Frankenstorm

Well, I survived the Frankenstorm with very minimal damage. And I am thankful and grateful because there are many, many people up and down the East Coast who cannot say the same thing. So many homes and businesses in New York, New Jersey, Delaware and beyond have been utterly destroyed. I’m missing some shingles from my roof, the gate on my backyard fence, and I lost electric for a little over a day. Lying in my bed Monday night, listening to the howling winds tearing at the homes on my block, I could not imagine my house would emerge unscathed. But, it did. My parents are out of power and they heard a lot of trees toppling in the woods around them, but they too sustained minimal damage. My dad’s greatest worry was his corn, but he got nearly all of it picked before the storm. I think he lost some soybeans, but it was not as devastating as last year’s freak Halloween snow storm. As my house chilled without the benefit of the electric heaters, I was even thankful that I didn’t have a little person to worry about during the chaos. As is our usual nightly routine, Canela slept alongside my bed and the cats curled up at my feet on the bed. At one point, Jackson sought comfort from the noise of the 50 + mph wind gusts by crawling under the covers with me. I have never in my life heard wind like I did Monday night and I hope I never will again.

Prior to the destructive superstorm Sandy, I made preparations of a different sort. Yes, I was cognizant of what the media was telling me to buy to shore-up for the storm – batteries and water, a generator and battery-powered radio – but I was making purchases to prepare for a child. A few weeks ago, I bought a bunch of cloth diapers on Ebay. I found a used car seat on Craigslist for a bigger child (it is a booster seat with a detachable back). But, on Sunday, while other shoppers were clearing the shelves of bottled water, bread and milk, I bought a crib mattress and a convertible car seat at Walmart. I had gotten two calls last week for placements and I found it bothersome that I was not 100% prepared. I had forgotten that the crib mattress I had from before was borrowed from a friend who needed the mattress to be returned. And the car seat from before was borrowed from CHOR and also returned. Unfortunately, Walmart only had a purple car seat in stock (for display they had one in gray neutral colors). Now, I am ready! Really, really ready! Sure, the crib is still in pieces in my basement (which did not flood during the storm, thank God), but that is no big deal and can be easily assembled by my father – ok, semi-easily. I was measuring the furniture and room last night to see if I can make the current twin-size bed, the crib, and a dresser fit in some configuration that also allows me access to the closet. I will need to remove my bookshelf to make that happen, but I think it is do-able, although squishy. Two of the four placement calls I have gotten were for two siblings, so that is why I am thinking of having both options available. One placement, I am still semi-waiting to hear the final decision (the decision was supposed to be reached early this week, but due to the storm and so many people being out of the office, I will wait until Friday to call for an up-date), is for a potential legal-risk 18 month old baby. Legal-risk is a term that means the case might be moving in the direction of a potential adoption and so the foster care system would like the baby to be in a home that is considering adoption. This might seem like a small thing, but it is monumental to me. When I decided to continue with foster care, I told my family worker I would be just a foster mom for awhile. I was not opposed to a legal risk or adoption placement, but I felt too raw after everything that had happened. Recently, I had written an email to my family worker to advise her that I wanted to be considered for legal risk and adoption placements, but I never sent it. Something held me back. Yet, I was so happy to hear that CHOR was considering me for a potential legal-risk case! Although I still haven’t heard anything, I am not too hopeful for this particular placement because it is a case from Berks County, but also because the caseworker who called me mentioned the county is most likely looking for a 2 parent household for the child. In any event, it was a good thing for me to know that I am still in the running to potentially adopt a baby! I think this might have been what spurred me into the purchases, but I was so happy when I was trying to load the car seat and mattress into the back of my car. I thought of the possibilities and the sheer joy that seemed so tangible for the first time in many months. Right now I am driving around with two empty car seats in the back of my car, but rather than see the empty, I see the possibility of a car seat full of a precious little one that I could someday call my son or daughter. I am nearly trembling with excitement just thinking about it! When I shared the news of a potential legal-risk placement with my parents, I thought they might have some reservations or ask if I am really ready. But, they too seemed content just knowing this was a possibility, that what happened with my first placement did not forever jeopardize my ability to adopt. I think my parents are as anxious to spend the up-coming holidays with a baby as I am! My mom even started talking about me spending the night at their place Christmas Eve (since I will already be at the farm for dinner with my grandparents) and how she will rearrange my old bedroom to accommodate the pack-n-play for the baby, etc. I do hope to have a placement soon, and if the amount of calls are any indication, I think it will happen sooner, rather than later. It isn’t easy, to get the calls and get excited, only to have the placement go to another family. But, I just keep reminding myself that God has a baby in mind for me and He will be sure that child finds his or her way into my home. Sometimes, on bad days, I doubt that God even wants me to be a mother. After Flaco left and they took the baby, I prayed that God would squelch the desire inside me to be a mother. The pain was too great, I prayed He would close my heart to children. But, He didn’t. He made it possible for me to continue as a foster mother. He placed a child with me, to teach me how that it is not easy but I can do it alone. And the desire to be a mother has not waned, not one bit. So, if that is the case, then He must have a plan that includes a child in my life. Still, when naysayers try to convince me to be more conventional and embrace the single life, little nibbles of doubt make me feel like, “They will never give me a baby, I’m just a single woman and there are many child-less couples out there….” But, I remind myself that God has a plan for my life – a good plan. I have endured some pretty nasty things this past year and now it is time for joy overflowing and abundant happiness. The tides have turned! All the yucky things have washed away and only good things are flowing in! Hallelujah!

There's Gotta be More to Life

I just keep getting this “there’s gotta be more to life” kinda feeling. I want so much more than what I have right now. And I don’t mean material things. Last week I read an article in the local paper about a couple in my area, who have been married for 41 years. They have visited every state park in PA three times. All 120 of them. The article mentions how they planned to go see some of the beautiful fall foliage in northern PA this past weekend. And it made me think how I would like to have someone to go on a three-day weekend excursion to tap maple syrup in Vermont, take a spontaneous trip to Niagara Falls, or make plans to visit every state in the US or take a cross-country trip together. Sure, I can do these things by myself or with a friend, but some things are just more fun if you are with that special someone. I think one of the things that helps me to disconnect from Flaco is that he was no more willing to do those things with me than I am willing to go do them alone. Taking a vacation by myself is not something I would relish doing. Experiences are so much better when you can reminisce about them with someone else. I am living a life of suspended animation. I am alive and breathing, but I am not able to do the kinds of things I would like to do for a host of reasons. And my short foray into the dating world has not encouraged me to believe that the kind of life I dream of will ever come true. There are more friends-with-benefits guys out there than there are decent, kind, honest guys (I’m sure if I were a man, I could be saying the same thing about women). The kind of husband I would want to have probably only exists in my mind and in the 1950’s. Probably only in my mind. How did society get so completely screwed up? Men my age are like little children – they play games all day and live with their parents. No, not all men, I agree, but, a great many.

 

Meanwhile, I hang on to the very last shred of hope I have left. It’s glimmering promise always dances just out of reach and some days the oppressive malice of the world seems sure to crush me and grind me under. Flaco has gotten himself in trouble with the law and in an attempt to manipulate me into helping him he told me he wanted to get back together. In the beginning, right after he left, this is all I wanted to hear him say. And I warned him, all those months ago, that he had a short window of time to make an attempt to reconcile our differences and issues. But this was a very small window and once it closed it would remain closed. Very recently, I have emotionally gotten to the point where I refuse to let him hurt me anymore. As if his leaving wasn’t enough, over the past eight months he has said cruel things like, “If we had had a baby together I would not have left,” “How would you feel if I had a baby with someone else?” “How would you feel if I got married to someone else?” This, in addition to other humiliating comments and situations, has shown me a side of the man I loved with all I had, that I absolutely despise. And this latest blatant attempt to manipulate me has only solidified my “we are never, ever, ever getting back together” stance. Oh, but it still hurts like a mother! How could someone be so selfish? He actually told me he was furious with me when a few weeks ago, right after he got in trouble, he called me at midnight to ask me to go with him to City Hall the next morning at 8 am to help him figure this whole situation out. I refused and I had good reason to refuse. Not only am I no longer his loving wife (at least not in the real sense, legally we are still married, but as soon as I have the dinero that will no longer be the case), but I still had a child living with me at that time. Plus, I start work at 8:30 am and I am not about to lose my job for him and his problems. I suppose he thought that if I would say “yes” and take him back, that I would then take care of his problem. My response was simple. If he was sincere in his desire to rekindle the waning connection between us, we would attend couples therapy and work on the issues together and slowly progress. I let him know that I was still really hurt and I quite simply do not trust him, so it would take time for those wounds to heal and it would not be easy. But, I also let him know without a doubt, I was not going to help him with his legal issue. It was something he did on his own and something he would have to deal with on his own. He ended the conversation by saying, “Fine, then you do your thing and I will do my thing and we’ll see how it goes.” In other words, “I don’t want you if you won’t do this for me.” And I wonder, did he ever really love me?

My therapist thinks I am not taking care of myself emotionally. He thinks I have too many unmet emotional needs. I don’t know what he expects me to do with this information. I can’t manufacture an intimate relationship with someone. I am feeling a little more lonely now that the house is empty, but I tell myself this is temporary, since I have already been called for one placement and one respite (neither panned out). Most days I can still believe that something good is just around the corner, just waiting to pop up into my life. But, last week (it doesn’t help that I was PMS-ing with mega cramps and whatnot) it wasn’t so easy to sell myself on the whole sunshine-after-the-storm line. I feel that prick of bitterness beginning to take hold deep inside of me. Tuesday, before Flaco’s latest shenanigans, I was visiting with my pastor and his wife. Another church member was there with her little girl and she gleefully showed me three ultrasound pictures – she is pregnant again. I oo-ed and ahh-ed appropriately. Most of the time I’m better about stuff like that. But, it still burns, it still pricks and hurts. I try to stamp it out as quickly as possible, but I have never been very good a lying to myself. It effing sucks. I’m supposed to be better at this, I’m supposed to realize that God works in mysterious ways. Why He gives a baby to a 17 year old who then shakes, throws, and pushes the baby down a ramp in a stroller for it to fall out on the sidewalk (this happened this past week at Reading High school – the baby was 4 months old) but denies someone like me a baby, is beyond my comprehension. I don’t let myself go down that very slippery slope. For a long time, I was so angry at God for my inability to conceive and I know that is not healthy, but sometimes that feeling just springs back up in me. And I feel the bitterness and rage eating me from the inside out. It’s fire burns me and it’s acerbic acid consumes my heart and soul. I don’t want to live that way. I want to live in a land full of sunshine and rainbows and kittens – but right now my reality is one of pain and disappointment. Last week I am just really feeling like my life has been chewed up by a shredding machine and what pieces are left to me are not enough to make a whole person. The same night Flaco tried to use getting back together as a reason for me to handle his problem, another blast for the recent past popped up. I knew him through my neighbors and we had been starting a little friendship this past spring. Almost as soon as it began, it was over. He text me and told me I had the wrong idea, he wasn’t interested in anything serious because he just got out of a bad relationship. He basically was only interested in a friends-with-benefits kind of situation. So, I quickly wrote him off and pretty much ignored him. Well, Tuesday night he came back. He basically thought he would give it one more shot and wanted to know if I wanted to give it a try. Really?! This is the “better” thing I have been waiting for? Uh….. No. I told him I respect myself and I demand respect from someone else. A friends-with-benefits situation is not respectful and I am unequivocally not interested at all ever. It curdles my insides to think that not once, but twice, he took me for “that” kind of woman. As I told a friend of mine, I feel just about ready to start ripping off the balls of any man I meet. My therapist doesn’t think I should let it bother me. I’m about ready to tell him where to get off too. His malarkey only makes me feel worse about things. My last appointment, I went in there in pretty good spirits, only to have them dashed all to hell because he thinks I’m more screwed up than I am. Let me tell you something pal, anyone who has been through the kinds of things I have in the short time that they have occurred, would be a little on edge. The fact that I can keep my shit in order, that I am still a productive member of society and not a total basket case, is a testament to my faith and sheer stubborn endurance. So, if I get a little touchy when some douchebag thinks I’m gonna just roll over and be their fuck buddy, I think I earned that right a little bit here. I didn’t punch him in the face like I wanted to, so give me some credit!

I was all set to send an email to my family caseworker telling her I wanted to be considered for a placement for legal risk or adoption. I wrote the email and had a friend proofread it and everything. Then, something held me back from sending it. I don’t know what it was, but I just got the feeling I should let some dust settle before I send that email. Maybe it’s God trying to get me to do things His way. Good luck Charlie, I’m always more like a bull in a china shop when it comes to acting on a decision I have made. The second most dangerous thought process for me to engage in, after the “why” questions, is what is the meaning of all of this? It is similar to the why question. Why is this happening? But, it’s also me trying to rationalize the irrational. There might not be a grand scheme to this year of hell. I guess to make myself feel better, I try to find a reason why this is happening – like a lesson hidden in the chapters of a child’s book, there must be something I am meant to learn and understand through all of this. Certainly, just hunkering down and enduring it all with teeth gritted and fists clenched can’t be the meaning of it all. So, right now I plan on waiting until my family caseworker comes out to my house the end of November for my annual review and then we can discuss the decision I have made. In the mean time, I am hoping to get a placement for a younger child sooner rather than later. I just have to keep putting one foot in front of the other; keep getting up no matter how many times I get knocked down…….

Closing Chapter

The house is empty again – well, minus me the two cats and the dog (actually, Canela the dog has been at the farm all week since I went away to DC last weekend). The foster child was moved yesterday morning. Moved to another foster home in another county, not a residential facility as I and the psychiatrist believe she would be the best option for her. Quite a contrast in this morning’s move than the past termination of my foster mother relationship with a child – no tears, no regrets, no feeling of loss. I feel relived. And I am anxious for the next placement.

I am positively preparing for the baby I so desire. I have been looking at getting some more cloth diapers (although, at our last group training, I think I heard someone say we are not permitted to use cloth diapers for our foster children. I was kind of reading something and only half-listening, so I’m not sure if I heard this correctly – I also think one of the foster mothers who runs a state licensed daycare from her home said the state does not permit cloth diapers in licensed facilities. I wish I was paying closer attention, but it does not change my mind. I’m using cloth diapers). I have also looked at baby clothes, but for whatever reason, it is harder for me to stay emotionally balanced looking at the clothes. So, diapers it is. I have a half-decent collection thanks to my previous placement (and the kindness of a friend in turning me on to cloth diapers), but to lessen my laundry duty, having more diapers would be great. Plus, if I do get an infant, I won’t have to run out to the store and get some disposable diapers, I will be prepared. I have been daydreaming about my next placement and I have been praying that this next child will be mine to adopt. I don’t mean to sound callous about the child who is leaving, I am sad that we will never be able to do some of the fun stuff I had planned. But, it has been a tough 5 months with her and the last month was especially trying. I wish nothing but the best for her and hope the new foster mother will be able to better help her manage her anger and other behavioral issues. But, when I put in my 30 day notice, I was already done. I was disengaging and disentangling myself from this child. I am ready for a new story to begin. I am believing the third time will be the charm!

In other news, I am about to unfriend two new mom friends on Facebook. All they do is bitch about how hard it is being a new mom with a newborn – no sleep, can’t get ready to leave the house without a vomit issue, hard being home and in baby world all day, hard learning how to understand how to care for their baby. I mean, they are just being real and sharing with friends and family how they are doing and looking for advice and to connect to the outside world. But, it makes me want to scream. Every minute you can’t sleep, I pray that I will be able to become a mother through adoption because not only has my body failed me, but my husband left making procreation impossible at the current time. Every messy diaper or vomit-ruined outfit, I wish I had a baby to hold and cuddle. Every moment they feel like they can’t stand baby world one more second, I desire to hear the sounds of a precious little one in my home, laughing, cooing, crying, screaming. I have come a long way in my internal struggle and issues with infertility and my hostility towards the fertile world, so this is just one more hurdle, but at the same time I wonder just how much more I will have to endure. And, since I don’t necessarily share with the entire world that my womb is barren, these women are not posting the comments to be cruel, it is simply where they are in their lives. But, I do need to remind myself of this from time to time. Really, it’s just not all about me……

So, one more chapter closes and soon a new chapter will begin. I will have some down time, some time to rearrange myself and my life and my house. I don’t know how soon or how long I will be waiting for a new foster child to be placed with me. It is a little bit exciting, waiting for that phone call to ask me for a new placement. You can wake up one morning, buzzing along with your daily routine, and bamm-ooh! You get a call that changes that routine and the course of things in your life. So, I am now waiting for that call. I’m not sure if CHOR will give me some time to recuperate, given the difficulty of this last placement, but I’m hoping they don’t wait a long time and that if they get a placement they think would be a good match for me, I hope they don’t count me out. I’m putting positive happy vibes out there, I think the Lord has some good things in store for me! J

Country Mouse visits City Mouse

I think of myself as someone who respects the decisions other adults make for their own lives. Unless it is something detrimental to family/friends or society at large, I celebrate the differences between us all because that is what makes life interesting and it’s what makes this world go ‘round. If we all wanted to be bakers, drive a Chevy, and live in the Adirondacks, think what a mess things would be! Yet, I find that if a person knows you and has ideas for themselves and their lives that are diametrically opposed to a decision you have made, well then it’s like you just grew two heads and one has a big green boogie hanging out of its nose. My birthday was yesterday – 29 again! I thought I would be more okay with this birthday given my distress about last year’s milestone – I am not. I decided to stay busy this birthday to lessen the blow. I went to visit a college roommate and my sister in Virginia and DC. I cyber stalk my former college roommate on Facebook and so have a Cliff’s Notes version of what is going on, but it was nice to catch up and reminisce at the same time. This friend has almost completed the divorce process – she would be totally finished if her attorney had not dropped the ball in a legal epic fail. She had been married just as long as I had (they got married a few days after us) but she had been with her ex since freshman year in college. That’s 12 years, if you believe my math. So, we are kind of dealing with the same thing, but she was the leave-er and I am the leave-ee in our given situations. Call it small potatoes, but to me it means a lot. Making the decision yourself is hard, very hard. But, still you made the decision. The decision was made for me. The loss of control over an integral part of your own life is quite disturbing, as if your left arm suddenly decided to operate of its own accord without input from your brain. It’s jolting, sickening, and I don’t recommend it. Regardless of the minuscule differences, we are both uncomfortably sitting in the “newly single and 30” boat. Trust me, there are not hoards of people clamoring to join our ranks. The topic of my odd arrangement of living with a foster child came up. Having endured an especially hard week with the child, I vented a little and explained the situation in gory detail. My friend had been up to visit me when I still had the baby, so she knew of the outcome of my first round in foster mothering. Given the second, grueling round, she seemed to assume I was done and would happily slip back into the land of singleness and throw myself into my work/career. Perhaps I should do that….. I have daydreamed about signing up to get certified to teach English as a Second Language overseas – heading to Asia and starting a new life. But, I don’t really want that anymore than I want to be the ex-Mrs. I would feel even more alone, more lost and without an anchor. I have never been terribly career-oriented. I want a decent job, but I also want a job that does not rob me of a life outside of work. Having a family is more important to me. Being connected to people I love and who are important to me is what I value. Work is work. Just like doing laundry or washing dishes – it must be done as a part of life.

I spent Saturday and Sunday morning with my friend, then I went to spend time with my sister. She had an itinerary planned for my visit, which included a brief boat tour/cruise on the Potomac, a birthday party (with her friends), and a trip to a museum or two. She asked about the foster child and I explained that the child would be leaving next week, that I had asked to have her placed somewhere else. My sister applauded the decision and wondered what would be next for me – a boyfriend? Move to a new city? Find a new job? I explained I planned to take in another child and she questioned my sanity. Two failures are not enough? After facing my friends incredulous “Really?!” response to the announcement that I planned to adopt, I simply didn’t have the energy to tell my sister the same. I changed the subject and she never brought it up again.

I am secure in my decision. I know what I want. But, when someone close to you questions a decision – one so fraught with personal strife no less – it stings a bit. It seems, in the wake of the feminine movement, the desire to be a mother has been relegated to the dark ages of a woman’s worth being based on her ability to procreate. A newly single woman of my age should be out living the dream – meeting exciting Dos XX’s men, traveling around the world, getting in touch with herself, and forgetting all about the barrenness of her womb. Adopting? Ludicrous! Why on earth would you want to take care of another human being if you don’t have to? Babies? They bog you down! Being unprepared to expound on my decision, I feebly expressed my desire to be a mother. In the end of December 2008, when we threw away the birth control pills and began our descension into infertility hell, it was the beginning of a journey which could only end in me becoming a mother. I don’t know how to turn around on this path, I have not found a u-turn. The alternative of giving up, dating until I find someone else, and starting infertility treatments again gives me vertigo. It’s unfathomable and would be the final crushing blow to my already fragile psyche. I need this scrap, this shadowy glimmer, this infinitesimal speck of hope. I realize it is non-traditional. I know it seems crazy from the outside looking in. As much as I enjoy tradition, it sometimes doesn’t work for me. And crazy? Crazy is walking away from a 6 year relationship because you don’t like having someone tell you what to do. Crazy is ripping a baby away from a healthy, loving home. Crazy is watching your world crumble and being utterly powerless to stop it. Crazy, I can do.

If nothing else I am stubborn. It has been by sheer power of will that I have not melted under the inferno of pain this past year. I haven’t fallen to total pieces because I refuse to. If you don’t know me, you will not see even the slightest chink in my armor. The morning after the end of my world as I know it, I was at work, taking care of business. Not once have my co-workers been privy to my inner pain. And they will not. Only my parents have witnessed the completely brokenness of my heart and soul, that dangerous dip into insanity. Only the closest friends have seen the mask slip slightly. By my determination to NOT let “this” destroy me, it has not. The searing pain corrodes my insides, but most of the time I look like the same bubbly, happy, lovin-life gal on the outside. I guess, I find comfort in the supportive comments on this blog because, for the most part, those who stumble upon this blog have or are dealing with infertility issues and they can understand that burning desire to be a mother. Perhaps it is not fair to expect someone who does not have that desire to understand. My roommate from college always declared she never wanted children. She is still not sure she does, although she has admitted (after 12 years of denial) she was mostly so adamantly opposed because her ex had pretty significant genetic health issues and she was too terrified to spin the wheel of genetics to see if their genes would result in a healthy or unhealthy child. My sister is 5 years younger than me and she is very dedicated to her job and the career path she has chosen. She is not yet willing to allow motherhood to derail or even slow her progression. When I was a child I had said I wanted to be a mother when I grew up. It was only when I truly understood the question meant what occupation did I want, that my answer changed (it was veterinarian btw – until I interned in high school and hated it).

I guess I wrote this entire entry as a justification, but really it is just to solidify my decision. My decision. My own decision. My only fear is that God, having declared my ability to have a biological child null and void, will determine motherhood is never to be an option for me and for whatever reason I will be denied a child forevermore. But, I pray this is not the case. Surely, if this desire lives inside my heart and the loss and pain I have experienced this year has not quenched it, then it must be something God too desires for me. I try not to get my mind too tangled up in this thought process. I met with the pastor of my church and his wife last week because I have become the de facto Sunday school teacher/leader. They expressed their desire for me to take on more of the roll of leader. During our meeting, I had the realization that I have always worked with children one way or another. I baby-sat extensively in high school, helping develop and direct the children’s program for a MOPS (mothers of preschoolers) program, taking my turn as childcare volunteer in the church, and helping younger kids in 4-H. In college I volunteered at several programs working with children in a day care and after school program, and became a Big Sister (I wasn’t very good at it since I didn’t really have enough time to dedicate to the girl and we really didn’t mesh well). In the Peace Corps my house was always loaded with neighborhood children. A day did not go by that the children didn’t come over to play or learn about baking or just hang out on my hammock. Even when I came back from the Peace Corps, I took a job as the assistant director for the children’s ministry at Motivated Moms, a non-profit that taught ESL to local women and men and provided childcare while the parents were in class. I love all the little kids in my Sunday school class and I am excited to be able to help teach them and move into my new position as leader of Sunday school teachers. But, I digress…….

I guess, what I can say in closing, is that I don’t owe anyone an explanation. I am of sound mind, I am only the good kind of crazy, and I am willing to accept that this is not a simple thing that I am about to do. As per my first paragraph, my decision has no negative ramifications to those who love me. If anything, it is something that will help me heal. Finally becoming a mother, after such an epic struggle, will be a balm to soothe my aching soul. I am not delusional, I know that being a single mother is not easy. I have been living with an incredibly difficult child for 5 months now and by all accounts, I have done quite well despite the insurmountable behavioral issues. So, my choice is not one generally made. But, sometimes you just gotta dance to your own music, even if no one but you can hear it.

One is a Lonely Number

Below is a post I had written Friday. I didn't post it then, so I am posting it now. Now, I am home alone. My foster child is with another foster family this weekend - this should make more sense when you read the information below. I guess, despite all of the issues, I got used to having someone in the house. I'm an extrovert, I like having people around. I don't generally like being on my own for extended periods of times. The only time I lived alone before March was when I was in the Peace Corps and despite living in the house alone, I was only alone at night. During the day my house was either crawling with neighborhood kids or I was out visiting other families. One has to try very hard to be alone in Nicaragua. So, I would never choose to live alone. Yet, here I am. Just one more thing to deal with, I suppose. But, I digress. Along with the show.....

In part, I wanted to be a foster mother to fulfill my intense need to mother a child, even if that child would never be my own. I had made up my mind, before I got the call, that I would take any child they called me with. I wasn’t thinking they would call me with a pre-adolescent child. But, I took her anyway. In the past 4 months I have felt like a big sister, a camp counselor, a prison warden, a housekeeper, and a target but never have I felt like a mother. This past Monday I officially submitted my 30 days notice. What this means in foster care speak, is that I am asking CHOR to remove this child from my home and they have 30 days to do it. It was  not a decision I made easily. But, I had finally reached the end – the end of my patience, the end of my belief that I could help this child, the end of my ability to deal with the multitude of behavioral issues. I am sad that it has come to this because I truly wanted to be able to help her. But, it is beyond that now. Even my own parents, who raised three kids with varying trying behaviors and issues, stated their inability to deal with the behavioral issues. So, in 30 days my home will once again be devoid of children.

I have learned a lot through this 4 month ordeal. First, I do not want a child who is older than 5 in my house. Older children have potentially been in the unhealthy family environment too long to effect much change in their mode of operandi. In order to save money, “the system” decided to offer more in-home services to keep the kids with their families until absolutely necessary to remove them. What this generally equates is children with more profound problems, making it harder for them to flourish in a foster home. Such was the case I encountered. Second, I learned that I have a lot more parenting skills than I thought I did. I guess I must have learned them from watching my parents. At the very least, it is comforting to know that while the lady parts might be broken, the mother inside me lives. Third, and I think the most important thing I learned, is that I can do this on my own. I don’t mean to say that I did not get help from CHOR because I did – a lot. But, I mean the daily grind and following a schedule, that I managed to do on my own. Not without some hiccups and issues, but still I managed. And more than anything, I solidified my decision to pursue adoption as a single woman.

After losing the baby and Flaco walking out, I wasn’t sure I wanted to try becoming a mother on my own. Call me old fashioned, but I believe it is best for a child to be in a two parent household. But, slowly I realized that if I am adopting a  child from foster care I am giving them a second chance at a family. And they might be coming from a two parent household that was detrimental for them. Plus, I have the support of my parents, who will be a great influence for the child. And, maybe someday, I will find Mr. Right who thinks it’s pretty dam cool that I am a single mother through adoption.

Men are not high on my priority list right now. I did try the online thing for a little while, but all I ever found were freaks, weirdoes, and nut jobs. Even the nice ones were not my cup of tea. It took me awhile to realize that I was not over Flaco enough to invest in another relationship. Flaco, that topic is a huge bundle of stinkin’ hot mess. Very recently, I have made the decision that I need to cut all ties. Forget asking him to financially help cover some of the debt he helped to create. Forget trying to be “friends” or anything else. It only took me 7 months of his bullshit, but I finally realized – I am better off without him around. He is a noose around the neck of my future. He is the albatross dragging me down and holding me back. He has made his decision and now I have made mine. Adios Muchacho. I don’t need or want you anymore. Take your narcissistic shit to someone who cares, because she ain’t me. If nothing else, this difficult year has taught me that I am stronger than I thought I was. I’m scary strong. Wo-man of steel strong. So, things might be tough right now, but I will come out on top. Better days are ahead of me, that is for sure. And, if God decides to send some nice, kind, hard-working, tall dark and handsome my way, well all the better. But, this mountain sure as hell ain’t going to Mohammad.

There are still times when I get those old pangs of sadness about being infertile. Four babies were born at church within a 6 week period late this summer – and it’s a small church, no more than 30 people attending on an average Sunday. Via Facebook, I have been subjected to the pre-birth count-down replete with groans of pregnancy discomforts followed by plethora of photos, crush of well-wishes and declarations of “such a beautiful family” of 5 more births (well, one is just about ready to give birth). The best way I can describe how I deal, is that I shove it down deep and tell myself, “it has nothing to do with you.” For whatever reason, Flaco and I were not meant to have a baby together. As much as it hurts to say that and believe that, it is something I must say and believe. Perhaps, someday soon I will view it as a blessing. And I tell myself, I can still be a mother. Stretch marks and leaking breasts alone don’t make you a mother. The best I can do right now is ignore it. Ignore the burning in my stomach when I learn of a newly pregnant woman. Ignore the tears that sting my eyes when a new birth is touted so joyously in front of me. My path is a different one. But, God has given me the strength and grace to walk this path. And I believe in my heart-of-hearts that I will soon be a mother.

Once I get a little break from my current foster child, I will call up my case worker at CHOR and let her know I would like to be considered for legal risk and children available for adoption, the younger the better. I’m hoping to have a new placement before the holiday season – I think it will be easier to get through the holidays if I am doing it for a young child. Children have the power to bring out the magic in the holiday season. It’s time to move out of this land of misery. I am ready to leave behind the time of trial and tribulation. I am ready to live an abundant life, over flowing with joy.     

Doing it Alone

I have been thinking a lot about what a fellow blogger commented in regards to my last post. She wondered if I considered parenting on my own, as a single mother. I was very willing to do that when I had the baby and Flaco left. In fact, I was doing that for the majority of the time I had the precious little one with me. When I decided I wanted to continue with CHOR I explained it to my case worker like this: "I want to do foster care and open my home to a child in need. I am not opposed to adoption and I am not closing the door on adoption, if the right circumstances become available I would be willing to explore that option."  I wanted it to be known that I was not seeking adoption at this point, per se, but I would also not object if such a situation presented itself. I would leave all that timing and whatnot up to The Big Guy Upstairs. It’s not any easy thing to do, to let go of the control. After the therapist finally wrote the letter stating I was not crazy and would be a good foster mom, it was a mere 10 days before CHOR called me with a referral resulting in the child living with me now. I had already decided, baring any major health or behavioral issues, I would be willing to take nearly any child. I had told them I would be willing to take a child as old as 6 or 7 but ended up with  a ‘tween which is fine with me as well.

This week I was talking with my friend who recently adopted a child through CHOR and she asked if I was concerned that by having this child with me I would miss out on the opportunity to adopt a toddler or a baby. She believed this was still my intent in the foster care process. I told her that I was content being a foster mother because I needed to see if I could “do this;” be a single mother. Am I worried about losing a placement for a younger child? No. The child I have now needs a place to stay. She is supposed to be with me, for some reason. She has things to teach me about being a mom. At least this is what I choose to believe. I don’t know how long I will have her with me, it has been mentioned a few times that she would be with me for some time. And that is ok. If there is a child meant to be mine, he/she will find his/her way to me.

So, the question of me forging ahead into single motherhood is something up in the air at the moment. I don’t have the financial means to pursue impregnation via IVF and I don’t know that I would want to do that all by myself. I don’t know, I might re-consider this in a few more years when the ticking clock becomes unbearable. At this point, I think I would be much more likely to adopt a child in foster care. But, I do have some qualms about that as well. Mostly, I wonder if this is just pure selfishness on my part. Being a single mother is not easy, not for the mother and not for the child. When all the work falls upon one parent, it makes it much harder to enjoy other things. Right now, I feel like after we get home around 5 pm, have dinner and I try to get one or two tasks done around the house, there is simply not enough time for just hanging out or doing something special. Generally, I try to make up for it during the weekends, but some activities (like power washing and re-painting my back porch) cannot be completed during the week and must get done on the weekends. Wouldn’t it be better for a child to be in a two parent household, where the workload can be shared and the child can get more one-on-one attention? And I don’t say this to judge the many wonderful single mothers. I have some friends who are single mothers and their children are beautiful, well-adjusted, well-behaved, and doing just great. I am judging myself. And, really, my idea was never to be a single mother. I wanted the whole package; the husband, the house, the kids, the dog, mini van, pony, white picket fence – the whole enchilada! So, I just don’t know.

My therapist asked me yesterday if I am actively trying to date. I told him I was and now I am not. Maybe I was simply trying to fill in the hole that Flaco left in my heart and in my life, I don’t know. I jumped on the on-line dating bandwagon and allowed myself to get set up or meet other guys. All for naught. In my mind it felt like a bizarre game show.  A guy would show up one way or another and very quickly I would find some unbearable flaw and hit the buzzer, dropping him through the trap door. Next! Some would stick around for awhile and I would try, but none of it felt right. I had someone offer to set me up with a guy she works with and she says he is “so nice.” I declined at the moment, citing the foster child in my care as a reason. I discovered that I am actually grateful to have a valid reason to not be out there dating. I don’t think I have the stomach to wade through all the crazies and not-for-me kinda guys. Maybe this too is me finally letting God take over – Jesus take the wheel! I suppose, if I am meant to be with someone, God will put us in each other’s way and it will be a positive interaction, balanced and simple. If there is a guy out there who wants to stick around and get to know the fabulous person I am, then I guess it will be meant to be. At the moment, I have finally erected some walls and hurdles for anyone wishing to date me to surmount. I have had several offers for friends with benefits arrangments, which makes my stomach churn worse than the Metformin..... I know I might not have the highest self-esteem some times, but I truly think I am worth a whole lot more than that! And I deserve more than that! Friends with benefits - who benefits? Certainly not me...... So, no boys for me. Right now, they all have cooties.....

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…….