Lost in Translation

Sometimes you just need to know the context:

"Mommy, it water down there." = I peed the bed.
"Itty Bitty I don't like that shoe fly." = Itty Bitty doesn't like flies.
"I had fun day Dora." = I like Dora.
"CC no CC and no Stubby" = a cat
"Jumping shoes" = sneakers

FAQ #3

Actually, this one only gets asked every six months. In my living room. By my caseworker. While filling out some six month review to keep us all in compliance. Something to the effect of: How does the family feel about fostering?

The answer changes with the mood. With the day. With the recent entries or upcoming good-byes. It is fluid. I can never give the answer I want because it's asked while kids are wanting attention, while my brain is in 4 different places, while my caseworker sits beside me waiting.

Tonight, this would be my answer:

I’ve just watched a video of my 3 current kids pretending to catch flies at the dinner table. I watched it in its 20-ish second entirety no fewer than 25 times. It is the most simple game we created out of necessity after leaving the backdoor open way too long the other day. This is what I love about fostering. Over three years, I have fostered piñata hitters, puppeteers, hair braiders, skateboard riders, thumb suckers, ice cream lovers, dog petters, stroller riders, Capital ground hill roller-downers, cat feeders, story book readers, footie pajama wearers, laugh-till-you-pee-your-pants-ers, and yes, pretend fly catchers. I love that we are a family. Though who we are changes, what we are doesn't. I like to think that the difference between my family and any other family is just the descriptor that sits in front. I love that sitting at the dinner table with three kids still makes me, at least once a week, get up laughing and say: Hang on, let me get the camera.

A week ago, having processed again the idea of Little Guy leaving soon, I was NOT a fan of foster care. There are times where I hate the idea that this constantly changing family is my life. That when I say Hello, I know there will be a Goodbye. That there is a need for homes like mine. That kids ultimately grow in their skin here, become secure, happy little people, are embraced by the community, are adored but then they have to move again. That I watch a variety of children have a single birthday and then watch them leave.

Tonight though, having watched the fly saga happen at the dinner table and in the tub, after reading over and over again a story I have written for the kids to prepare them for Little Guy’s transition, after playing This Little Piggy with 30 little piggies while putting on three pair of pjs, while patting Itty Bitty back to sleep, I am on board. Though it changes with the kids, with each backstory, with court dates, visits and transitions, it is home for me.

Year Three

I am pretty sure that three years ago, I did not spend my Sundays lip syncing to Raffi and performing puppet shows with bath toys over the top of the curtain so that I could stay in the shower just a few more minutes. I think I may have read books with more than 10 words to a page. I may even have finished a project a little more time consuming than building a lego tower.

Year Three has been filled with ups and downs, hellos and goodbyes, firsts and lasts. It held the first child to be adopted from my home, the first to be reunified, the first to be the third in the home, the first (and second, and third) to not speak English, the first (what I consider to be a) baby. It's held long, carefully planned moves and very quick barely-time-for-good-bye moves. It's held arrivals with a few days notice and arrivals with 30 minutes notice. It's held very easy kiddos and tough nuts to crack. It's held much, much joy and much, much heartache.

Entering the fourth year, we are approaching the disbanding of our little United Nations. Soon, a little toddler bed in the corner of the room will be vacant. There will be no kissing good night Puppy, Bear, Panda, Flower, Water and Little Guy. There will instead be an emptiness in our family which I imagine will be filled with another story, another hello, another set of firsts, favorites, and fun. The girls, as long as they are here, and I will continue on our ride, ready for the next kiddo who needs a good stop for a while.

Fireflies

We've finally picked up our pj story hour habit again after taking the summer off. What this means is that children actually see DARK. Little Guy is fascinated by the dome light in the car and the security light in the carport. Night Owl frequently comments: Cars! Light! (yes, cars have lights) and Mommy! No see!

Tonight we timed things perfectly and got home just as the fireflies were performing their finale for the evening. I find there are many things I have a hard time explaining to my kiddos, but trying to get them to see a firefly at just the right second was tricky. They weren't getting it. They were smiling and nodding at my excitement. They were pointing at the moon. And then, almost simultaneously, they all saw what I meant. "Wow!" "Look at that!" "Mira!" "The light, mommy. The bug light!" Even Itty was pointing and screeching. What a fun end to an already good evening, and a reminder that even little teeny tiny things can get a big "Wow!"

The New Night Owl

I just found a pair of Owl's socks in the washer. Why is this so significant? Because nearly three months ago, she was a tornado. A dumping, kicking, spitting, tearing, hurting, screaming storm of a child spinning wildly around out there on her own. Initially, nothing I did could convince her that she had someone on her team here. Fast forward two months, though, and we have a kid who follows every routine introduced and appears to love it. Shoes in box. Socks in washer. Backpack by table. "All Done!" All that with no direction or reminders from me.

I am not sure I have seen this type of progression in any of my kids. Absolutely, it is wonderful for me to not have to hover. To not worry that her alone in the room will cause a cat to come out limping. To not wonder if we can go out in public without having to quickly leave. To have little concern that Little Guy is getting the brunt of the storm. To sleep through the night. Yes, it's lovely.

But more lovely is the child who has emerged. The one who smiles and tells everyone "hello". Who pets, feeds, and plays with cats. Who takes turns with Little Guy and makes him laugh. Who entertains us all with her dancing and singing to ballads on her favorite CD. Who walks around singing "Allelujah," "Happy Birthday!" and "I love you, so-and-so". Who sleeps through the night.

I loved you even when you were a storm, little Owl, but what fun it is to see you now!

THREE!!

When no one in the house appears to understand what "It's your birthday!" means, it's easy to make it a special day. It was such a contrast to the last birthday in the house--Ladybug--who, with the help of Beignet knew exactly what to expect, what to sing, and that it would be a big day.

On par with the rest of our low key life, turning three was low key, but fun and special all the same. Zoo trip, cupcakes and chickfila. Trike, tub toys, and puzzles. Sister, sister, mama. Auntie, Auntie, and Auntie.

Cute boy. Sweet boy. Birthday Boy!

All I Ever Really Needed To Know...

...I learned from an eighteen month old:

--Carry house keys when taking out the trash.
--Forget about chokable and breakable. Think lickable and drool-tolerant.
--Toddler teeth are sharp.
--Worry not about bathroom germs. Every surface of the bathroom will be touched and mouthed in the time it takes to use the restroom.
--Favorite word = NO = not endearing.