possibly do if after seeing my utter raw self these boys go home?

There’s silence.

A lot of silence.

But I know He’s listening. And I know He cares.

Joy will come in the morning…. it just has to!

Open Letter

To the Table of Moms sitting beside ours at the children’s museum,

First of all, congratulations on expecting your second children in the household. The thrill of a miracle growing inside of you is indescribable, even in those last few months of “bumping into everything”. And your toddlers may not have any idea what’s coming, but they’ll learn to enjoy the company of another little smiler.

But even in your excitement my heart breaks for you both. I saw your glances and while it would be easy to brush you off as judgemental, my heart is really saddened.

Yes, Big Guy spilled his cup of juice because he wasn’t paying attention. He’s only been to a children’s museum twice that I know of and it’s a lot to take in, even when wolfing down lunch in anticipation of playing with legos. Yes, Little Man was fussing. What you didn’t know is that he had already been fed and freshly diapered, he was just having an impatient moment while I was nursing Hannah. And yes, the boys do not look like me… or my girls. In fact, to a deeply judging eye they could mark me to look like an unfaithful woman… or a woman in a really biologically confusing mess.

But my heart breaks that you didn’t really see my kids. You didn’t see Abi’s utter bliss at the chocolate covered pretzels we got as a special treat from the shop downstairs. And you didn’t see the twinkle in Big Guy’s eyes that even though he forgot his money that he brought to buy a special snack, he got to share a bag of Buggles with all of us after eating his cheese and crackers (the unsoggy ones). And you didn’t see the progress that Little Man has made in only fussing a bit and being responsive to my touch and my words to calm himself down.

You didn’t see where my boys were two months ago and how much they have moved from being constantly attention-seeking and fearful to secure and excited.

Yes, we are a noisy bunch sometimes… many times around eating time. And there are still needs to remind Big Guy to sit still and that just because he’s not touching it right now doesn’t mean he’ll never get to. And there are still needs to balance nursing my Hannah with rocking Little Man into comfort.

But my heart breaks for you, Moms, that while you may be there in your hearts some day to take in a child that needs someone while their world gets a little more under control… you’re not there right now. But right now there are Big Guys and Little Mans out there… waiting for Children’s Services to intervene and remove them from their crumbling worlds.

Tomorrow we’ll probably still be noisy, and a little bossy sometimes, and a little over-the-top excited and needy, but I am so thankful to God that tomorrow these precious boys know that they’ll still be safe. And loved. And snuggled. And told that “we’re praying for your Mom and your Dad” while they wait to see who will rescue them and who will fade away into a memory.

Sweet pregnant moms, my heart breaks for you.

Please take another glance.

Please.

For Good

The boys will be back in a half hour. Their visit is almost done and they’ll be dropped off by transportation. We drive and drop off. They bring home. It helps us since they scheduled the visits on the one day we requested to not.

The nights are long and I’m napless, despite hopes. The babies are so random at sleep and are many times keeping each other up.

And honestly, it is REALLY hard right now. I could stack a skyscraper high of one-block-at-a-time struggles. We’re all still adjusting to this new norm. Some better than others.

And while I have moments of just wanting things to go back to normal or at least find some consistent number of wake-up calls in the middle of the night from the two babies,

And while there are moments I am fed up with paying for someone else’s awful parenting choices,

And while there are moments I would love to sell my own kids on ebay,

I know that this is what God has for us right now. This is what He has asked of us.

This is the cup we are to drink and find delight in and splash onto his feet in tear-filled prayers.

And I just want to be honest that the sacrifice hurts many times. My pride and selfishness wants “me time” and the ability to accomplish getting 5 on a schedule to allow “just me” time.

I can complain and kick and pout as well as my two year old… if not better.

But at the end of the day, even the long days, I am still thanking God that He has given us the opportunity to love these boys.

In the good, the bad and the ugly.

God IS working this for His good.

This is the reality of our normal.

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