parenting, faith and the ymca

This morning I had some quiet time at the YMCA. (If you ask me about the YMCA you might get more information than you care for. So for the sake of brevity I'll just say I understand why the Village People wrote a song about it.) But this is not about the YMCA, except that I was there and I ran.

I am not a good runner, but I appreciate the single-mindedness of it. Lately there are so many things to think about all the time. My mind is busy from the moment I wake up until I tuck five little people into bed at night. Laundry. Food.Cleaning. Marriage. Appointments. Repairs. Bills. Social services. Activities. Play with kids. Discipline kids. Bathe kids. The future. Vacations. On the treadmill there is only one thing: one step in front of another.

There is a seasoned foster mom who goes to our church. I barely know her but I've latched onto her and plagued her with questions. She's given me support and tips and I lap it up like a hungry kitten. She recently responded to my tears and self doubt with a smile and "It's like you have a huge mirror shoved in your face." So ... no solutions this time, huh? Oookayyyy.

She's right. The mirror she speaks of is more like a full size mirror in a public bathroom with bad lighting. Suddenly I can see the ugliest parts of myself with alarming clarity. It makes me want to run. Fast.

We signed up to be foster parents because we have so much and we felt we had so much to give. Turns out we were wrong. Whatever reservoir of patience, grace and kindness we had got slurped up in the first, oh, 24 hours. So, we have had to ask God for help like never before. We cannot do this on our own. We cannot even do this with a little help from our friends. We can only move forward because of God's own patience, grace and kindness toward us. It is a reality we have to connect to constantly. It is hard to explain but some of you know what I mean.

I don't mean to turn this back into a commercial for the Y, but exercise has been an avenue of grace for me. I joined about a month into fostering. My children have a happy place to play while I focus on one thing for a little while. I run, if I may, in the right direction. It is therapeutic and calming and brings me closer to the person I am not but the person I hope to be.

My faith and heart are stretching, and it doesn't always feel good. On the treadmill it hurts a little but as my heart rate rises so does my confidence that I can keep going just a little bit longer.

Nothing Worth Doing is Ever Easy

Well, we got the phone call from the Department of Social Services and we said yes. I have so many things on my mind about our first week as a foster family. However, most of the stories are not my stories; they are our foster daughters' stories, and they are not mine to share.

I will share my own story. It took a shorter amount of time than I care to share for me to think, "What have I gotten myself into?" It wasn't anything about the two cherubs that were brought to my house last Friday; one feverish and both wary. It was the system. It was the fact that I now had two little girls whom I did not know and did not know me at my house. Indefinitely.  I was not given a lot of information. I kind of just had to trust that social services made the right call. I had to trust that my house was safer than their house right now and that was all that mattered.

So we went to the doctor for the fever, bathed, went clothes shopping, played outside, tried to make drinking water fun, styled hair, taught the difference between a cow and an elephant, read bedtime stories, said no, set their favorite show to tape on the DVR, watched Haven and Maiya's soccer games, went to church and went on play dates. By day 2 they decided to call me Titi (Spanish for Auntie) and by day 3 they said, "I love you Titi."

If that all sounds sunny, please do not go sign up to be a foster parent and yell at me when your house is turned upside down. Lots of moments of the week were sweet, but the air is thick with transition and uncertainty. Everybody needs time to talk (me especially). Everybody needs to know they are special, valuable and important. I have spent most of the week thinking, "Who doesn't feel special right now?" and racking my brain for ways to fix that.

I asked one of our (bio) kids how he/she felt and he/she said, "Mom, we just talked about it!" I guess I've been a little intense myself.

I need a neon flashing sign on a t-shirt that says, "You're super special and I'm so glad you're in this family." For my own peace of mind.

I am not a fan of uncertainty, lack of control, or transition. Given that, one might wonder why we became foster parents. We couldn't not. I cannot explain it another way. I believe in God calling us to do certain things and, for Dave and me, this was one of those things. I love the quote, "Nothing worth doing is ever easy."

At the end of one day this week I felt so empty. I needed a sign, even post-it size, to show me this was the right thing. As I cared for one of the little girls we talked. I can't share her story, but she gave me shred of information that brought tears to my eyes. I was so glad she was there with me. For however long we can offer a shelter, we will.

We named our first son Haven because we wanted to create just that for ourselves and our children. We felt the strength of comfort and safety was a great place to spend our lives. As we move forward we continue to work toward that environment. If you pray, pray for us. This is a journey and some days have worse weather than others. It is not easy; it's just worth it.

5 reasons to stop comparing your life to your Facebook friend’s life

I don't know about you - no wait, I do know about you: you’re on Facebook.  Anyway, my Facebook feed is filled with so many stories that scare me and lure me in: Nine reasons why your water is making you sick! The fifteen most disgusting places to vacation! Seven signs you have cancer and don’t even know it! The three foods that will ensure your child does not grow up to be self- indulgent, fast-food eating, lazy, cruel person! I exaggerate, but still. You get it because on Facebook you get it too.

I don’t really have a list of 5 things for you to read. But I thought the title might get you to click. I guess it did. Know why? Because it sounds like every other title in your feed and it popped up right below a picture of your ex-boyfriend’s 12-month old who is already potty trained. Dare I say there is too much information at our fingertips?

When we are bored we scroll through the newest updates from our 271 “friends.” While Facebook provides a connection it also provides a window. It’s a window that was covered with curtains a decade ago, a window in which only a handful of close friends were invited to look.

I was happy to have it when I saw my 30-some cousins at my Grandma’s 90^th birthday party. Most of them I had not seen in a decade, but I recognized them and even their children, thanks to Facebook.

We used to exclusively write about our feelings in journals and greeting cards. Now we can see the beautiful things couples write to each other on birthdays and anniversaries; we see children grow with each birthday and read the moving sentiment their parent writes. You see the homes purchased, vacations experienced, the growing pregnant bellies. You see a lot and you and I can start to think it is reality. Not just a piece of reality.

We are created to learn from one another. The danger comes when we do not filter what we are “learning.” In addition to all that fun stuff your college roommate’s neighbor is doing this summer, she’s also taking out the trash, fighting with her husband and treating a yeast infection.  So keep in mind, while you are privy to So Much More of the beautiful moments of your acquaintance’s lives, they still have drudgery, just like you.

My life is beautiful, difficult, exciting, boring and just plain life. I bet yours it too. So next time you scroll through that feed while you’re cooking dinner and pouring milk for your toddler – oh that was me, you’re probably doing it from a private island while pool boys respond to your every whim, but anyway, chin up. Your life is beautiful, difficult, exciting and boring too. None of our lives are as fantastic as they appear on Facebook. Go enjoy yours!

Happy Mother's Day, Moms!

Lately I am struck by the privilege it is to be on the journey of motherhood. With Mother's Day just three sleeps away, I feel it apropos to share my stricken state with you - my 3 remaining readers.

With five foster classes done, we've learned the importance of a child's connection with the biological family. We've learned skills to keep that connection even when a child enters foster care. I am reminded again of the great power of motherhood. It is power we are not entitled to, it just exists with the birth of a child. It is our privilege to be a parent and we fill a gap our child will always feel without us.

Motherhood is many things. It is work and exhaustion and too many days without a shower. Sometimes it is a gift someone dropped in the mud or forgot to wrap, but it is still, truly, a gift. I've had hard, add-a-wrinkle-to-my-forehead days but recently I've had beautiful moments with each of my children. These are the moments I think of when I say that I love being a mom.


Haven: When I tucked him in bed last night he talked to me about his book, he kissed my face many times, then as I left he watched me leave. I turned around and he was smiling at me.

Maiya: Yesterday she belted out: "our mom is an awesome mom" complete with hand motions.

Tristan: He had to "beep" (poop, for any non-Tristanese speakers among us). I asked if he wanted to sit on the toilet and when I perched his tiny hienie on the seat he threw his arms around my neck. We sat like that for a while, his arms clinging to me as he tried something new.

These little moments are set between the bickering about who got a larger scoop of ice cream. They are interspersed around the frustration I feel when I hear my 2-year-old yell, "You mean!" when he does not get what he wants. They insulate me in the mayhem of dinner prep and late-afternoon meltdowns.

My life as a mom is a privilege. It is not simple or easy or laughing all day in the sunshine. The responsibility is profound but the ability to shoulder that responsibility even more so.  There is so much that goes into my ability to sustain as a mom, and some of those things are outside of my control. The ability to enjoy the good moments and tolerate the bad ones takes an inner strength cultivated by the support of family and friends. My husband is loving and helpful and more than I could have predicted when I picked him out thirteen years ago. The education I chose prepared me cognitively for the task. I have an ongoing sense of hope because of my faith in God. I am blessed to (most days) have the physical and emotional resources to be the kind of mom I want to be.

I think of biological mothers who will some day know me as the woman who has custody of her child. I think of the support they might not have. I think of the deep loss of losing their child, even if only for a time.

Happy mother's day to the moms who have the resources to be the moms they want to be, and happy mother's day to the ones who don't. May we embrace our task. May we see these wild, beautiful creatures for the gifts they are and treat them as such.

Expecting Love

We are expecting, but not the way we did three times before. We are choosing the unknown to extend love outside of our biological family. I am excited and scared and hopeful and confident about the choice.

A new person or people will join our family sometime in the next several months. It could be a boy, a girl, two boys, two girls. It could be an infant, or it could be a preschooler. Or both. They could stay with us for days, or forever. In short, we are moving toward foster care/adoption.

Yesterday I taught Haven and Maiya the definitions of adopted, foster and biological children. I asked them why children go into foster care and their answers were clear and concise. We brainstormed about why fostering children might be fun and why it might be hard. One is more excited than the other, which is interesting. It was just that way when I was pregnant with Tristan. Once he was born, they swapped and one was more excited and the other more cautious until we adjusted to the change.

Part of our foster/adopt application included a family drawing by each of the kids. They were asked to include the foster child or children in the drawing and write something if they wanted to. Maiya drew a picture of Dave and Tristan in the house, me outside, and prominently, in the middle of the page, Haven, another little girl and herself walking on a huge rainbow. The little girl was jumping rope and smiling. Haven's drawing included 7 of us lined up, smiling. Tristan was tucked between Dave and me and Haven, Maiya and 2 foster children were lined up next to us. His caption read, "I will love to have a new part of the family." Tristan's picture was just as heartfelt, I'm sure, but more difficult to decipher.

So far Dave and I attended 2 foster parent classes. These classes are meant to educate and scare us. They are meant to bring the reality of foster care into focus. This week a class member asked the insightful question, "How do we love these children like they are our own with the knowledge they may not always be with us?" There is only one answer to this: prepare to be hurt.

Who would do this?! Who opts for pain? I see lots of people in history who gave up their comfort for the benefit of another, and our family is honored to learn from their remarkable legacies. When we lived in New Jersey we went to a church where the pastor reminded us over and over again, "If you are blessed, it is so that you can be a blessing." We now go to a church in New York and the pastor uses a long piece of rope as the church "mascot." In the center of the rope is about an inch of black electrical tape. This tape represents our life and the rope represents eternity. We spend so much time focusing on the life we have and spend little time thinking about what will happen after it ends.

Whether you believe in God and a spiritual eternity or not, we all know that how we live now impacts others after we are gone. I want to get to the end of my black tape and know that I was more than just happy, more than just comfortable.

This Easter I am thinking about sacrificial love. Love which stays and looks at a broken and selfish person (newsflash: that's all of us) and says, "I see you completely and I love you." That is the kind of love that revolutionizes. This is the way God loves us all. It is the kind of love that is worth sowing into a person, even if we don't get to see what it grows. So, we are expecting. We do not know who to expect, but know we can expect to learn a lot, we can expect to grow. Most of all, we can expect to love.

a note from the trenches

Children have a way of pushing you to the very edge of yourself then watching with bated breath to see if you hang on or fall. Lately I've been dangling, hoping my fingernails will hang on while I figure out how to throw myself back to the ledge. Not all time or every day, but more often than usual.

Each of our children has their beautiful moments, the memories of which I dig for while I'm hanging on the edge of myself. One of our children has been a little challenging lately. And to save him/her future embarrassment, I will leave it at that.

We had a hanging-off-the-edge morning, all of us tired and cranky and unhappy to eat any of the food in the refrigerator. We had one colossal meltdown and a few smaller, easy-to-squelch ones. I started making a list of all the things we need to change to avoid this kind of situation in the future. Dave reeled me in with a, "This is the kind of day we need to get through without any major damage, not the kind of day to make plans for the future." 

For some reason, my children behave better outside of the house than inside. Kids vary on this, but this happens to be how mine roll. So we set out to the Apple Fest, our town's annual celebration of the harvest of (drum roll please) apples. It is celebrated with local bands, $7 amusement park rides, and a smorgasbord of craft and food vendors and barely an apple in sight. We laid out clear expectations for behavior, snagged a sweet parking spot in Rebecca and Phil's driveway and headed toward the action.

We lasted several hours and found ourselves in line for a Jamaican dinner. The anticipated meltdown happened and Dave took the Melted Child to the car. When I got to the front of the line, I placed my order and asked if they'd been busy all day.

"Yes, all day." He paused, "It's a blessin'. The good Lord heard my prayer and let the rain hold."

He was so pleasant for a man standing on his feet, serving food to a constant line of people. So not entitled. After I gathered my food and settled myself and two remaining kids on the curb I wondered when when the last time was that I considered my long, hard days of work a blessing. I am one to count my blessings. I cry when I focus on the weight of the goodness that God put in my life. But the work that goes along with it? There is so much more to parenting than taking pictures and fun trips with my children. So much more to marriage than date night and sharing a home. So much more to living in a house I love than relaxing in it. Life is work; it is effort and commitment and doing what needs to be done.

According to the Jamaican man at the Apple Fest (the one who makes incredible fried plantains and beef patties), work is a blessin'. It is God keeping the rain from falling so that we can work all day. I would love to have this attitude. I would love to look at my responsibilities as a blessing, a gift. Especially the ones that involve the guidance of a child who will not behave well. And maybe the ones that involve cleaning it all again and again. And even the ones that are gross or rote or difficult. Can I just thank God that I have the opportunity to do this work? This reminds me of the verse in Colosians 3:23 "Whatever you do, work at it with all your heart, as working for the Lord, not for human masters."

Tomorrow I start a new week. I have a lot to do, I imagine that you do too. Let's put on the sunglasses which allow us to see it all as a blessing. I imagine that will make for a more pleasant Monday.

Waves

     We spent a week by the ocean. We had a view of the sea from the fifth floor balcony of our hotel room. Most days the sea and sky matched in a grayish cloudy hue and the white crest of the waves defined the shore. The sun poked through the clouds enough to warm us and send us into the water for cool relief.

        Dave took a picture of me at the ocean a couple of years ago. My hands are on my hips, my back is toward him and I am looking out at the expanse of ocean. I remember that moment when I felt so small standing in a space so large. My concerns shrunk, my appreciation deepened.

        I love the ocean but I was terrified of waves as a child. And as an adult. I went out too far but not far enough. I was turned and choked by the crashing waves. It made me afraid and avoidant. I clung to the sand and the ankle-deep water. This fear dampened me as I watched my six-year-old enjoy the ocean last week.

     Haven was insatiably fearless with his boogie board. I watched him whirl inside a surprisingly big wave, sure he would come out crying and spitting. Instead, he pulled his body upright and screamed, in the highest- and loudest-pitched voice possible, "That was totally wicked!" and tugged his boogie board out to "catch" another wave. What makes one child terrified by waves and another empowered? I really didn't feel like encroaching on the depths of myself, but I decided it was time to quell my terror.

    That afternoon I spotted a gray-haired woman floated further than most of the swimmers. I pushed myself out into the water where she was. "Are you getting hit a lot out here?"

     "No, my hair isn't even wet."

     I nodded and floated on the swelling water. I watched the people with boogie boards and bravery allow the waves to crash them, turn them, rock them. Most of them squealed and laughed and return for more, as Haven had. I stayed in the calm.

     "I'm only staying out this far because you are." I told the woman who didn't realize she'd become my new friend. "I'm terrified of waves." 

     "Ok!" She wasn't much for conversation so I shut it until I saw the water begin to rise higher, higher, higher right near us. Higher than I was brave or knowledgeable enough to handle. Higher and higher. "Oh boy." I called out. A note of fear. A statement of helplessness. I thought to run to the shore.

     "Just turn your back to it and jump." Her voice was calm and confident and I clung to it like I would have clung to her arm had we actually been friends. I turned, I jumped, I was pulled up and let down. And it was over. Had I run to the shore, I would have gotten just far enough to be hit. 

     Isn't this what friendships are made of? I think of the many friends who have stood by me, promising they've done this, they can relate, and it actually turns out to be okay. I have made it through my life because of friends like this. I think of names that will always be blazoned on my heart for the beautiful souls they represent. Those voices which held me up in my weak moments and smiled gleefully in my triumphs. The promises that I was strong enough, beautiful enough, patient enough elevated me to meet my life without running. Just turn your back to it and jump. You totally got this. Or, if nothing else, I am here. 

    So now I can do the waves with my son. I will laugh and scream and love it. 

Grace.

Some days I look for grace and other days it is everywhere, like crumbs on the kitchen floor. Today, I had to look. But not too far and not too hard.

The weather lately is mid 70's and sunny. This is hardly typical for the East coast in August, but most of us  take it without comment and hope it doesn't change. This is the kind of weather that beckons me into it then riddles me with guilt if I have to stay inside.

Today began with a smear of diarrhea across my forearm before I had my first cup of coffee. Quickly I scrubbed my arm and then tackled my baby with half a container of wipes and new diaper. Maiya begged me to download another game to my iPhone while Haven asked to take a turn with the phone as I stumbled into the kitchen toward my coffee. Once again I stayed up too late last night, clinging to those precious quiet hours as long as I could keep my eyes open. When my alarm sounded, through the static of the baby monitor, I rethought that choice for about the millionth time.

I sipped my coffee on the front porch, my favorite place in the morning. Tristan usually runs around barefooted, back and forth. Haven and Maiya sometimes join us, rocking in the chair opposite me, asking when they can watch TV or see their friends. Tristan climbed down the steps into the wet grass this morning. I expected him to recoil at the dampness, but he trotted through with a big smile. He stumbled and soaked his pants, but stood up and carried on toward whatever discovery lie ahead. For Tristan, discomfort is not deterrent to adventure.

Grace. That glimmer of beauty in a toddler's determination. That moment I can see past the inconvenience of changing his clothes (again) and the miracle that he is moving forward toward improvement and growth. 

I spent almost two hours waiting in the department of motor vehicle today. I visited the one in New Jersey and the one in New York. With three children. Somehow I have managed to come up short with documentation or my husband's presence on my two prior visits to the DMV.

"It's his car too. He has to be here." She said it like I was a scam artist, trying to sneak something past my husband by way of getting a copy of the car title.

"I live an hour away. And this is my second time here."

"There's nothing I can do."

I took the quickest deep breath I could, thanked her for the smidge of help she'd provided and corralled my gang back to the car.

All I would be able to do today is change my NJ license to a NY license. I hoped to switch the car registrations too. I thought of the harried mess I was that morning, trying to gather my documents. I could not find my license anywhere. I had lost it previously, replaced it and the replacement was gone. My husband helped me search. I became more and more irate with myself and sent the kids to the car to wait. This is a practice my mother used to do. I hated it then but I get it now. She'd send us to the car and after a ten minute wait, we would see her finally emerge with her arms full of the gear she would need to get us through the next several hours.

My frustration with myself became paramount but as I drove between the DMVs later that day, I thought of my husband's gentle help. We never found the license and this was truly a silly mistake on my part. But he didn't criticize, he didn't ask how I could be so absentminded. He just helped me look then wished me luck when I set out to the DMV. I felt so bad, but he didn't push me down further. He accepted my error and helped me.

Grace. That moment my limitations frustrate me but don't define me.

Our final stop: motor vehicle in Middletown, NY. Heavenhelpus. The parking lot was full and guilt dripped down my back as we walked through the beautiful day into the dank, crowded state building. I took a number. They have a tricky number system, and I thought I was only fifth in line, but it turned out I was probably fiftieth. I compulsively fed Cheerios to Tristan and bit my nails, hoping the battery on my cell phone would hold out as long this line. Haven and Maiya sat quietly, passing my phone between them, trying to beat the Candy Crush level I've been stuck on for weeks. I followed Tristan around the room for a while, he was thrilled, walking up to strangers, tapping them higher on the thigh than they might like then bolting off to another new face. I said a lot of sorrys and offered tiny laughs. I got a few dirty looks, but not more than I could handle. Eventually I saw that the clock was closing in on an hour of wait time. My phone battery died and I became wary of walking around apologizing to every grumpy person in the waiting room. I scooped Tristan into my arms and tried to console him with water. Haven was suddenly intensely bored and I tried to amuse him with alphabet I Spy. We got to G and then he stopped responding. Tristan began to scream, maniacal screams like a person who is confined against their will. Which he was. I decided to let him scream. Interestingly, it was our turn in five minutes.

As I hurried through a vision test and photo -- in which I did not look as awful as I felt, I might add -- the kids ambled around me and Tristan continued to moan.

"Mom! Can I go say goodbye to my new friend?" Maiya asked. I nodded and she ran to the blonde four-year-old she was chatting with during the time I had worked to keep Tristan's voice and my blood pressure down. The girls had learned they live in the same town. They laughed when the other little girl said Maiya could drive to her house and Maiya said she couldn't drive yet. They discussed the designs on their shirts.

Grace. That moment I see my little girl created fun in the chaos of waiting. My little girl who is often shy made a "new friend" at the ugly, boring DMV. 

This was not the best day of our summer vacation. But I now have a New York driver's license. (Actually, I have a temporary license and the new one will come in the mail. What in the world?!) More than the state of my driver's license, I was reminded of the grace that is present in the humdrum moments of life. There is beauty and hope and perseverance. If there weren't, I'd consider finding a babysitter next time I have to go to the DMV.