Why am I doing this?

Why am I doing this? A question I have asked myself quite a lot lately. Dealing with behavioral issues as a single foster parent has proven exhausting; especially when simultaneously dealing with a nasty sinus infection. Rubbing elbows with other foster families has been good, but a mixed bag in terms of encouragement. One previous baby-sitter, whom I considered a friend, turned out to be a back-stabber; another current baby-sitter thinks a working foster mom is an oxymoron. She thinks working defeats the purpose, since the money I get as a stipend for having a child in my house, gets eaten up by childcare costs (chunks of my money go to the foster parent who baby-sits while I work). I’m not in it for the money. But, to be fair, I can understand someone being perplexed by a single, 30 year old woman deciding to take on an unruly ‘tween who is not her own. I struggle to answer this question when posed because I realize it only makes sense if you understand the heart-wrenching story of the previous foster child and destruction of my marriage. I choose not to tell this story. I offer up some hippy, over-saccharine reason like giving a hurting kid a safe and loving home. But, this is also the truth. I mean, other than the fact that it satisfies my need to mother someone, being a foster mom is about doing something –even if it’s for one kid – to help a child in a nasty situation. I adamantly believe every childhood should be happy. And I only realize as an adult just how dam lucky I am. My childhood seems like a fable compared to the things I hear happening to other innocent little lives out in the big nasty world. My parents loved me and my siblings and they were as fair as they could be in our up-bringing. I had loving grandparents who spoiled us just enough, but also taught us to have a strong work ethic, be honest, and kind to others. Summers were full of berry picking, slogging through the crick in search of tadpoles, traipsing through the woods building forts and swinging from vines, and eating ice cream sandwiches on Nana’s front porch after racing our bikes up and down the dirt lane. Idyllic really. And, as a child should, I took it all for granted. Now, I see the heartache and heart break of children who have never experienced lazy summer days at the local pool, sipping on the juice boxes Mom packed and learning to jump off the high-dive; children who didn’t look forward to a family vacation to Lewis Beach, Delaware, or going fishing with cheese stuck on safety pins, or shucking fresh picked sweet corn for dinner. I may not have a lot to offer a child. By no means am I wealthy financially. But, I have a lot of love to give a hurting child. And, in small measures, I can offer a summer like the ones I had growing up, riding on the back of a tractor picking rocks out of the newly plowed field, sun bleaching our hair, reading books under the shade of our big pine tree. Is it a little crazy for someone like me to take on some of the issues these kids face, alone? Maybe. But, perhaps all they need is that one person to truly, genuinely care. When I hear in the news about children being abused or neglected (Sandusky anyone?), it makes me sick. I can’t sweep those children up in a big bear hug and make it all go away, but I can give this one child a chance to understand that life is not always about pain and that it’s ok to be a kid right now. And I hope that it will help in some small measure, but even if it doesn’t, I know that I did what I could to effect change in a bad situation. And, even if they reject it, any child living with me will be loved. So, why am I doing this? Why not? I need to take the focus off of me and my recent pain. And while having a child might complicate “dating” who cares? Slowly, I am starting to give up on the dream I had of a “typical” family of me and a husband and a handful of kids. For whatever reason, I’m thinking this was simply not meant to be for me. For three years I cried, begged, cajoled, berated, wished, and prayed for a baby of my own. The dream died a slow and painful death. Now, I am free, as a friend put it, to re-invent myself in my 30’s. I’m not sure what the new and improved me 2.0 will be like, but I do know I want to help others, especially children, to stop hurting. I’ve considered mission work both short-term and long-term or getting involved with some NGO’s overseas or non-profits locally. I simply don’t know what the future holds. While I am not shutting the door entirely, I have this nagging feeling that my life does not include the things of my dreams – more and more I am seeing myself as a single woman just out there helping other people. Who knows, my world view might change again soon, but for now this is it….. I know I posted about guys I met previously, but things didn’t work out. One never seemed able to make getting together a priority, the other is still with his girlfriend (despite his claims not to be) and really only wanted to be friends with benefits. And on-line dating is just not for me. I’ve met guys who think its ok to jam their tongue down your throat on the first date, who think they should move in after texting for a few months and meeting one, who make overt sexually advances in the course of the first conversation, and who are so needy, they need a text message sent to them every two minutes to be assured you aren’t mad at them…… I think I have a better chance spotting crazy in-person….. My standards might be too high this go-round and therefore it just seems easier to resign myself to a different kind of life. My brave new world…….