This is How We Became a Family

I'm not sure where this one will go, so let's just jump in and figure it out, shall we?

The best place to start a story is at the beginning and this particular story begins when I was four. When I was in preschool we all wrote down what we wanted to be when we grew up, drew a picture of it, and then the school made a big book of all of them and sent it out to every family. As you can imagine it was full of fire fighters, doctors, lawyers, veterinarians.. the usual- and then, there was my page. What I wanted to be, really, really, wanted to be, was a mommy.  As the years went by that wanting never went away, in fact it just got stronger and stronger and more consuming with every year that passed.

I ended up getting pregnant senior year of high school, not recommended, and I was so excited- and scared. I wanted to be a mommy, but I wanted to be a good one, and I just wasn't ready for that yet. My boyfriend at the time and I argued endlessly about giving her up for adoption or keeping her. As it turned out, we weren't afforded the luxury of making that choice. I miscarried over Spring Break, technically I guess I didn't miscarry and I had to have a D&C, whatever. It was heartbreaking and still to this day brings tears to my eyes. I miss my daughter every day and I wonder what she would have been like, who she would have turned into, what her smile would have looked like, everything and anything. As I always do, I tried to take it in stride and pretend that I was ok with it, after all I wanted to give her up for adoption anyway so it wasn't like I was planning on having her, right? Well, as it turns out, there is a huge difference to the heart between making a choice to give someone up and having that person die before you even meet them. As I got older though I started to look at that as a necessary evil. What other way can you look at it without being depressed? Life went on, I dated, fell in love, fell out of love, and everything was fine.

In 2005, after five years of going to doctor after doctor with no results, I was diagnosed with a neural tumor. Not cancerous or anything, but scary nonetheless. What had happened was the nerves in my spine had just kept growing and growing and created a huge jumbled mess, about the size of a football. (Don't even get me started on how the hell a doctor can NOT notice a football sized growth for five years.) Surgery was scheduled and I was going in to be fixed. Because of the nature of the tumor, and the fact that it had wound its way through my intestines and around my ovaries, fallopian tubes, and bladder, the surgery was very long (14 hours) and I didn't have the best odds. I had about a 20% chance of living through the surgery, a smaller chance that I would retain bowel and bladder control, and an even smaller chance than that that I would ever walk again. I am happy to report that I'm alive, still walking, and do not wear a diaper. The other side effect of the surgery- I cannot have children. My fallopian tubes are crushed and my ovaries are non-functioning. My tumor produced small amounts of testosterone, and when it wrapped around my ovaries, it ruined them. As if being diagnosed with something scary and rare (20th person on the planet to be diagnosed), going through a surgery from hell (I was basically cut in half and put back together- recovery from that SUCKS), and spending an entire summer thinking I was saying goodbye to my friends and family for the very last time.. now my life long dream is gone. I was devastated, and then felt ungrateful because I knew I should have been happy enough to just be alive, but I had serious thoughts that not being able to have children made life not worth it all.

About a year and a half after surgery I met my husband. It was instant attraction and we both knew from the beginning that this was "the one". We knew each other for about 3 months before we started dating, got engaged 6 weeks into our relationship, and were married a year later. The hardest thing I ever did was tell him I can't have kids. He's wanted kids his whole life, just like me, and I was afraid that he'd leave. However, my hubby is nothing if not amazing, and he told me that if we wanted kids we'd just find other ways, and if we decided that we didn't want kids, he'd be happy with just me. He is a wonderful man, and I love him more and more each day.

At first we looked into IVF and other fertility treatments, but, wow, is that expensive and we were young and just starting out. $10,000 a month sounded like a lotto winning, not what you pay for fertility treatment, so that was out. When that went out so did donors, surrogates, and every other medical treatment we were looking at. Next, we decided to look into adoption. That too was astronomical. At that time we could afford to take care of a kid if it showed up on our doorstep, but there was no way that we had $20,000 to $100,000 upfront. We were back at square one and had nowhere to turn. I once again felt my dream fading and I was once again devastated. One day we were sitting on the couch watching tv and it was like one of those brilliant a-ha moments- I turned to him and just said, "foster care". I called the agency the next day and 10 days after our wedding, we started the process of becoming licensed foster parents.

The process of being licensed is intense and feels like it lasts forever. There are multiple visits to your home, some unannounced, there are FBI fingerprint/ background checks, 20 hours of mandatory classes which isn't a lot, but still, you turn over all of your bank info, they talk to your family and friends- sometimes without your knowledge, you have to go to a doctor and be completely checked out to be sure that you're healthy enough- they don't want to put kids in your home and then have you drop dead, and that's just the tip of the iceberg. It is, in short, the most intrusive thing I have ever been through. I viewed it as a test, and I think it is, to see how much you really want to do this. We were told that the whole process could take about 2-3 years before we have kids in our house. I gladly signed up to live like that for the rest of my life if I had to, anything to be a mom, any hoop, any obstacle, anything.

Six months later we got a call at 9pm from our case worker asking us if we wanted three kids. Hell yes we did!! We were told to pick them up at the agency the next morning and that is precisely what we did.

I remember the very first time I saw my precious babies. They walked in with a caseworker and stood with their backs to the wall, wringing their hands, and staring at the floor. They were so scared, so lost.. and so damn beautiful. The two oldest were cajoled into coming and sitting by me to color, the baby was put in my arms and we just got to hang out there like that for about an hour. My son, then 25 months, introduced me to his teddy bear and told me all about his love of fire trucks. The baby, then 5 months, fell asleep in my arms and my oldest, barely 3 at the time, had nothing to do with me. Not that it mattered, I loved her instantly, she was, and still is, my soul mate. I would like to protect my children's privacy, so here's some vague back story. Two of my children were physically abused- beaten and burned mostly.. one of my children was sexually abused and repeatedly raped at the age of  23 months and has permanent physical damage and deformation.. one of my children tested positive for cocaine at birth and has Sensory Processing Disorder, which is a blanket diagnosis that encompasses anything from ADD to autism, and we're awaiting further testing.. all of my children were exposed to mass amounts of alcohol during the pregnancy and we are fortunate that this has had no impact on them, we were also the 8th home for the oldest, 6th for the middle one, and 4th for the baby- and she was only 5 months old. As you can imagine, being a parent is hard enough, but trying to parent three strangers that went through all of that is nothing short of absolute hell. They are angry, with every right to be that way.. they don't trust you, here again, understandably.. they want nothing to do with you and blame you for everything that has happened- not because they truly believe it's your fault, but you're the one that's there so you get the brunt of it. Children are not meant to deal with adult issues and it's not pretty when they're forced to.

Wow, this got long. I'll finish it up quickly.

The statistic is that 50% of foster kids go back to their biological family, so even though I now had them in my home, there was no guarantee that they were going to stay. The next year with them was tough. They came around and accepted us, started calling us mom and dad (NO, we never asked them to, or referred to ourselves that way) but the hard part was their biological dad. Their mother had signed away her rights, but he was still holding on for dear life, not that I blame him at all, I wouldn't let them go without the fight of my life either. He was doing anything in his power to screw us over legally. He called CPS on us for mosquito bites (literally, yes), refused to give the kids their clothing or toys, would show up for his visitation when and if he felt like it and do nothing but try to get info out of them about us and where we were, we were dragged in and out of court for every appeal and every stoppage he and his attorney could think of, it was an insane year, but he finally ran out of appeals and we were cleared to adopt. We adopted our three kids one year after they came to live us to the day. The judge asked me on adoption day if I had anything to say. I was crying so hard that day that I couldn't speak so I never got to tell him, but this is what I would have loved to say...

These kids are my dream come true. I hoped and prayed to have kids some day. I went through a lot to get here, and at no point in my baby dreams was I even close to how incredible this would be. We may not have become a family in the normal way, but we are a family. I was put on this planet to find these children, and they were put here to be with me. My entire life is complete and I love my children in a way that I cannot express with words. Thank you so much for allowing me to adopt them because without them I would be completely lost.

In The Beginning

In the beginning there was a mom who wanted to get her children interested in journaling, well that was the excuse anyway, really this was just a ploy to get them to do something calming, expressive,and educational. She created a rule that all family members would journal for 15 minutes before bedtime every night. This rule led her to www.blogspot.com and this is where it all went horribly right, at least that's the expectation.

Tonight is the first night of our "every family member must journal" rule. As usual, I'm the only one who cares about the damn schedule. My son, age 4, is in the downstairs bathroom giving me a play-by-play of the goings on in there, including counting the toilet paper squares and that, fortunately, I "got it the right way this time." Go me. My eldest daughter, age 5, is upstairs. She's supposed to be getting her pajamas on, but instead she's arguing with her 2 year old sister. This is what is considered fun around here- teasing and taunting the baby. I half hope that one day she just smacks her siblings. I often wonder if I'd punish her afterwards. I lean towards no most of the time, and then I wonder if that makes me a bad mom... not keeping the rules fairly and all. Seems like some sort of fairy tale, mean step mom thing to do. Hmm...

Apparently they've solved whatever issue they had as they have now taken the cushions off the couch and are sliding down the stairs. I used to yell about things like that. Now I just keep a first aid kit handy and give them the look that says, "You know you're doing something stupid, right?" Screw it, they have insurance. Besides, it seems to be more effective than time out.

Even though my children are 5, 4, and 2, I've only been a mom for a little over two years and sometimes I think I'm still adjusting. Some background- My husband and I got married in Oct. 2008 and decided to do foster care. We had heard that the whole process usually takes about 2 or 3 years before you actually have kids in your house, so we, blissfully ignorant, signed up for foster care 10 days after our wedding. In April 2009, we got a call asking us if we wanted three children ages 3, 2, and 5 months. We said yes, and 12 hours later they were at our house. That was the real beginning.

I think this is where I should warn you that the purpose of this journal, for me, is to write down every thing I can remember about the last 2 years, and also add to it all the great stuff that happens now that I don't want to forget. I'm hoping that along the way I pick up some "fans", (is that what you call them? Followers seems so cult-y.) to swap parenting advice/ stories and to commiserate with.

I don't have many memories of the very beginning of my mothering- I think I blocked it out for self-preservation purposes. I do remember spending almost every night on the couch with my husband in tears and telling him that I couldn't do this, I wasn't cut out for this, etc. The thing about being a foster parent is that not only do you have kids, but you have kids that are angry and hurting and they blame it all on you. You wouldn't think that 2 and 3 year olds could be very mean or destructive, but you would be sorely wrong. I can't count the number of black eyes I had that first summer, I do know that for an entire month I didn't leave the house because I was worried that someone would think that my husband was beating me. That first summer was torturous hell, until July 16, 2009. That day we had decided to take the kids to the aquatic center for a playdate with some friends of ours. I parked the van, opened the slider door, and my oldest said to me, "You're like my mom, and my friend." She just said it, matter of factly like there was nothing life altering about it. Up to this point she had been the hardest nut to crack, she had seen the most, remembered the most, and experienced the most. At the age of 3 she was a bonafide mom to the youngest two, and she was pissed as hell when I came in and started taking her role over. We butted heads about every little thing, when the baby got fed, changed, napped, if her brother needed to eat his veggies or not, what the rules were.. it didn't matter what I did, she was unhappy and telling me all about it. They were weird, unhealthy conversations to be having with a 3 year old and they always left me shaken. I already felt like my parenting sucked and then this little, tiny child is telling me how I should do it, when I should do it, and telling me every single time I fucked it up- which was often in her eyes. Anyway, I remember her saying that to me and I remember standing there unsure of what to do now. I finally said, "Well, I'm kinda like your mom because I love you and take care of you, and I'm definitely your friend." Then I unbuckled all the car seats, carried a baby and held two hands, and walked to the building, hoping and praying that I wasn't going to burst into tears in the middle of the parking lot. Shortly after that day I had another amazing moment with her, this time at home. I had fed the baby "wrong" and she was correcting me when I told her that it wasn't her job to take care of her brother or sister. She stepped back like I slapped her and her eyes filled up with tears and she asked me, "Then what do I do?". Try to imagine having this conversation with your 3 year old. Heart breaking. I told her that her job was to go play, be a kid, and have fun. She sulked in the corner for the rest of the day and refused to look at me, but she also stopped correcting my every move, and that was the breaking in of my oldest daughter. I'm not saying that she snapped out of it immediately and turned into the bright and amazing child she is now over night, but that's when the tide turned. You should see her now, all sweetness and light.

That was enough reminiscing, now onto the new stuff. Tonight before bed we all took turns praying and my daughter's prayer went like this, "Umm... God? I like you and, um, thank you for my show being on and, um, letting me watch it. I like you. Bye." Then my son said, "To God: I love you very, very much and thank you for Lightning McQueen. That's all." At which point the baby said, "I just like my underwear, not my diaper. I'm done." You may have guessed that this is our first time praying out loud in a group, but if it's this cute every time, I'm going to start making it a daily thing, like this journal.

Now for the rest of the day by day boringness- My mom came over today and stayed with us for lunch and dinner. She brought a desk for my son's room and a bunch of supplies for our craft cubby. Also while she was here, she weeded my garden, which is quite the task. Gardening is something I swear every spring I'm going to have time for so I start growing things and by the end of June it's completely over grown and nothing turns out. Bless my mom for trying though. We've been working on re-doing the house for about two months now. We've turned the dining room into a playroom and turned the back half of the awkward, rectangle shaped living room into the dining room. Now I'd like to get going on turning the master bedroom and bath into the relaxing spa I want, but as usual, the kids come first and I find myself redoing their rooms instead. Ugh.

Alright, the kids are tucked in and I'm still sitting her blogging. That's ridiculous. It's time to not be 'mom', flip on the tv, make a drink, and enjoy my night alone. My hubby closes at work tonight so I won't see him til tomorrow, I love those days.