Dining Room Table

For the past two years, our little family of seven squeezed around a tiny table.  Breakfast, lunch, dinner; laid-back Sunday night meal or Thanksgiving feast; first dinner as a large family sitting together during a weekend DHS-supervised visit or last week's rushed eating-in-shifts brunch: it didn't matter.  The hub of eating excitement in our little home consisted of four matching burnt-orange-cushioned dining chairs and three old card table chairs, an occasional inside-joke pineapple table cloth, and one small round can't-complain-cuz-it-was-free (but be sure to keep your elbows tucked into your ribs or else you'll be jabbing your neighbor every time you reach for your plate) dining table.

For two years.

This past weekend, I turned 30.  Everyone around me seemed to think turning 30 should be a difficult, somewhat heartbreaking, possibly part soul-crushing experience, but frankly it felt like any other day.  Except that my kids let me sleep extra late.  And when I ventured into the not-the-silent-comfort-of-my-bedroom area of the house, they were still alive and breathing and not tattling on each other and then showered me with cards and sweet homemade gifts.  And my husband told me several times in one day how amazing I was / am / have always been / am sure to continue to be.  (He's right, of course.)

Oh!  And, we bought a new dining room table.

At a garage sale, but does that matter?!  (Except that it's a beautiful, flawless, 8-feet-long-with-the-leaves-in table on which I did my first bargaining-at-a-yard-sale business and managed to talk the original owner down $50.  So, 30 was off to a good start because of this little table!)

Anyway, so we got a new dining room table.  The chairs actually match, though we to added a bench on one side to accommodate our little family.  The shiny new dining table makes the dining room look shiny and new too... which in turn makes the rest of the house look pretty darn awful, but I'm considering it a step in the right direction.

I digress.

Our new dining room table -- It's exciting, in our little home.  The kids sit a little taller.  They lean over the table a little more with their food & drinks (somehow our new table reminds them that we don't want more stains on the horribly-stained carpet).  They need fewer reminders to keep their elbows off the table or, you know, to eat not like a feisty (but cute!) little animal.  They say things like, "Hey, let's not argue because we're sitting at the dinner table" or "Look, Mom, did you see that I'm showing good manners at the new table?!"

But you know?  Eventually the newness will wear off.  The kids will fling manners out the window and will forget inside voices or even I-wasn't-born-in-a-barn habits, and eventually the big new exciting table will just be a big table, sitting in our dining room, where we eat our meals together.

And, when that happens... it will be okay.

Fancy or not-so-fancy, breathing room or built-for-2-but-seating-7, dining room tables are where memories are made.  We talk about our day.  We play silly games while we're eating, like "I'm going on a trip and I'm gonna bring a..." or "Guess what song I'm humming".  Little moments trigger memories of birth parents or of life before we were a family of seven -- and then I'm blessed with a small glimpse into the past, as our youngest four stumble over each other trying to describe what once happened so long ago.  We laugh until we can't breathe, or we have serious discussions about good character and conquering the lies that take over sometimes.  We learn table manners, but we also learn a little about how to treat others: be kind. forgive others, even if they elbow you in the face while grabbing the ketchup.  listen more than your speak. pass the salt & pepper together, because friends stick together - always.

Dang, new things are exciting, but it doesn't really matter where we eat.  As long as we do so together, as much as possible.

So, I guess that's what our new dining room table has reminded me:  One day, our kids will look back, and they won't remember the delicious food or in which chair they sat or what color the cushions were; instead, they'll remember the laughter, the stories, (hopefully the necessity of manners) and the knowledge that my kids were important enough for me to put everything else aside and just sit.

Un-truths & Consequences

When my kiddos get angry or upset, they spew out all sorts of lies.  Maybe it's better to call them 'un-truths', because I think in those heated moments my kids really do believe some of the awful things they're yelling.  "I hate being here!  I'm leaving.  I'm moving out right now and there's NOTHING you can do about it!"  ("I'd rather go back to DHS!" is a particular favorite.) "You never listen to me.  It's like you don't even care."  "You're mean!  [Insert name of previous care-giver] NEVER treated me this way.  I hate you!"  And when they're really hoping for an impact: "You can't tell me what to do.  You're not my mom!"

 

Then there's the new one, used several times recently.  "It's not fair.  Adults never have to face consequences." 

I can see where, as a child/teen, you might think that. No one takes my phone privileges away, no one sends me to my room or gives me extra chores, no one lectures me (or, uh, "inspiring insight") on the difference between right and wrong. 

The irony, of course, is that the consequences I frequently face are so much greater than a silly phone or time spent staring silently at a wall.

Almost every waking moment (and frequently some sleeping moments) is spent working to make my kids' futures so much brighter than their pasts.  Whether I'm driving to/from sports practices or music rehearsals, or sitting quietly as my daughter or son finally verbalizes years of burdens that have been weighing them down, or simply cooking dinner or washing laundry -- making my kids' lives as awesome as possible and doing my best to take their pain away are my main goals in life.

So when I'm having a bad day and get frustrated easily, or when I snap at one child because another has used all of my patience, or when I misunderstand a situation and make incorrect accusations -- when my split-second decision causes my kids to hurt in any way... my phone doesn't matter.  No time-out is necessary.  A rant about what I should have said/done is pointless.  Because I. caused. my. kids. to. hurt. 

And then there are the consequences I face because of nothing I've done and everything I'm trying to undo, consequences for stories that were written long before I became part of them.  I'm not complaining - I'll face these consequences over and over if that's what I need to do -- but consequences?  Yes, I know about those.

I've tried explaining this to my kiddos, but it's usually met with an eye-roll or a weak head-nod.  They just can't fathom the possibility that I could love them so much that when they hurt, I hurt.  That I begged to adopt them because I don't want them to hurt anymore.  That I want their life to be absolutely amazing and nothing less.  That when I know I've caused them pain, I spend the next minutes - hours - days trying to figure out how to fix it.  That when I see them hurting and there's NOTHING I can do to help except cry with them... I feel like I'm failing at my most important job.

Ahhh.  This parenting thing.  It'll keep ya up at night.

One Mom's Ramblings - Part 3

(Originally posted to my FB on January 30th, 2016)

This past summer, two weeks after we'd been told that the kids were officially "home" and we could begin working towards finalizing the adoption, we took a family trip to Texas. It's sort of a strange experience, road-tripping with kids you've really only known for a few months but whom you know you'll be spending the rest of forever with. I think it was sort of a "baptism by fire" - We learned about each other (the good, the bad, and the ugly stuff) pretty quickly, ha!

We knew then and we know now that we have a long, rough road ahead. But Patrick and I are blessed with an amazing opportunity to prove to five beautiful kids that the past doesn't determine your future and that there is a whole world out there, waiting to be explored and changed for the better.

I LOVE my kids and think they are incredible, but I'm very aware that their heartbreaking pasts are not unique. There are something like 108,000 kids in America, sitting in foster care and waiting for a forever family. Many will "age out" of the system this year, facing Christmas, birthdays, great joys, terrible fears -- alone, without a family to support them.

Adoption is hard. But, then again, so is life. No one should have to face it alone.

Victory? I'll Take It.

(Originally posted on my FB on January 27, 2016)

Tonight at bedtime, Goose plugged her ears during the prayer, turned her head when I kissed her cheek, crossed her arms when I gave her a hug, and started whining and crying the moment I stepped away from her bed. Sensing an impending tantrum, I immediately laid down on her floor and "fell asleep".

Sure enough, she announced she was getting out of bed. When I didn't respond, she obnoxiously crawled out of bed. She said, "I'm leaving the room", and, after waiting a few seconds, she stomped out of the room. (I could hear her cute little feet stomping around the hall. I think she might literally have been stomping in circles outside her door.) A few minutes later, she stomped back in and said, "Fine. I'm getting back into bed but first I'm turning the light on." After waiting for me to argue, she turned the light on and stomped back to bed.

And then she waited.

I was 'still asleep'.

Finally, she whispered, "Mom. I'm back in bed. May you please come tuck me in again?"

I looked up - surprised, of course, because I had 'been asleep' - and yawned. "Oh! I'd be happy to! But I tuck people in when the light is turned off and they are silently in bed." Naturally, I fell back asleep.

Sometimes I feel like I'm failing at this parenting thing. But when she tiptoed to the light, turned it off, tiptoed over to me and said, "I'm sorry for being rude, Mommy", and then silently climbed into bed... I thought, "Hmmm. Maybe I'm doing okay after all."

Small, but it was a victory. Gotta take 'em where you can get 'em.

One Mom's Ramblings - Part 2

(Originally posted on my FB account on January 25, 2016)

Just as I thought our little family had hit rock bottom, the ground disappeared again. It's been such an awful feeling, not knowing if/when we'll stop falling.

When my oldest son asked me what was wrong this afternoon, I told him I had a terrible headache. That was true, but, more than that, I was (am) exhausted. Physically, emotionally exhausted. And so he quietly crawled into my lap and just sat there, "to help [me] feel better". It's funny...that moment did nothing for

 my headache but everything for my soul, and somehow I think he knew that's exactly what I needed.

Our little family is falling right now, and it's a terrible feeling, I won't lie. But eventually we'll learn how to fly. Together.

One Mom's Ramblings - Part 1

(Originally posted on my FB account on January 12, 2016)

This evening, I am worlds apart from the emotional high of finalizing the adoption. My jitters today are not joy but instead worry. My heart is full - filled to the brim with pain for my kiddos for all the heartaches that even time can't completely erase. My mind is reliving today's tantrums and dreading the next - and wondering when "This is forever. I promise." will be enough.

Parenting is hard. Parenting kids from tough places, who have "lived" more in their short little lives than I will in my lifetime... It's unexplainable. Unimaginable, until you've lived it.

Venting on FB has never been my thing, but in the past several years I've realized that adoption (particularly through foster care) has a pretty negative stigma attached to it -- and there's an awful lot of ignorance about adoption out there too. From the belief that I am somehow less of a mom because my kids are all adopted to the fear that kids in foster care have "too many problems" and "aren't worth the trouble"... I've heard it all and am continually blown away.

So, I'm determined to change my little corner of the world. Even if that means long FB rants

Life right now... It's hard. I knew going in that it would be, and I can honestly say that nothing surprises me at this point. But guys, it's hard. My kids are hurting and there is nothing. I. can. do. about. it. Oh sure, there are lots of temporary fixes, and we are working on long-term solutions... But I can't change the past, and that's really the only thing that would "fix it" completely right now. My kids know I love them though -- and that is exactly what inspires them to scream "I HATE YOU!" and "I DON'T WANT TO BE HERE! I'M LEAVING!" We hurt the people who love us most & who we love most -- and my kiddos are no exception to that rule.

But how would YOU act if the world taught you to hate because any love you give is always thrown back in your face?

My kids are hurting. Kids in foster care are hurting. Every hateful word, every temper tantrum, every anger-filled rage -- they're cries for love, for promises of forever, for proof that today's mistakes won't destroy hope of a better tomorrow.

My kids deserve love. They want to be loved. Remembering that is...easier sometimes than others. Whoever said loving is easy needs to come talk to me. IT'S NOT. But my kids are worth it. Heck, I'd walk through fire for them. It just so happens that they're making me prove my dedication right now

 but doesn't every child deserve to know that?

If you're still reading this, I hope you will one day consider foster care or adoption. It's hard. Scary sometimes, even. But if not us, who? Who will teach these kids what love is? Who will teach that hate destroys but love - true, unconditional love - makes us whole?

Faith, Plans, and the Rest of Forever

I don't normally talk about my faith.  For one, I don't normally talk.  I'm about as awkward and introverted as they come, so there's not a whole lot that I talk about to begin with.  But, to be honest, I've heard lots of people talk passionately about their faith -- but their lives told another story.  I'd like to believe that you can see my faith in my actions & choices and in the way I live from day to day.  I hope that, rather than needing to hear a bunch of empty words or impassioned speeches, people can see that I'm a Christian.  I guess I'd rather be all action and no talk, rather than all talk and no action.  (I understand that there's a happy-medium, and, trust me, I'm working on it.)   But here's some talk about our actions, I guess.  :)

We finalized that adoption of our youngest kiddos just a few days ago (YAY!), so the process of making them part of our family has been fresh on my mind.  When our pastor forwarded an email to me this afternoon that I originally sent him last January, my eyes filled with tears as I was again reminded of the pain that I felt, waiting for my kids.  We still hadn't gotten "the call" telling us that we'd been selected for the kids, so, when I wrote this email to my pastor, I had no idea whether DHS would choose us or, better yet, what God's plan was for our future.   

January 29, 2015 

I know that this [adoption] process isn't about me, or about our little family of three, but about finding the best home for [Sunshine] and his siblings.

But I just feel so frustrated.  Your sermon Sunday definitely hit home; this whole process has required so much faith.  But that's why we even began - because the moment I really started spending time with [Sunshine], I just knew.  This is my son.  I would do anything for that kid.  Along the way, there have been all sorts of nudges, as if God was telling us that four more kids isn't really quite as crazy as we thought it was.  :)

My heart is racing all the time.  I had a headache all last weekend, and my husband feels pretty certain I was literally making myself sick.  I'm on the verge of tears almost constantly.  Even when I'm not purposely thinking about it, I'm nervous.  All the time.  I think my husband's more excited about hearing something than I am... just so I'll calm down about it one way or another.  (I'm sorry; I know that's all very dramatic!)

I'm sorry to fill your email with complaints... I truly do love everything - everything! - about my life.  But that's such a big reason why I feel like we should adopt these kids - We are so blessed, and I want to share that with them.  These children have been part of my every prayer for eight months. 

So... prayers please.  I feel like I might go crazy soon.

That feels like so long ago.  Every prayer at that time began with asking God to surround my kids with love, that they would miraculously know how much they were cherished even without knowing that we existed, ready to make them part of our family.  And every night, as I went to sleep, I imagined my kids being kissed goodnight by their foster parents and prayed like crazy that one day I would get to do the same.  I was so scared that DHS would choose a different family and that I would live the rest of my life imagining terrible "what if"s.  I was scared that this had all been a horrible misunderstanding, and I wasn't actually meant to be the momma of the four kiddos.  I was scared that my plan wasn't His plan.

Thankfully that wasn't the case.  Still, it's weird, being an adoptive parent.   Weird?  Not sure that's the right word, but hear me out.  I don't believe that God planned for my kids to endure so much heartache in their short lives, so it's hard for me to say that I believe God planned for me to be their mom -- because, without the heartache, I wouldn't be here.  BUT I do believe that, somewhere in all of this, God has worked miracles and blessed me with the five most thoughtful children that I've ever met.  I would need a small novel to describe the certainty that I felt that THIS IS MY SON, when everyone around me was telling me I was crazy, asking me if I truly understood what I was getting myself into, and reminding me that adopting again was not part of my plan.  Or how many times during the adoption application process I felt a gentle push from God, nudging me to not give up, reminding me to fight for my kids no matter what.  Or how many times during those awful months of weekend visits, before the kiddos were allowed to move in, that I cried as I kissed my kids goodbye and dropped them off at their foster parent's homes -- and felt the sweet reassurance that God would provide them with the love they needed to get through the week.  Or the countless days that I've felt overwhelmed with five beautiful kids who need my constant attention but who frequently need to test my love -- and was reminded of the unconditional, unending, unwavering love that my Lord has given me even in my most sinful hours.  

As usual, this blog post has been a rambling hot mess, but, if you're still reading this, surely you knew what you were getting yourself into so I'm not feeling too apologetic.  Here's the thing:  I don't deserve God's love, and I definitely don't deserve the privilege of being the momma of such amazing kiddos.  Goodness knows I'm not perfect and my flaws are endless. I'm super awkward and have to pump myself up before even considering engaging in conversations.  My kids and husband will tell you that I get stressed far too easily; after all, if I'm not stressed about something, then I'm stressed because I'm obviously forgetting what I should be stressed about.  My house was described today as being "organized chaos", but that was a complete lie.  It's straight up chaos.  My Christmas decorations are still up, the refrigerator has a few science experiments goin' on in Tupperware containers, and I can't remember the last time you could see the walls, floor or any empty space for that matter of my laundry room.  Oh!  And, in case you couldn't tell by my email above (or this blog post in general), I am not a patient person, and I can get a little dramatic sometimes.  

But there's one more thing I know for sure:  I thank my God every day for the six blessings in my home (5 kids + 1 amazing husband = 6) and for His plans, which have repeatedly proven so much greater than mine.

Adopting required a lot of faith:  that God would provide financially for a family of seven on the income of two teachers; that the responsibility of raising five kiddos wouldn't be too much to handle; that our little three-bedroom home wouldn't burst at the seems with so many people (and personalities!) under one roof; and that the love I so quickly felt for one little boy would be replicated time and time again as we became a family.  This ...adventure... has had some horribly difficult moments (I'm sensing another blog post in the near future), but our belief that we are following a plan far greater than ours -- that is what has kept us going.  Adopting isn't easy.  Parenting kids from hard places is downright ugly sometimes.  But, with God, anything is possible... even when His plans include a baseball-team-sized family. 

And so, the rest of forever begins.