Wednesday, May 17, 2017
I filled out no less than 56 pages for our adoption from foster care application. All manner of personal, medical, housing and financial questions were asked. The state wants to know all the things. So, I parked my butt in the minivan, drove to a wooded park on a sunny day and KNOCKED IT OUT IN 3 HOURS. BOOM!!
Mr.. Hall was less enthusiastic about the paperwork. Revealing your tax information to strangers on a wink and a prayer that there are kids out there, that we can adopt, was something he grumbled at. He's not convinced this will actually work. Most kids in foster care either go back home or are adopted by their foster families. Just adopting from foster care is a least likely scenario. So, all of this may be for nothing and I understand his groaning. I don't care though. I'm not doing anything else right now.
There's a lull in the House of Hall. Our middle son, the genius Mac, has come along nicely with his defiant tendencies, ADHD and giftedness. Very blessed times as of late. Medication and therapy are going super helpful. Him maturing to age 10 helped immensely. Still some struggles, but Rome wasn't molded in a day.
Our oldest, the wee 14 year old Pancake, she's coming along too. All righteous indignation and very much knowing she's correct. Not even a question. Here's a typical conversation.
Me: I don't even want to discuss things with you anymore, you don't listen, you just wait to jump in to...to school me ...
Pancake: That's because you're wrong.
The crazy part is I totally remember this at her age. The fighting energies. The good fight fighting energies. I still have them. They continue to serve me well.
I think Mr. Hall and I are really into our kids. We love them and know them. It's a bit weird now. They are shaping who they are, based on their likes and wants. Which again, weird. Little kids are easy, it's all about nap times and snacks. Older kids like to discuss communism and the concept of infinity. All the while rolling their eyes at your aged wisdom when they struggle. Because parents are wrong. Like Jon Snow, we know nothing.
These are good problems to have. Watching our older kids outpace our intellect. Watching them grow and being tall people. Give us lip because we're morons.
We love though. They love too. We all still love each other and share a common, snuggly bond. We genuinely enjoy each other's company. I could not be more blessed.
So yeah, it's time to add more kids.
Thursday, May 11, 2017
Just a head's up. This is a long and somewhat sad post. But man up. It's a good read and gets better at the end. Plus it took me a long time to write and I spent a lot of time on it. It does no good just sitting here unread.
(here's my littlest son, the one that came after my miscarriages)
Went to a continuing education conference. There was an ob-gyn speaker who had much experience with high risk pregnancies and treating women with infertility. My goal was to go and learn how he handled the women, so I can better help with the helping that I do do. It was near lunch time.
It went wrong. He talked a lot about miscarriage and the trauma of losing babies for these women he helps. I was not expecting this, but what did I expect? His session was part of a whole truama informed care conference. He deals with ob gyn trauma, which is often about baby loss of all kinds. He recited women's narratives throughout his teaching. Stories and stories of loss.
Like eighty percent of women everywhere on this planet, I've had miscarriages, two of them. This was four years ago. Imagine my surprise as I began to lose my shit while listening to these stories. I thought I was healed. Healed enough anyway. I chomped aggressively on the inside of my lower lip. This held the tide for a while.
Then came the story of a woman who had lost a baby she held her arms. Family comforted her. They said, "You can have another baby, it'll be ok." And the woman said, "I don't want another baby, I want the one I lost".
I began heaving and sobbing uncontrollably. Biting the lip no longer held it in. All of this at my professional conference. With my nice suit and fancy new laptop. All grown up nurse practitioner. I shot up then rushed to a bathroom stall. After letting the flushes and sink water gushes die down, I was alone. Grabbing the toilet paper for stability, I let some of the sobs out. It echoed loudly. This could not be helped.
I kept thinking I have to go back and get my laptop. Once I could walk again, I did just that. My new work colleagues were at the table of this plus hotel conference room. All linen table cloth and glass ice water pitchers. I had only started this job a month ago. They didn't know what had happen to me. They weren't part of it four years ago. I hoped they thought I was having a migraine or something.
Moving my body forward, my eyes were stuck to the floor. This felt good. I noticed most of my stuff was on the chair, under the table. That was a blessing as I half hid under the table, reaching up to grab my things. I liked the hiding. It was helpful.
Now that my goods were gathered, I hightailed it to my car. Managing all five floors of the concrete parking garage on choppy legs. I flung myself into the car and started animal howling. Rocking and going out of my mind. There was a slight awareness of social protocol, of how I appeared, but I did not care. I let it all come because there was no choice.
It was a bitey cold and gray rainy day. I've never been so thankful for car heaters and heated leather seats. And soft music from the radio. These were gluing me back together as I wailed along.
Somewhere in my mind, I became aware of time and the need to go back to the conference. I knew that to get reimbursement, I'd have to return and actually attend it. Part of me didn't care. Screw the 200 dollars. I'd just be honest why I couldn't go back. I've had two miscarriages and this lecture was too much too bear. My arms and hands fond the itinerary folder to check. There was a full hour and half to decide what next.
I decided on lunch. It was good fortune that I was in the city where Mr. Hall and I had lived together while dating. We were so young and all about each other. It was just us and I was in nursing school. It was perfect. It still is. The boho coffee house where slipped out one day and bought the ring--that was right down the street.
I ordered the chicken tortilla soup, turkey and bacon on rye and a cafe au lait. It came with a bag of chips. The food was divine. I nom nommed and read the small town paper. The journalism was quaint and comforting. More nom nomms and my shoulders went down. The bacon was perfectly cooked which is no small feat. Perfectly flat, dry but not crumbly and just enough bite with the salty goodness. At that point, I was missing a spoon. I was too heavy to move. I didn't want to talk to anyone. At all. I opened the chips and scooped my soup accordingly. They held the chicken tortilla deliciousness quite well. Very tasty lunch indeed. Better now.
I called Mr. Hall while ensconced in my heated leather seats and heater full blast. I told him what had happened. I told him that I won't ever be done with missing my babies we lost. He won't either. I know I'll hold them in Heaven and will call out their names, Jon and Chloe. They are safe and in an amazing place that I can't even fathom. And we comforted and loved through the mobile lines. I started to breathe and felt very much better.
Labels: healing from a miscarriage
Thursday, March 30, 2017
Last night I had a dream where a young lady had become pregnant. She was older teenager and had a mom and dad. Everyone said get an abortion and rallied to arrange this. The daughter, her mom and dad went along with the community's assessment and planning of things. The community had done this in love. The family piled into the car with inky black skies covering them. This drive was known to be the drive to the clinic. Folks gathered round for a send off; to support the family, waving and cheering. The daughter, mom and dad all smiled and knowingly nodded at each other. They simply drove away, skipping town. Leaving it all behind.
They pulled up to a new house. There stood a huge, barren black tree in the yard. The man spoke, he was a tree man. He saw them and shook like a dog fresh from the bath. Twigs and dead branches broke off. Sort of like a hair cut.
That was it for my dream. Loved how the family bucked the system and rallied to create their own path. Love how they didn't fight the well doers and just did their own thing.
I'm sure this is very much my life, in this dream. We are less than a month from our meeting with the state. It's an informational meeting where in we begin the process of adopting from foster care. I'm not telling a lot of folks because a lot of folks give me the stink eye, in one form or another. Often well meaning stink eye but sometimes downright hostile. There is a lot of fear and myths about adopting from foster care. A lot of questions about why more kids since we have three. A lot of stuff I'm done answering.
I have no frame of reference for this life I've been blessed with. I grew up with just a brother. My husband grew up with a slightly unhinged mom, two sisters and no dad. He says he was a late bloomer. Thick coke bottle glasses. Flooded with hormones, poor social skills and no direction. This is the common theme of him growing up. I believe this is a blessing. He has loads of help he can offer our kids as they struggle. Because he struggled mightily and won. He's very charming and good looking now.
For me, growing up, my common theme was plowing ahead. Going for it even if I had no idea how. Just doing it because it called to me. At the center of it all, has been a quality heart. The driving force has been love. I care and want to help people. It's what God built me for. In a way, He also built me to buck the system. To go against what is comfortable and safe. Because His love cannot be denied.
So maybe this is a strength. I'm done fighting or explaining to the naysayers, no matter how they are trying to help. I'm done because it's already happening. God moved my heart when I was 19 years old, working as a 3rd shift waitress at a greasy spoon. I was a complete idiot and could barely take care of myself. I was not saved. I didn't know God then. But miracles were happening. I knew that I could be a mom, that I could adopt one day. Over 20 years later it's happening. It's just a matter of time.
And the tree part is true too. Got may hair did yesterday. It had been four months and man the dead ends and disheveledness. I got highlights and everything. Looking fantastic today.
Monday, March 13, 2017
I've had a federal job which involved 45 pages of paperwork, including listing all my addresses from age 16. We've been foster parents for 4 years which included about 100 pages of background checks, references etc. So we've contacted the agency that arranges adoptions from foster care, they're sending us a packet. Of paperwork.
It's just very weird. Why can't folks share these things? Why doesn't federal paperwork trump it all? Well I guess, that's not how it works.
So how does this work, I mean in the real life sense? I mean, I've been thinking about this for quite some time, since I was 19. I'm 41 now. With three bio kids. Married x 16 years. How do we add one or two more?
There are children out there free and clear to adopt from the foster care system. I know because when I signed up, to get the paperwork, I was 'matched' with 31 sets of kids. I reviewed most of them. Some of have issues we can't take on. It's the ones with incest and sexual abuse. It's not that we can't taken those kids in, it's that it places our kids at risk. Our level of supervision is not at that level. Saying no is sad and harshly pragmatic. My husband can't stomach the process of combing through files of kids we've been matched with. Imagine going to the humane society only it's real live kids staring at you.
I'm not sure how I'm ok with it. I am though. I take strength in knowing what we can do and who we are. I know what we have to offer as a family. There is something like 400,000 kids waiting to be adopted from foster care. Reading super sad back story after super sad back story doesn't get to me though. I know we can provide a home for two.
I have fears. Fears that it's so much work. Which Mr. Hall guffaws about. The work is really his. He works from home and takes the calls from school, the picking up in the middle of the day because of behaviors. He works the systems and behavior charts. He is seen as a leader to theses kids because they've often never had a dad and wow do they all love Mr. Hall. We've had 10 foster kids in the last 4 years and yeah, they love and listen to him first. Which is wonderful.
So where do I fit in all this? What can I do to help? How do I facilitate what I already see in my head and heart--a family with 5 kids? My cooking is subpar. But I've mastered making tasty meals no one the less. I'm taking better care of myself, eating better and working out. I've stepped up the massages for Mr. Hall which is his love language.
And the paperwork. "That 30 pages is all yours babe", says Mr. Hall.. and so it shall be ;)
Monday, February 27, 2017
I've been a mom for 14 years now. At this point, I'm pretty good at it. CASE IN POINT.
I get a call from day care. My littlest, River, age 4, has puked. I get over there. He's sitting on a child size bench. Little tissues clutched in puffy hands, sniffing and looking sad. I'm wrapping up his puke stained clothes and hear it. The sound of more puke coming up. I grab a near by garbage bin and he explodes streams of reds and blues. I say, "Good job throwing up!" This encouragement is needed. He's scared because when you are four and berry vomit is coming out of your mouth--this is not a normal event. So I normalize and praise. NOT horking down berries until you puke is a lesson we'll save for later. The puking stops. I GET NONE OF IT ON ME OR MY GIGANTIC, FLUFFY WHITE SCARF. Which is around my neck and touching the garbage bin. I'm just that good!
Bodily fluids are easy. Short people are easy. You are bigger then them. You can often correct things with a time out or a taken toy. My daughter is not short anymore. Argues like her mother as well. You can't really give the 'mommy stink eye' when you are at eye level with your child. Houston, we have a problem here.
It's easy to see her as older than she is. When your child uses big words and talks big ideas you can forget how old they really are. It's amazing how she feels completely right about her own reality. There is so much true in such a life, but very little lived wisdom. And that's where it gets complicated.
I'm a believer in listening to kids and trusting them. Fourteen doesn't mean she's to be automatically discounted. Plus, she's older than her two brothers. It's nice having a deep discussions with another, almost woman, in the house. I can totally see us being friends when she is full grown.
But for now, the world is largely abstract and she doesn't really care for rules. Which is why she was late for school 10 times last semester. This was not corrected by me cajoling, threatening, yelling or punishing. It took a 'truancy' hearing with the vice principle and the school cop to get her attention. Her age is the age of self centeredness I guess. Reality is like the landscape outside a moving car on the highway. Vague and sometimes pretty to notice if you happen to look that way.
We spoil our children. I know. We do. And I made the mistake of trying to reason and talk to her like a full grown up. All ten times before the truancy hearing.
So when homework was marked late for the 6th week in a row, I switched tactics. I took her phone and she cried and begged. So now, she has the power to earn the phone back with diligent doage of chores and on time homework. So far, much improvement has been noted.
Maybe it's not so complicated after all?
Wednesday, February 8, 2017
1. Before I left my old job, I had a chance to lunch with my possible replacement. We went to one of those sandwiches and soup type shops. A chain restaurant that is super overpriced. Organic carrot soup, gluten free buns, bags of chips on the side... blah blah. Five minutes in-- I was done with her. She was not right for the job. Call me judgey. Go ahead.
She was older. This is not why she was wrong for the job. She was older and well into her career which provides itself with certain creature comforts. I am now in the summer of my career. It's getting nicer. People cater to you a bit more. Bonuses happen. I had a special chair ordered for my new office without even asking for it. This is what she had grown accustomed to.
This was not happening with my old job. She had been a nurse practitioner for a long time but not in mental health. Which makes my old job entry level for her. If one is entry level, one must be humble. She wasn't. One must be willing to suck it up because it was a government job. No perks. Because government. She wasn't.
Her entitlement and attitude put my teeth on edge. All within the first 5 min. The food was actually very good. The soup was layered and lovely. They had some fresh crusty bread, perfect for dipping.
She turned down the job the next day. I hold myself responsible for the quick no. I told her she wouldn't like it and wasn't a good fit. Honesty was the best policy I think. Plus, I was leaving so screw that, I'm not going to cater or wine and dine her. No one wants a practitioner that is bothered to even be there. Like I said, screw that!
2. Olive garden. Love the over cooked and heavily sauced pastas. The delish salad. The breadsticks disappoint though. Whattayagonna do eh?
I had my favorite nurse and my favorite doctor with me. The ones who had been my coworkers and friends for the last eight years. It was a private goodbye lunch and I was so sad. We were all sad. Then in the middle of it, my vision became blurry. Like someone was pouring liquid mecury in my visual fields. I could see maybe 50% above eye line. I knew this to be an ocular migraine. Painless but I couldn't see. I kept talking though. Kept laughing and soaking up the love. This was not going to stop the love fest that was my shrimp scampi lunch!
It was phenomenal that lunch. Top three in my life.
Labels: lunchies munchies
Tuesday, February 7, 2017
We are the Halls. We've been looking for you. We are a wacky bunch. I'm Miss Stephanie. I steer the crazy ideas and untold expansion of our tribe. When I was 19, I had an idea of wanting to be a foster mom. Back then I was really, REALLY not capable of such things. But I chugged along, met your father, we had your sister and two brothers. Somewhere along the line your mom had you and a few others too. I'm sad that your mom and dad can't be what you need. So we want to be that for you, a mom and a dad.
It's probably too early to talk about this. We haven't even met yet. All we have is a photo of you two. Our social worker called your social worker and we're waiting to hear back.
But these are details darlings.. details....
If this works out it will be epic. We are a fantastic family. We like doing stuff. Going places. Eating tacos on Tuesdays. Any days really. We have a dog. She's fantastic too. We've been taking in kids for four years before we came across you and you.
If it all works out I can promise you this, I am a very loving mom. I have a lot of strong opinions about so many things big and small and can't wait to hear yours! Do you like tomatoes? Are you a fan of sharp cheddar? Do you sing in the shower? Can you do a cartwheel? Would you like to learn? Can you run faster than me? I'd like to see ya try!
But promises... I promise we're not perfect. That much will be clear. I get overwhelmed and cry sometimes. I get to hung up on things. I don't cook very well but what I can cook, I cook a lot of. I sometimes forget small people are just learning, so I pile too much on their plate. Sometimes I let things slide and need to ad just the right amount more! I'm still learning how to be the best mom. I know you'll both be great teachers!
I can promise I love Mr. Hall. He is really a great daddy. He's strong and patient. He's funny too. He's the best husband in the world and will show you how to love and be loved little girl. And he'll show you how to be a good husband and dad little guy! Our kids know you're coming, even the little 4 year old. He doesn't know what that means. I'm not sure we do either!
We do know our hearts are open and waiting. We are ready for you. And just like with our other kids, you both are very VERY wanted.
see you soon my cuties!