Nubs. And things.

Well, that's it for now, foster parent wise. The little girl is with family.


We will still see our little guy next month, but after that he'll move in with his Daddy.


It's so weird. I'm so tired. How am I so tired? I mean, we're DOWN TO JUST THREE KIDS.


I don't think I'm aware of how much work 5 kids really was. Or being pregnant when the first foster kid came. And not sleeping through the night for the first year of foster kids love because our baby wasn't sleeping through the night. As babies do.


And these kids were work. SO MUCH WORK. With the behaviors and the destruction and the breaking and ripping. And the lying and the stealing. And the yelling and the behaviors. And the attitude.


I feel like I'm floating. I am so tired. Everything is so quiet.


I can say this-


It's been a crazy since we starting taking in other kids. I think we adjusted well and stepped up. Having a big family of five takes a lot of effort, planning and above all, love.


I'm proud we did this and proud we opened our hearts to these kids. It may not have been perfect at times, but we did it.


We learned so much! These experiences have drawn us closer to each other.


I know we want to do it again.


But first. Let me take a nap. Regrow some tissues that have been worn down to nubs.


<3 nbsp="" p="">

Waiting on the porch

Our foster kids will be officially out of our lives in the next few weeks. Our foster daughter goes tomorrow. After two years, it's only a matter of days.




It's a struggle not talking about this to everyone and keeping things short when I do.


It is unbelievably complex and I can't even. So if you see me. Just hug. Don't ask. Just hug.




I. JUST. CAN'T. EVEN.




Let's explore the rainbow of emotions shall we?


It's my blog,  so I guess we shall.




Anger.




Last week, I picked the little girl up from her relative's house. It was her weekly hair appointment/excuse for a visit. They give me breathing room. I am a white woman and I cannot do her hair in dreadlocks, corn rows or extensions. I've given it my best shot. From now on, whatever black child comes through my home--her hair will be done by relatives or professionals. I am maintenance only. And even then, lower your expectations!




I arrived to pick her up. I stood awkwardly on the porch while she hugged and kissed 40 relatives in the living room. She came out with pieces of paper that had phone numbers. So she can keep in touch with relatives.




I was angry. Angry that they never EVER have her ready on time and I'm always standing there. Angry that whatever the frick phone numbers she gets --won't be in service a week from now. Angry that not ONE OF THOSE 40 RELATIVES can take her. NOT ONE. No one was deemed stable enough. They all have criminal records, evictions and active drug addictions. Well, maybe not all, but enough to deem them unfit parents for my foster daughter. Also, I'm not sure they all raised their hand to take her either.




So go ahead, make me wait on the porch. 




And lastly, angry because I feel their pain. It's only a screen door, the pain flows right through. So I have to deal with that pain and mine. They love her. They want her to be with them. They are not appropriate. They can't.


So go ahead, make me wait on the porch.


She's moving two hours away to dad's side of the family. Visits will stop. Plus, they are black. Dad's family can do her hair just fine.




Sad.




It's sad because she's been our daughter for two years and now she's not. It's sad because even though she has reactive attachment disorder, she's attached to us through sheer force of being here for so long. Sad because her behaviors have escalated and are out of control. Sad because this is common for kids who transition to other homes. Sad because I wanted to adopt, but she not the right child for us. We are not the right family for her.




Sad because she's going. Sad because this is effecting her. Sad because she knows mom isn't doing well and she's still not going to be with mom. Sad because she still believes Mom will come get her. And go to Disney land. And move into a big house. Sad because I can't be there when she realizes mom is never go to do that. Sad because she'll never stop believing this. Even when she's grown, she'll still have a need her mom can never meet. 




Slow




I am moving so slow. Both mind and body. I have three calendars to keep me on track the next few days. Running plays like a quarter back. Without the plays I cannot keep my own name straight.


Here's the play for the next few days:


Today:


1. Go home. Change out of work clothes. Rest a bit. Pick up toddler from day care and get sushi from grocery store. Go home, make dinner. Kids to bed. Make photo CD of the hundreds of photos for her family that's she moving to. Go to sleep.


Tomorrow:


1. Crossfit 5 am, come home, shower. Make breakfast and wake up kids. Drop them off at various activities. Come back home. Scour every room, nook and cranny for anything we haven't packed. Leave no stone unturned. Pack everything that is hers. Make sure I pack CD, state insurance card and tube of skin cream. Bring packed bags to car.


Get kids from activities and bring them home. Hug and kiss her for the last time.


Go to work.


While I'm at work Mr. Hall will drive her down for the final drive.


Day after tomorrow:


1. Crossfit 5 am, shower, breakfast, weight watchers at 7 am. Go to work..... and wait to see what comes next. And deal with it.


OK TEAM!


BREAK!