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| Boy, are we in trouble. |
It’s official. We kept three kids alive for a week. Actually,
we did a lot more than that. We did diapers, practiced discipline, set up a routine,
prepared kids’ meals, gave baths, sang songs, read stories, applied Band-Aids,
learned to use a high chair and buckle car seats. We did not do it alone – I
don’t think we could have at first – but with the extra eyes and ears of my
family, texts and emails from family and friends (full of parenting web links
and tried-and-true advice), and the prayers, donations, gifts and well wishes
of many more. If you are among those who helped, donated or sent happy thoughts
our way, we thank you. If I haven’t gotten back to you yet I apologize. Sometime
before they are all 18 I will write a real thank-you note.
So how is it going? I keep getting asked and rarely have time to
respond. As I write this, Spy Girl is chasing Puppy Boy around the living room
and our toddler is having tea. There’s a fun game of see-if-mom-gets-mad going
on, as she opens and closes cabinets, doors, the freezer. Dad’s at work and I’m
in need of coffee, again. It’s the strangest combination of joy and terror I
have ever experienced. I woke up every morning for the first six days afraid to
get out of bed. There are so many things I don’t know how to do. I thrive on
efficiency and I’ve been too exhausted to finish even the simplest task,
outside of the basic care of the three musketeers.
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It’s 7am now and I’m awake before the children for the first
time. Every noise from our little bird to the coffee machine has me worried
they’ll get up, as I won’t see time to myself again until maybe at rest time,
1:30pm, and if not then, 8:30pm tonight (and that’s only if they stay in bed).
I am not afraid anymore; just very busy and very tired. Seasoned parents will
laugh at my realization that children in theory are altogether different than
children in practice. On the one hand, I’ve had tons of training to prepare to
care for and rehabilitate the weathered souls of these babies. On the other, I
took them to the park on my own one day – packed up three kids into car seats
with drinks and snacks and sunscreen – and 15 minutes in, the oldest had to use
the restroom. There was no restroom.
On day three I got out of the shower and smelled smoke.
Surely Dad has this under control, I thought to myself. I got dressed and
walked in to the kitchen and the 4 and 5 year olds started yelling that daddy
set the toaster oven on fire. They pointed out the back window, where the appliance
sat in the driveway. But where was Dad, I asked? As it turns out, there was a
diaper incident as the toast was being made. Dad hurried off to clean up the
mess, and the toast…well, the toast was toast. The “fire” was a bit of an
exaggeration on the kids’ part. We had cereal that morning.
Our week as parents was a week of firsts. My husband changed
his first diaper. We took our first trip in the car together, drove around the
lake for the first time, saw dad’s movie theatre and mom’s school. More firsts
are on the way as we visit the kids’ new doctor, new church and new daycare in
the days to come. The kids adjust well – too well – as change is the only
constant for many foster children. It’s amazing to me how brave and resilient
they are, considering the hand they’ve been dealt. Literally overnight they had
new rooms, new parents, new toys and clothes and yet somehow they adapt. One of
the harder parts of our job is figuring out which behaviors are those of
typical 2, 4 and 5 year old kids, and which are a result of what they’ve experienced.
We had a problem with bananas disappearing. Our oldest has an excess of anxiety
about kindergarten. The two year old wouldn’t let me pick her up for the first
three or four days, which makes bathing, feeding and clothing a screaming
little muffin quite a challenge. A lot of things got done simply because they
had to be done, one way or another.
“We’re your kids, right?” I was asked at lunch one day.
As for us, the instant parents of three, we are in survival
mode. I closed down Target the first night and Albertsons the second, trying to
get everything we still needed while the kids slept. We have never been so
tired. Dad still has work, and I have two weeks until school starts up again
and my classes fill with teenagers who will now seem like giants. Foster kids
qualify for everything – Medicaid, speech therapy, play therapy, Early
Childhood Intervention (ECI), pre-K – and we are tasked with signing them up
for all of it, immediately. I’m not sure when I’m supposed to find the time to
do it, and in some cases I don’t even know how. Meanwhile, chores that were
weekly are now daily necessities. We’ve never washed so many dishes or produced
so much trash, and we’re doing laundry for five.
As we get to know the children as people it’s clear we have
our work cut out for us. Like most kids they are playful and fussy and fun. Naturally they are confused about who we are to them
and how long they’ll be here. We can’t even give them a straight answer.
They’ve had so many homes that at times we can’t figure out which mommy they
are referring to. At bath time, the oldest has told revealing stories about her
history, explaining to me that since they are new kids, they are not important.
She was shocked that the pink Smurf soap had been bought just for her. The four
year old boy was sneaking off with the bananas, and he tends to hoard his toys.
They got really scared when we drove past a police car. They’re feeling us out,
testing us, trying to discern whether we will take care of them. The two year
old is biting. All those episodes of Supernanny paid off when the oldest
started coming out of bed ten times a night and we first made use of our
calm-down corner. “We’re your kids, right?” I was asked at lunch one day. I
wasn’t sure what to say. You can’t explain the legal process to them, the risk,
the waiting, the complexity…so I just said yes. Of course you are. And hoped it
was true.
