You Can Say No, But...

When you go through the foster licensing process, there is a special form you have to fill in. It is just a long, long, long checklist of diagnoses and descriptions. You have to say yes or no to each on that list.  My husband and I have filled it in three separate times. 

It is a little like a game. We sit staring at one another as the social worker reads each item on the list. The game is trying to answer the same as your partner.  Not really, our rule is that if one says no, then the answer is no, but still. 

It isn't actually a game, but trying to be playful takes the ick off the process. It feels so wrong rejecting unknown kids based on the things that oughtn't define them. At the same time, it is an important step in the process. First, it compels careful consideration (Accidental alliteration! score!) by the prospective family. You have to talk about what you're willing and able to do. 

When we lived in a teeny apartment, a wheelchair was not an option, so we needed to say no. My husband and I have taken ASL classes and love the language, so we said yes to children who were deaf or hard of hearing. We had two aging dogs, so cruelty to animals was a no-go for us. ADHD and dyslexia are in the water we drink, so those were easy yeses for us, too. If you don't think you can do it, you should say no, because these kids coming from hard places need to be welcomed.

So, you do the icky list. It's rough, but get through it and take it seriously (while you're having fun) and say your no. It matters...until it doesn't.

Yep, that's the catch. Just like with biological kids, there is a lot out of our control with foster and adopted kids. Life happens. And people living in dinky apartments sometimes end up needing to use wheelchairs.

We made our list this time around, too. There are things we said no to that are now part of our lives. The difference is that we aren't talking about abstract experiences or diagnoses. They are our little girls and there is no backing out now--and we wouldn't dream of it.

It Seemed Like Such a Good Idea

 It took days to shake the image from my mind.  My daughter, with safety goggles propped up unsafely on her head, left hand on a piece of wood, right hand aiming a power drill at the same piece of wood, was grinning at me as I entered the area.  To be abundantly clear, her eyes were on ME while her finger was on the trigger of the drill aimed at her hand. Can you see it? I can't STOP seeing it.

The day started so beautifully.  It was a Friday that my husband had off. The girls actually slept in a bit. We had a peaceful breakfast. The weather was nice enough for them to play outside, which they did without a fuss. After a leisurely morning, we thought it would a great idea to spend the afternoon at the science museum.  We had been once before, and it was just the last hour that the place was open.  It went well, so this seemed a great way to fill a few hours.

When we got there, one of our girls was attacked by ADHD FOMO. She couldn't focus on anything because her eyes kept wandering to other areas to see what she was missing. She was totally overwhelmed. 

Next we tried to sit through an astronomy film on the domed screen.  That was just silly, expecting 4, 7, and 9-year-old girls to be still for that long.  Bust.

So we headed for the "Maker" area. Crafting is my girls' idea of heaven. It is the one activity that can occupy the bigs for hours. There were several stations within the area, and I settled into one with the littlest.  The other two wandered around, getting the lay of the land.  They settled in the wood-working area. When the baby followed them, I did, too.

Which is when I got my haunting nightmare image that won't leave me alone.  My husband was setting each up at a different station and had given instructions to the eldest first. Then she apparently ticked every box of instruction and did the opposite. Safety goggles? Certainly not on her eyes. Placement of hands? Certainly right where the drill is going to go. Where do you look when your hand is on the trigger? Well, obviously never at the drill itself. Be still my heart!

Just Be Easy!

My husband and I were talking about parenting the other day. There are times when we feel so successful, and then there are the other times. 

As we shared different stories where we failed to respond well, we saw a pattern. We took turns sharing stories, and they all seemed to go like this. 

A child misbehaves and we handle it with patience, humor, redirection, and calmness. 

That child misbehaves again--repeating the previous action or inventing a new way to be disruptive, disrespectful, or dangerous. And we handle it calmly, the child recovers, and we move on. 

Then that child is downright mean to a sibling, and we facilitate her making it right. 

After two minutes, the child makes eye contact and directly disobeys, "don't-touch-THIS?" style. We take a deep breath and respond like a pro, employing curiosity and remembering that behavior is communication of a need. We discover and meet that need with gentle questions and innovative solutions. 

Then she either does something she can't help, like burps or trips; OR she goes in for a pound and escalates to 11 with no apparent trigger.  Either way, we lose it and blow it. Inside (and sometimes outside) we wail, OH MY WORD, JUST BE EASY!

We keep on keeping on. I think we are improving--every one of us. But we still fall flat on our faces more often than we want. 

March: 2024

Last year, in March 2024, the chaos of fostering was replaced by the chaos of adopted life. My husband picked up a part-time job working on the weekends.  He had to stop attending church. We were on our fifth! I really liked this one, and hoped we would belong for reals soon. My personal prayer life and Bible study were steady.  Perhaps the only steady thing. I knew God was faithful. I knew God wasn't surprised or overwhelmed. I knew He saw, He cared, He supplied.

We had one daughter in a slightly better daycare. I have NEVER had a child in daycare; it was a cocktail of ego-bruising and learning-curve that I did not enjoy.  I have been the daycare provider countless times. Now I was the working mom, exhausted and spread too thin.  What did I care if it was crazy socks day? I was trying to survive.

We had one daughter with me, enrolled in my AM Kindergarten class and my PM PreK class.  It was wonderful spending the whole day with her. She learned how to read, about Jesus, how to play with other kids, and gained some emotional intelligence. We had her in therapy and got some clear diagnoses for a few special needs. Her growth and development that school year was astonishing.

Our middlest child was attending second grade at the public school down the street. Thank God for her first- and second-grade teachers! Both invested in her, rooted for her, and did their best to provide a safe place for her. I also have NEVER had a child in public school. Another blow to my pride and confrontation with inadequacy.  

Our adult daughter was settling into a new job as a vet tech after returning from Sierra Leone on a teaching trip with my mom. It was a lot, but she has enough stubborn in her that when things get hard, she fights. Our son hit a roadblock in December and was recovering from a mental health crisis.  When the kids hit 18, you are not finished parenting. It gets more nuanced. You're backburnered when things are good. When things get rough, you can only persuade and pray your butt off.

God bless all the working moms. It is so much to juggle. And what on earth are you supposed to do when someone gets sick, huh? The life feels impossible.  But, as I mentioned, I had the Best Job Ever, so my boss and coworkers helped me way beyond the call of duty.  

In March, I was still recovering from a concussion I received one morning when the back hatch of our car fell on my head.  I still struggled with fatigue and word salad.  Life was good, but also really, really hard. 

There was always at least one girl going through something that required all of our attention. I felt continually inadequate like I was drowning.  And ungrateful, because I knew my life was good. I was complaining about my blessings.  But my blessings were smothering me.

What a March!

March: 2023

So, in March '22, we were living the dream. We were doing whatever we wanted to. I was looking for a different job, and trying to find a way to fit in at church, but life was easy--except for the unending illnesses we kept contracting from sick preschoolers. In the eight months I worked there, I had Covid twice, Bronchitis three times, flu, colds, pink eye... It would have been laughable had laughing not triggered breathless coughing fits.

If we fast forward to March '23, the list of changes in our lives was long! My daughter moved into her first apartment, oof! I earned a Master of Science degree in Learning Experience Design and Educational Technology. I got a new job (called The Best Job in The World--outside raising kids) working at a preschool a mile from my home as a 3s teacher two mornings a week, a 4s Assistant one morning a week, and a PreK teacher every afternoon. 

I need to pause to say how serious I am about it being the Best Job Ever. That PreK class was phenomenal! My boss was the most supportive and encouraging boss I'd ever had. And my coworkers? I've never met an entire crew of people so wholly dedicated to loving and teaching children. The board (fewer accolades there, tbh) had just approved opening a Kindergarten class for the following year, so my boss and I were dreaming and brainstorming curriculum, advertising, and schedules. So fun!

Oh, and I need to add another little change to the list of happenings from '22 to '23. We got licensed for foster care and were adjusting to doubling our household with three—THREE—little girls! What?!? How did that happen? We were done. Foster care had shredded our hearts. We were in retirement and nearly empty nesters. We were going to travel. I got a cool degree that I could use to do anything. We were dancing.

Well, I will tell you. Roe v Wade was overturned. The church we were attending had a guest speaker who said there was a difference between being pro-birth and pro-life. Being pro-birth was not enough.  To be pro-life, we needed to meet people as they were living through difficult times, "from womb to tomb." 

There could possibly be an uptick in unwanted babies born. It is an awful thing to be unwanted. My husband was deeply moved and announced that afternoon that if God allowed it, we were going to adopt so we could be a home where kids would know they were wanted. Wow! 

So here we were in March, planning a massive uptick in my commitment to work while fostering three little girls we desperately wanted to adopt. In March, we had gotten word that perhaps they would go back to their first parents. I was an emotional wreck. We never intended to actually foster again.  We wanted only adoptable kids. The girls themselves had heavy burdens of trauma, delays, and needs. Caring for one was more than a full-time job. Three? Fugedaboutit.

What a March!

March: 2022

We are scooting along through the years. Between 2021 and 2022, we fostered twins, quit all our jobs, and moved 2,000 miles away. I got a job working at a terrible day care with wonderful people. My students were precious, their families generous, and my co-workers exceedingly special. But the system stunk and the center eventually went under.

I had the wonderful pleasure of partnering with my son in the classroom for a while there. By March, we were actively job-hunting. My daughter was doing brave things working in service to people with special needs. My husband was enjoying retirement. We were learning how to ballroom dance!

We were on our third church by then. I was having a hard time finding my place. That was a new challenge for me. I've had struggles in many churches but never had a problem with just finding a church. I felt stiff-armed and unwelcome. I couldn't find an inroad as a working woman. On the other hand, my husband was veritably collecting men's Bible studies. He joined and continued in each group as we church-hopped.

It was difficult and wholly unfamiliar to not have a church family. It stood in stark contrast to the one we had just left. The members of our small group are people my new daughters know and pray for.  They are phenomenal and I am staggered by the lavish love of our Father to let us be in that group that is now scattered across the states. I love them all so much. And their love has sustained me through this weird church-drought we are experiencing.

During this March, we celebrated our 25th wedding anniversary by taking a sleeper train to see Niagara Falls. It was dreamy. Life was dreamy. We were living our happily ever after. What a March!

Doctor Update

 In case you were wondering, I have an update on our therapy referral. Guess what? We're wait-listed because the therapist is on maternity leave til May.  

So, there we go.

Doctors, Specialists, and Therapists, Oh my!

I'm processing a lot since our girls' last doctor visit.  We have been on waiting lists for various therapies for the entire two years that they've been living with us.  That is a long time.  However, the number of people trained in the treatments recommended for our girls does not match the number of people needing the therapy. And there is an apparent baby boom among these golden ticket therapists, so it seems there are more on maternity leave than there are taking patients.  It's a frustrating situation.

But I am a card-carrying homeschool mom, so I read books, watch videos, and do my best to meet their needs.  I've done this before when my son needed speech therapy, and I got tired of sitting behind a mirror at a university speech therapy program 100 miles (no lie) from home three days a week just to watch people not understand him.  So, I decided to do it at home. The first time that boy said "k," I could have flown!

Later, I discovered my first daughter has the most severe dyslexia of all the dyslexias.  This goes with her over-achieving, competitive personality; if she's going to be dyslexic, then she's going to out-dyslexic all the dyslexics! All the therapies available were through the public school system in our area and I was invested in staying out of that dysfunctional rabbit hole. So, I decided to do it at home.

We participated in therapies for our first foster children and the experiences were overwhelmingly positive.  I learned a lot. Since then, I got my degree in education, with dual emphases in Gen Ed and SPED. The various diagnoses and possible diagnoses of our girls don't scare me very often (mostly).  I feel like I can tackle them with some competency.

Put that on the shelf for a moment with me while I discuss a deeper thing that I don't like talking about.  I have said before that our interactions with therapists and medical personnel for all our foster placements and adopted girls have been positive. But my experiences with doctors for myself and my children have been wildly different. Ask me how long it took to be diagnosed with POTS, and how I was treated until I was. I had an eye doctor throw a pen across the room and storm out because he conducted the entire exam not knowing my contacts were in.  There was the dentist who rested his tools on my chest and grabbed 'widely' to pick them up.  I can't forget the gynecologist who argued with me to get an IUD while he biopsied my uterus.  When I wouldn't give in, he tore off his gloves and dropped them on the floor before walking out.  He left me bleeding on those gloves, shaking.  Whenever my friends went for their visits, he told them that they should tell me to come back to get the IUD, hipaa be damnned. Thankfully the experiences with my kids' doctors tended toward mere incompetence and arrogance.

My point is that I'm scared. So scared that I didn't even recognize it. The girls' current primary said she would try to push some referrals to get therapy going.  I'm grateful.  Relieved.  I need help.  They need help.  It's a good thing.  

But I was cooking dinner that night and making mistakes that would make my poor grandma roll in her grave.  My dinner roll dough took my KitchenAid for a walk across the length of my counter.  I burned my fingers as I tried to get the meat from the drumsticks I cooked.  The entire room looked like I violently decorated it with a 20-pound bag of flour.  I got overheated, so layers of clothes littered the floor because I'd ripped them off and dropped them where I stood.  And then I cried.  And cried.  

My sweet husband came to my rescue, asking me what was wrong.  I asked if we could just pretend that I was on my period because whatever was going on was just as reasonable as that.  He stifled his laughter as he watched me tear at drumsticks and cry that it looked like meat stuck in a dinosaur's maw and that I didn't want to eat dinosaur food.

It took the next 24 hours for me to realize that I'm scared of getting entangled with therapists who'll make my girls' lives harder.  I'm scared that helping in one area could exacerbate dysfunction in others. I worry about getting entrenched and not knowing how to get out.

I have no pat answers yet. It astonishes me that God works on me while I am trying to raise these girls well.  I didn't think this was something I needed to address.  It just is: I don't trust doctors, but I do what I need to for my kids. But maybe changes are coming?

Going to the Doctor

 We made it through three well-child visits! As a side note, when the office called to make the appointments, I misunderstood her and thought she wanted to set up wild-child visits. I thought it was a great term and told her so, asking how she knew how appropriate it was. It is NOT what she said. 

Some of our past visits were fiasco-adjacent. I hoped to establish a solidly positive session to create a frame of reference for what a doctor visit COULD be. We talked about expectations, did some role-playing, and equipped them with the times they could ask to hold a hand, sit on a lap, or say no.

And we did it! My girls are watching Dora as I type this and I want to exclaim, "Lo hicimos!" We left the building with three smiling little girls and two gushing-with-praise parents!

We need to make vision appointments, because it is time, but also as a first step to investigating headaches in one girl. There is a good possibility that they will all need glasses, so we'll need to keep monitoring that.

One girl had a rough visit with an insensitive tech a while back, so she was very nervous.  On another side note, the medical staff we have encountered since getting the girls have all been wonderful.  Most are good at speaking in code above the girls' heads to discuss possibly scary or triggering topics.  All are positive and supportive of adoptions. And they are really terrific with the girls.

Anyhow, the one wonky tech left my girl feeling really scared about going, but after all the prep and the amazing primary we see, she did really well.  Our daughter allowed for the exam and test, so...triumph! 

We have a referral to OT.  We have confirmations on other diagnoses and support for our chosen treatments. And we have a plan for behavior that can't be diagnosed yet. Everyone was on board with avoiding shots to keep things positive, so... triumph again!

We have one little miss who has struggled massively with past visits who did very well and said no when she needed to to certain procedures. But she is triggered, so we will spend hours snuggling, affirming, and watching to see her through whatever is going on in her mind and body that she can't articulate yet.

I have to make myself not cry whenever I go to the doctor with them.  It is overwhelming for me.  I love them. Even with a wildly successful visit as this, the tears threaten. I am proud of their bravery and growth. I grieve the gaps in my knowledge. I grieve the brokenness still evident.  And I am hopeful and thankful that we can do this with the help of a team.

I trust God is never surprised by any of this and is always present.  I go through this life ignorant of so much. But I know a God who knows.  He is enough.  I'm thankful that even though I am failing and stumbling, God is bigger than it all--including my flaws and stubbornness.

Homeschooling Schedule

I have the privilege of being a new homeschooler and veteran homeschooler at the same time.  I started homeschooling a few weeks after my second baby was born so that my 2.5-year-old would have dedicated time with me.  We kept going until that baby graduated high school.  Through those years we moved twice, changed churches a few times, and lived several different lifestyles.  I founded and ran a homeschooling group with friends.  We did tours and playdates.  I wrote entire programs for us to carry out in co-op-style classes.  I also counseled new homeschoolers, getting them set up to school their kids successfully from home. Throughout all that, we had different children in our home because I was either homeschooling or nannying them.  

I've got some experience! But, true to the assertion that there are as many ways to homeschool as there are families, this is new and different.  Schooling three kids specifically NOT from the beginning with more special needs than my first crew and in relative isolation is different. So, true to form, I am learning as I go.

I recently changed our homeschooling schedule because I was really overtaxing all of us by trying to do a little bit of everything each day.  I thought the consistency and small bites would provide routine so that growth would be steady and the predictability would give the kids a sense of safety and ownership of their days.  It's a good thought worth its place, but it was time to wriggle things around.

So now I have staggered days. On Mondays and Wednesdays, we do core work using Sonlight curriculum. That is Bible, Social Studies/History, Literature, and Science.  I use the four-day schedule, so we double up and still complete a week's worth of work in a week.  On Tuesdays and Thursdays, we do extracurricular activities like Spanish, Piano, and Recorder.  Fridays are special because my husband is home every other week, so we go on outings with him.  When he is at work, we do arts, cooking, and messy science projects.  Each day we do Movement, Reading, Writing, and Math.  We also do a preschool-style circle time each day with things like prayer, calendar, weather, and Bible verses and stories.

So far, it's working out pretty well.  I might flip-flop the pairs of days because I chose hefty work on the days we are committed to Choir and AWANA.  But I'm going to wait.  Because the change is about looking at the week as a whole, I'm giving myself a solid month to adjust.

Our daily routine still exists regarding blocks of time.  I am eager to see how the opened space allows for more connection and breathing room.  

I Started Writing This, But Saw Something Shiny

Here we are on day two of looking at some of the issues we have encountered with any of our five kids.  If there were a poster family for ADHD, we might be it.  You should see me trying to write this post!

Starting with my parents, there is not one in my family of origin or current family whom ADHD hasn’t given a big fat squeeze! When you are raised by and with people who have ADHD, it is like water to a fish: I just don’t know any differently. Doesn’t it take your family four hours to leave the house? I thought everyone had trouble with being on time, remembering why they are where they are, knowing they are forgetting something, and having no idea how long any particular task takes. I thought spaghetti-like conversations were the mark of being female because there are so few men in my family.  I thought losing things like keys, wallets, and important papers was common for everyone. I never examined why everyone I am related to is always procrastinating, thriving on self-imposed deadlines, and swinging from hyper-focused to being incapable of finishing anything.  I didn’t know I had ADHD. And then I moved 2000 miles away.

Separated from my ultra-ADHD family members, I started to see myself in a new light.  Flitting from one topic to another during conversation, or one task to another didn’t look so normal. Suddenly, my behavior—and my daughter’s exasperation—finally clued me in that I might share this diagnosis.

And guess what? ALL FIVE of our children have signs of attention deficit.  God chose so well for us!  This is one we know and embrace! When we homeschooled our son, I read to him while he did flips or hung upside down on the couch. Observers doubted his comprehension or retention.  How could anyone pick up on my words with that much activity?  We lovers of people with ADHD know that the truth is that if all his attention went to holding still, he would have none left over for listening. And today you will always find him with little Lego figures in his pocket so he can fidget whenever he needs to.

We can make these accommodations for all our children.  It is a perk of homeschooling to arrange the day to help our kids be successful, turning something like ADHD into an asset!  We alternate active and quiet activities and provide ‘busy hands’ when there is a need to be more still.  The girls illustrate what I read, play with fidgets, sit on inflated textured pillows so they can wiggle in a smaller space, or snuggle under weighted blankets.

Outside of school, we watch their faces and body language to see when we need to intervene before they run into a virtual wall.  We have breathing games to help them slow their brains down. Charts are around the house to help the girls stay on track with various routines. And big, active, or heavy movement is worked into every day.

It took me three and a half hours to write this. I distracted myself. Four daughters took turns interrupting me with their needs.  My husband came and went. And I distracted myself.  By the way, my little series may be interrupted by other posts because focusing on one theme is difficult for this gal!