It's okay tortoise. I'll wait.

I have a tortoise and a hare.

My son is faster than light and just as blinding.

We believe he may have adhd.

My daughter is slow as molasses and just as sweet.

So slow that every teacher she has ever had has given her some sort of nickname meaning “slow”

We believe she may have add.

It is weird to live with the two of them.

Him always pressing forward.

Her always hanging back.

And me somewhere in the middle.

The only thing they have in common is their inate ability to lose focus.

We had parent teacher conferences today.

Right now, in the competition to be the best student?

Hare is winning.

But tortoise is in it for the long haul.  I have not counted her out of the race.

He said it as I spooned a second helping of dinner on his plate.

He said again when I lifted him up into my lap for a last show.

He said it as I cuddled him in his room before bed.

Yay!

Such a small word for such a big impact.

I feel like he learned how to express joy today.

It was a good day to learn it.

He had an annual review today. When the city of philadelphia did the eval a year ago he failed in all four of his learning categories.

Today he failed in only one. By 5%.

Which means he still qualifies for therapy, but just barely.
It’s not often that parents get an outside sign that they are doing a good job.

Today we got one.

Yay!

And in this regard above any else I can claim with confidence.
“I have become my mother”

It started with the birth of my first and cemented itself with the loss of my fourth.
Ever since my drug ridden days of unhappiness and heartache… I am a crier.

Now I don’t just burst into to tears without being induced (don’t ask my husband’s opinion on that one). I cry at things like poignant blog posts. commercials. sad stories on the news.

You know. REALLY sad stuff.

But this is not stuff that would have made me cry before. I was made of sterner stuff pre-kids.

I guess what they say is true -
Having a baby changes everything.*

*This commercial campaign? Always brings on tears.

And it was brutal.  (not for us, but still…)

No change yet but the winds are blowing in our direction.

I can’t help feeling just the slightest twinge.

For mom.

She left the courtroom in tears.

Rightfully so.  The judge and the child advocate ripped her up, down, and sideways.

Brutal.

The judge listened to all the protocol requests, read between the lines, and made her ruling based on case history and facts.

Reaffirming my belief that I was born to be a judge.

Anyway.  Mom asked for 4-6 hour extended unsupervised visits.

Denied.

Mom asked for consideration for the holidays – she wanted her kids with her on Christmas, Thanksgiving and Halloween.

Denied.

Dad asked for unsupervised visits.

Denied.

Dad asked for longer duration of visits.

Denied.  And his overall visits were cut in half.  Every other week now instead of every week.

Dad left the courtroom in a huff.

I feel no sympathy for him.  Nothing but anger. 

And so…I am dangerously close to believing we may get to keep these kids.

Dangerous grounds these.

Treacherous grounds.

Break your heart open if you let them, grounds.

And I am bravely stepping into them.

This weeken we started making plans that don’t start with if… (if we still have the kids, then this.  If we don’t have the kids then, that…have been the norm.)

January is the next court date.  This is the date they will change the goal to termination, if that’s what happens.

Fingers crossed.

I am no longer ambivalent about this.  These are my kids.

I just hope the judge agrees.

By the way.  Best. court. scene. ever.

It had suspense, drama, emotion.  There were people yelling, there were tears and even some humor.

Couldn’t make a movie scene that good.

Life is sometimes so much more interesting than make-believe.

If I didn’t have so much invested in it, I am sure I would have enjoyed it thoroughly.

It is his role to speak for the kids at court.  He is the speaker for the kids.

It was the first time I had met with this gentleman.

Which is too bad really because he is the only person involved in this case who has been involved in this case since the start.

We learned about where the babes were living : abandoned buildings, drug houses and the occasional shelter.

We learned that the kiddos were all born with traces of drugs in their systems: PCP, marijuana and cocaine

We learned that mom failed to care for her kids in monumentally horrible ways and somehow still managed to keep them.

He was trying to explain how it was that she had three babies that tested positive for drugs and still kept them.

He doesn’t know.

And he was so happy to see the affectionate, outgoing amazingly bonded children today.

He was touched.

He said as much but we could also see it.  He talked a little about the little children he met almost a year ago and how these are not those children.

And he asked if there was anything we needed.  Anything we had questions about.  And he meant it.  He wanted to be helpful.

And we could have used him a few months ago.

But it was nice to have him today.

He was impressed with us.  All that we know about the case, the fact that we go to the court dates, the fact that we are so committed to these children in our care.

He was pleased to know that these two children have such an option available to them.

He was happy to see them so happy.

It was nice to have him today.

And the information he shared made me angry.  And my anger was directed at the biological mother of these children.

I had viewed her as unintentionally negligent.  But she wasn’t.

She was ruining her kids from the moment of conception.

And my little boy, who still doesn’t speak well, may have long lasting permanent damage.

Because of her.

And I no longer have sympathy for her plight.

I wanted to give her the benefit of understanding that her upbringing caused some of her failures.   And I wanted to make concessions for her life choices.

But I can’t.

And I don’t want her anywhere near my children.

It got so bad that the counselors separated them and I got a call from the director.

This girl used to be a good friend to my daughter.

They hadn’t seen each other in almost a year and then they had camp together.

It was a bad situation.  All summer long.

This girl has changed.

That’s the only explanation I have.  Something is going on there.

And then camp ended and my daughter learned how to stand up for herself, how to be strong in the face of adversity and she felt good about the lessons.

And then school started.  And the two girls have before and after care together.

Her abuse has turned from physical to verbal.

This morning my daughter told me that (let’s call her Gina).  Gina had told my daughter that she needs to dress hotter.

I told my daughter that there is no such thing as a hot 7-year-old.

And I seethed.  Inside.

And I told my daughter all the things that we are supposed to tell your daughters.

No one’s opinion but yours matters.

Do you think you look good?  That’s all that matters.

You are the only one that gets to decide what you think you should wear (and you know, me and daddy).

And blah blah blah all that self-confidence stuff.

And she still looked troubled.  And I get that.  Because really, it’s just talk.

So I knelt down, looked her right in the eye and told her as much.

It’s hard.  People will always have something to say.  And there will always be someone out there who doesn’t like you, or what you wear or what you say.

You just have to decide to feel good about who you are and how you look.

You.  That’s it.  no one else.

It’s not easy, but it is simple.  It’s up to you.

And she hugged me.  And said she understood.

And she let me know that she liked the top and the skirt she was wearing and that she would let Gina know that her mom said there is no such thing as a hot 7-year-old. (thank you)

And a little later she asked why I think it is that Gina acts that way.

And I told her that there are just some people who act that way because it makes them feel good to make others feel bad.

And she said

“Yeah, bullies.  But that’s not Gina.  That’s not the way she was a year ago when we were friends…what happened to her?  I want to be her friend.  But she’s making it so hard.”

And that is just one of the reasons I love my daughter.

She is already a better person than I am.

awe-some.

I know I don’t talk about them much but they are still there.  Snuggling up or jumping into my lap, chewing on things and wreaking havoc on my world.

And I love them all (some more than others, no question).  But it turns out three dog is too many when you have four kids. (who knew, right?)

But sometimes.  The planets align perfectly and the dog to person ratio is perfect.

Sometimes the three oldest kids take the three dogs for a “walk” around the family room.

Or dance with the two little ones in the living room.

Or fight to give them treats.  And hold them hostage – I mean play with them – inside their fort.

And then there are just enough dogs to go around.  Barely.

And I feel good about the job we are doing as pet owners.  For a hot minute.

I know that soon we will have two dogs.

Our oldest is 13 years old (that’s him in the photo.) and he limps.  He is old.  And limpy.

And someday soon he will stop limping.

And I will be guilt ridden for the last few months where I steadily ignored him.

Barely managing to remember to feed him.

And still, he was happy to see me.  Overjoyed when I picked up the ball instead of telling him to “go lay down”.

And I know he has had a good life. Especially in the pre-kid years.

But most days lately he is just one dog too many.

And it’s sad.

I am feeling guilty today.  There is simply not enough me to go around.

Just me and four kids aged 7 and under.  At the park, at the store, at a (gasp) restaurant.

At first the looks annoyed me.  And then I laughed.  And then I got annoyed again.

Now, it just depends.

But while my reaction changes from time to time?  The looks don’t.

I struck up a conversation with a very nice lady at the park this weekend as we both swung our 17 month old girls.

chat, push,chat,push, shared moment, laugh.

Then the one-year-old’s two-year-old brother came up to me and I popped him into the swing too.

One question followed – “oh are they twins?”

“nope,  they are 13 months apart.”

“hmmmm.  cute.”

Then my 7-year-old bounced up to ask if she could go in to the sandbox, with her 5-year-old brother.

The two of them dashed over as I reminded them to stay where I could see them.

And conversation stopped.

No problem, I worked on the little man’s words since he’s still not talking.  And kept the eyes in the back of my head peeled on my two oldest.

Kind of one of the calmer moments of my weekend really.

Me with the four kids.

And so I started thinking about it.

And I took a minute to look around.

I was the only one there with more than two kids.

hmmm?

How is it that I never noticed this before?

Four kids is a LOT of kids.

Especially when judged against the local family size.

My friend introduced me to a friend of hers recently and said by way of introduction “she has four too”.

Three is unusual, two is the norm.

We are no longer normal.

That’s not really news either.

We never were.

*****

Another park this weekend. My daughter came up to me as I once again pushed the two little ones in the swing.

Once again next to a mom who thought they were so “cute”  “Are they twins?”

My daughter brought a friend with her.

Both girls wanted me to explain what foster-sister meant.

I explained in 7-year-old language and when the girls happily bounced away to meet up with her “real” brother, the mom turned to me and recited one of the lines I hear all the time now:

god bless you

I could never do that

You have a special place in heaven

Wow, blah blah blah you rock

And so on, and so on.  And don’t get me wrong.  I appreciate the sentiment and good wishes.  I appreciate the intention of the statement.

And I get that they mean well.

But some days all I hear is:  Jesus christ are YOU stupid.

Because  some days, that’s how I feel.

If we are able to adopt these children I will be the proud parent of four kids.  Twice the regional norm.

A family of six is intimidating.

Air fare?!?!?

Eating out?

Eating In?

College?

All of those things that make me sweaty when I think of them.

And some times I am very, very sweaty.

But, while this is not the decision I would have necessarily made if I had all the choices in the world.  This is in fact the decision I made in the twenty minutes between when we got the call for the placement and when we called back to say yes to the placement.

And I chose this.

God bless me.

And they are learning and growing at an amazing rate.

They are two truly fabulous little people.

Filled with laughter and love and mischief.

All the good things toddlers should be made of.

These are not the two children who came to me in February.  Those children were damaged.

And I have spent six months putting them back together.

And once a week I am reminded that they are not mine.

Not mine.

Once a week, and sometimes twice, they go on a visit with their mother.

They call me mama. mommy. (dada.) Every day.

They hug and kiss me daily.

And this poor woman sees them for two hours a week.  Sometimes less.

And last time I dropped them off for a visit?

I had to pry them loose and listen to them cry as I walked away as their mother reassured them:

“It’s okay, it’s mama.  It’s mama.”  I could hear her sadness.

This woman who is pregnant with her fifth baby and never passed the 7th grade has 4 children with a man who has tested positive on his last 8 drug screens.

And he has 4 other kids he doesn’t take care of.

And the state is doing the best it can to give them both as much of a chance as they can to raise their kids on welfare and government subsidies for the rest of their days.

I find myself less and less liberal as days go by.

As I hear about how these two individuals use and manipulate the system to squeeze as much as they can from the state.

It makes me ill.

And it makes me sad.  Because this woman?

She loves her kids.

Not in all the right ways or even for the right reasons.  But she does love them.

And even with that, I know they are better off with me.

And I think in her heart of hearts, she does too.

At the last family planning meeting she cursed about the friend who had taken in her kids when she was too high to care for them and then dropped them off a month later at DHS because she had had enough.

She is very, very mad at this woman.

When I asked her why?

She said it was because she just “dumped her kids”.

And I knew.

I knew that if she ends up losing her children, it will not be her fault.

It will be the fault of the woman who “dumped” them at DHS and got her into this mess.

This woman who took in 4 kids who weren’t hers and then cried uncle when their drug addicted parents wouldn’t leave her alone.

Apparently dad kept showing up and harassing her for money.  The money she was getting for taking care of his kids.

He wanted it.

And so she took the kids and dropped them off with the city.

And if the children end up with another family, it will be this woman’s fault.

This woman who tried to help a friend when she needed it, and couldn’t.

She will be blamed.

The fact that she had the kids because mom and dad were spending all their money on drugs and had lost their housing and were out on the street with 4 kids won’t be the reason.

Because that would mean taking personal responsibility.

And this mother does not understand the concept.

And so.

I hope she loses.

And I hope these wonderful children stay with me.

For more reasons than just because I love them.

Which I do.

They call me mama.

And I act like one.

Full stop.

My father always tells me that this will get me rear-ended one day.

But? By nature I am a rule follower.

It makes me very uncomfortable to bend or (gasp) break the rules.

Some rules.

“The Big Brother” rules.

Like moving up sections at a concert or sporting event.

No no.

I would rather sit in the nose bleeds than worry about being caught.

“Being caught” is a bad bad thing for me.

Which is interesting in that I am a fairly strong-minded individual.

But I also don’t live in the gray* area.

It’s all black and white (ish) to me.

I can’t function in the grey*.

And people who break the rules make me agro.

Line cutters.  They have a special place in hell.

People who get back in line to get seconds when not everyone has their firsts.

People who go into the turn lane just to cut back into traffic to cut ahead.

As my son calls them “budgers”.

No budging.

My inability to break the rules has always bothered me.

I am uptight.

And prudish.

And judgemental.

I have a strong sense of FAIR.

And I don’t like people to not like me.

Anyone.

Even people I don’t particularly respect.

But I am getting better about this last one.

And I am learning to be intentionally manipulative.

I am learning to play the game.

To live in the gray.

Foster care has taught me this.

Because in foster care?  Many of the rules are wrong.

There I said it.

And so I am learning to understand the protocols, the rules and why they exist.

And I am finding the work arounds and I am doing my best to work around them.

Yay me.  I guess…

Everything I do is in the best interest of the children in my care.

Their parents know much more how best to use the system to their advantage.  Clearly.

But I am learning…

–a good lesson?  Not sure.

It’s kind of grey area….

(*I have no idea which is the right way to spell grey so I will use)