A Life-Changing Year

Hi, friends.  I have no idea if any one is out there to read me anymore- I know I've been gone a long time. I've been wanting to share some things with you for quite some time now but before I could get settled in regarding one event, bang! another one would hit and so on.  I think I have it pretty much together (let's just say that I do, anyway) at this point so I'm going to share before the next thing comes along and re-rattles me:-).

This past year has altered my life in several major ways and while I could possibly write a book on each of the major ways, I will instead try to summarize things for you.   Here we go.

1) Remember that sweet little special needs foster baby we brought into our lives almost two years ago?  He's now ours.  The official adoption came through last month just in time for Christmas.  There are so many emotions wrapped up in adoption- I never knew...and I never imagined I'd be experiencing them!  God had other plans as did our hearts.  We are now a family of six.

2) In less than four months, my parents are moving in with us!  This plan has been in the works for years and we are finally in the process of having an addition put on our house that not only gives my parents a full living space but that gives our family some extra bedrooms as well.  We are currently squished into two bedrooms as the two houses are being combined but before long, we will spread out again.  And, boy, are we going to appreciate the extra space.  My parents are still young so we are looking forward to many years of living beside them and caring for them (as I am sure they will continue to care for us).

3) And, finally (and with much trepidation for some reason), I want to share with you that back in October I had a heart attack.  I can hardly believe it as I type it.  I experienced a Spontaneous Coronary Artery Dissection.  This is not your normal heart attack- in fact, it's quite rare.  Arteries have layers and the inner layer of one of my arteries tore allowing blood to seep into the wall of the artery causing a bulge and a 70% blockage which lead to the heart attack.  I thank God that it happened in the early hours of the morning (it woke me up) while Jamey was still home and did NOT happen in front of my children.

I HIGHLY recommend that everyone carry chewable 81mg baby aspirin with them.  Jamey fed me four of these as we ran red lights on the way to the ER and they greatly reduced the horrible chest pain/squeezing I was experiencing.

My recovery is ongoing but positive.  I'm now on medication and just finished cardiac rehab.  There isn't a lot known about SCAD so I've enrolled in a clinical study to help with research.  Why it happens isn't really known and there is a possibility of recurrence.  I am still wrapping my head around my new normal and would appreciate any prayers you're able to raise on my (and my family's) behalf.

For all of these reasons (and many more that have come into focus through all of this), I thought it time to officially bow out of this site for the time being.  I kind of already have but I wanted to share with you some of the why.  I'm leaving it all here for my own record, for a resource and just in case I one day come back.

Update: The paper copies of my cookbook have sold out. Thank you all for your orders! The digital copy is still available on Amazon.

Blessings to each of you this year.  Love your people and people that aren't your people and make time to take care of yourself.  Our bodies are AMAZING and deserve so much more care than we give them.

Love,
Jane

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Encapsulated

I think this is the right word.  If we were playing Taboo or Catch Phrase, I'd say, "It's that thing when you've thrown yourself so far into taking care of a baby or toddler that you kind of forget who you are and when you're apart for a spell you don't quite know how to think or act.  You know, it's when you know you're in there- you're not really lost- you're just surrounded by the you that takes care of the them?"

And you'd yell, "Encapsulated!" and we'd win the game because we're like sisters like that.

I'm not sure what age my youngest becomes when those encapsulating layers peel off, but since my kids are generally about three years apart, I know it happens close to or just about prior to age three.  Or maybe that last layer or two wasn't quite free before the next one came along.  Either way, the me starts to shine through the me-caring-for-them at some stage.  I know it does.  I've caught glimpses of her over the years.  Yes, I have.

It's just amazing how those layers pile back on. They form a nice, thick blanket of wondering if they're eating enough and if they might be teething and what was that thing they just put in their mouth and are they getting enough attention and are we spoiling them and...you know- the constant mom-mantra-thought-stream that runs through our heads.  You know it, right?

The thing is, I feel quite naked without those layers.  I don't think it's because I'm uncomfortable with the me underneath (although when we get get reacquainted each time it takes a bit to fall back in sync).  I think I'm just wired to nurture.  And I recognize that not everyone might be.  It's my experience that it's a gift...and it's a bit of a curse because it can be hard to take care of a person who is surrounded by cushion-y layers of baby-need-thought-sequences.  So, maybe I don't take care of myself as well as I should (eating well, exercising, time for quiet and prayer).  Maybe I don't write as often as I'd like.  Or call up friends as much as they'd like.

So, what do I do about all this?  I need to find a way to burrow a little hole through the layers and into the soft, squishy center inside.  A tiny laundry chute, let's say- where I can pass myself some raw carrots and a walk on the treadmill now and then.  Where I can reach out through to my keyboard and type a quick (likely, oddly written) post about who knows what.

I don't want to become de-encapsulated quite yet.  It's not time.  But that girl in there could sure use some fresh air now and again. Snorkel, anyone?

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Outside Play

written this spring

A blogger friend of mine recently shared this article from Huffington Post.  The author, a pediatric occupational therapist, recommends kids play outside at least three hours a day- and this shouldn't include organized sports.

I couldn't agree more but it's taken me more than a few years to get here.  When my older kids were pre-school and young school-age, I was kind-of a nervous mom (I can hear Jamey saying sarcastically, "Kind of?").  I didn't want them to eat too much dirt, fall on rusty nails, climb too high in the trees, etc.  Plus, I wasn't content to just be outside, so I'd start a project like weeding and then get frustrated when they'd wander out of my line of vision and I had to stop what I was doing and follow them.

Fast forward ten years.  My kids are older so they generally know how much dirt is okay to eat (wink) and they're the ones pounding in the rusty nails with hammers.  As far as climbing trees goes...well, that's a story for another time.

One aspect of this outside play that I wasn't willing to relinquish back then that I see so much value in now is our time apart.  As a homeschooling family, we're together a lot.  When they enter their own world of play outside while I'm inside, we all get a nice break from each other.  They're free to argue, discuss, make semi-unsafe plans (then rule them out on their own, hopefully) without a mother cringing (and maybe intervening) from the next room.  And for me, I get time to think.

Another thing I've learned?  Those weeds aren't the end of the world.  When the toddler who's with us now starts saying, "peep peep peep" inside, it's his way of asking to go outside.  He's giddy with excitement as I put on his socks and shoes and we head out the door.  He makes a bee-line for the chicks and pokes his little finger through the chicken wire of their cage, petting them with his finger tips until they scurry away.

Then he makes his way into the shed that houses the mower and climbs onto the seat, wrestling the ear protection off the steering wheel and placing them on his little head, grabbing the wheel and rocking, willing the mower to start (he's had a ride and now he's obsessed).  Following this little guy around outside is such a joy.  I (usually) don't notice the weeds and instead I can actually see the world through his wide eyes. For a while yet, he'll need a grown up to help him navigate it but hopefully one day, he'll relish spending time outdoors- away from grown-ups, creating his own pretend world of play, too.

"There’s so much value in kids creating play schemes on their own. Kids who are always told how to play have trouble thinking outside the box, and even answering freeform essay questions. Plus, true outdoor free play is like cross training, with the climbing, spinning, going upside down, and the like that adults don’t encourage but that are so valuable for their development." - from the author of the article, Angela Hanscon

So, nervous mamas out there, I feel you.  Take a deep breath and take just one or two steps back. There's the reward of freedom in it for both you and your kids if you're able to let go just a bit.  And there's joy in being given a tour of their newly fixed up hog-shed turned club house...complete with art on the walls, flowers, furniture they nailed together, a caterpillar habitat, a play-area for the toddler, and a floor that may or may not be swept cleaner than my kitchen floor inside.

Maybe four hours a day should be the new recommendation? Pin It

Oh, How Far We've Come

I felt so much gratitude this morning in what might seem to be such a normal, routine event.  Our little foster boy was sitting, reclined on my lap drinking his first sippy cup of formula of the day.  We recently switched to a new spout and he was intrigued.  He'd take a few gulps, stop and breath due to a stuffy nose, look at the new spout and grin at it, then latch on for another few gulps.  Smiling at his milk is HUGE for this little guy and in that moment I was overwhelmed with how far we've come.

Almost 16 months ago, at about two in the afternoon, I received a call from social services.  There was a preemie baby boy in the hospital, ready for discharge who needed a home.  He was not eating well on his own so he had a gastronomy tube placed in his little tummy a few days before.  "We need you to get him well," is what the social worker said.

In the days and weeks and months that followed, we spent countless hours trying to encourage this little guy to eat.  He did not like his bottle at all- sometimes even putting himself to sleep (a defense mechanism) to avoid it- waking himself up minutes later after the bottle was put away.  So most of his formula went in via the feeding tube.  It took an hour.  Every three hours.  Even through the night.

It took months and months for me to release control of his eating.  I wanted to make him well. Right then.  It was not in his timing, however, so we had to learn patience and to let him lead.  Slowly (painfully slowly) he began to eat more and more- often in increments of milliliters.  Later than normal (due to his issues), we introduced solids and that went slowly as well (he easily gagged and choked).  It seemed as if we'd never "get him well".

Fast forward to today.  Not only is he smiling at his sippy cup, he rarely gags on his solids anymore.  In six days, we've been given permission by his specialist to stop the night-time tube feeds (we were able to drop the day-time feeds months ago).  If he does well and maintains (and gains) weight, we could be looking at removing the g-tube for good.  Tears come at the thought.

So my thankfulness overflows.  Not just from the fact that he's made such strides but in remembering all the people who've helped us- making it possible for us to take care of him.  I think of all the meals our church and close friends brought to us. I think of neighbors who came and held him daily so I could take a shower or do some laundry.  I think of other friends who drove us to the children's hospital weekly for months because I was worried that I was too sleep-deprived to stay awake behind the wheel.  I think of those who watched and cared for our three kids while I went to SO many doctors appointments and family visits.  I think of his home health nurse who came every week to check on him and encourage us.  I think of our two doctor friends who made house calls or let us run him over to their home when we had more urgent questions and concerns.  And all the prayers- so many people prayed for us.

Not everyone is called to foster but those of us who are can't do it alone.  Today I thank God for His protection, guidance and healing.  And I thank Him for prompting the hearts and minds of our friends and family who reached out to lend a hand, an ear and loving arms.

To God be the glory.

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A Day in February 2017

I force myself up soon after 8am when I hear the toddler stirring in the next room.  I want so badly to be a morning person but I am not.

Get dressed, start drinking my cup of coffee and check email.  Ready toddler's milk. Ready toddler's family visit diaper bag- making sure it has diapers, wipes, snack, milk with a cold pack, a few toys and a change of clothes.

Retrieve now fully awake toddler from crib and give him a bath since his hair smells like he spit up during the night.  Get splashed by the happy little boy in the tub.

Get toddler dressed and let him play with Miriam (who is now up, too) while I call to make two necessary medical appointments for toddler.

Feed toddler breakfast while I eat my yogurt and granola and drink some more of my (now cool) coffee.

Wake up big kids and give instructions for the morning.  Run upstairs and change into town clothes.

About 9:45 am, run toddler into town for his family visit with birth dad.  Make conversation with birth dad in waiting room until social worker comes out.  Pass toddler to his dad and try not to breakdown as he cries and lunges for me as I walk out of the building.

Drive home and check on progress of kids' school work.  Do school with Miriam.  Reheat same cup of coffee and drink some more.

At 10:45 am, take Miriam and go pick up toddler who is very happy to see us.  Miriam thinks it's neat that a police officer held the door for us while we were leaving the office and later tells her sister he was handsome. Pile back into van- hand sanitizer all around.

Drive directly to toddler's doctor's office for appointment.  Miriam and I chase toddler all around waiting room and exam room trying to keep him out of trash cans and from putting things in his mouth.  Leave doctor's office- hand sanitizer all around.  Phone home and ask Sam to start lunch.

Once home, call social worker to give updates on doctor's appointment and other appointment scheduled.  Give extra cuddles to toddler who is often very clingy the day or two after his visit.

Almost 1:00 pm, eat lunch together. Put toddler down for nap.  Pray he sleeps longer than an hour. He does! Get dishes into the kitchen.  Finish school with Miriam.  Start school with Sadie.  Finish cold coffee. Work on school until mail comes and Sadie's first American Girl doll arrives (which she saved up for herself).  All bets on finishing school with Sadie are off.

Fold the last load of laundry (with toddler "helping") that didn't get folded from the laundry spree the night before.  Eat some cookie dough from the freezer and then throw the rest away to keep from eating more.

Finish washing up dishes (while toddler keeps a handful of my skirt in his little fist). Start to think about dinner and decide I need to document one of these days so one day I can remember what life is like right now.  Start to type this post on the way to the pantry to get tomato sauce.

Assemble supper (baked pasta with meatballs).  Jamey gets home from work.  Say brief hello and give instructions for baking the dinner.

Drop Sam and Sadie off at choir and drive to the grocery store.  Park the van in the parking lot, recline seat and BREATHE for 5 minutes.  Fill up my grocery cart, wince, pay, and head home.

Unpack groceries while cooking peas (baked pasta almost ready).  Eat dinner with Jamey, Miriam and toddler.  Fill Jamey in on our day.  Pack up some supper for Sadie.  Kiss toddler good night.

Take Miriam to her music class and pick up Sadie.  Sit with Sadie while she eats.  Sit in on Sam's choir rehearsal until Miriam is done her class.  Drive the girls home and watch a new episode of The Incredible Dr. Pol together.

Hug girls goodnight, discuss next day's plan (Jamey has off!), watch a TV show, greet Sam when his ride drops him off at home. Send him into the kitchen to find dinner and snacks.

Check email, read a few articles, check out what friends are up to on facebook, watch some PBS Masterpiece and head to bed.

Things I did not include:
- times I let the dog in and out of the house
- times I loaded and tended the wood stove
- diapers changed
- times I scolded myself for not drinking enough water (I had my first kidney stone this summer which was ALMOST LIKE LABOR)
- times I asked the kids to be quiet because the baby is sleeping
- photos because I didn't even think to take any

These days I experience many moments when I'm fully present in the now.  But there are also moments when I'm on the verge of panic over what the future will bring for the little boy who has started calling me "ma".  And, what our life will feel like without him.

Thankfully, the present-moments out number the panic-filled ones.  And thankfully, this particular day is (usually) the busiest of our week. Pin It

A Christmas Letter to You

Dear Friends,

It's been two months since I've written here and that feels like an eternity.  A few of you have even sweetly reached out to check in on us-to see if everything is okay- and I am very thankful to say that it is.  We are fine.

One lone pig resides out in the pig yard.  The honeybees are (mostly) hunkered down in their hives. Our chickens are no more (thanks to culling the elder ones and a predator).  We have plans for starting the flock over in the spring with many fluffy chicks.  The garden is where we left it and our CSA has been over for months.  We're (miraculously) keeping up with school and choir, sign language lessons, and church activities.  We're healthy overall and thankful for a good job, a warm house, full cabinets of food, kind neighbors, loving family...the list goes on and on and on.

I could say that I haven't been writing because we've been busy and that's true.  But ever since starting this blog (8 years ago?), I've always been busy.  So I guess it's more accurate to say that my head and heart are busy as I pour myself into caring for our family- husband, three kids and one (newly-turned-one) sweet-as-can-be foster child.

Our little guy is still with us but over the next couple months, major decisions will be made about his future.  This takes up much of my head space as I strive to stay in the moment and, at the same time, try to prepare our family (and myself) for his departure from us. Prayers are welcome.

In light of all this, the season of remembering that God willingly sent His Son to us and then gave Him up is SO not lost on me.  

The tree, the lights, the gifts, activities, and cookies are all very nice but let's not let them become Christmas idols- distracting us from the reality of the season.  What a sacrifice.  What a love.  It seems to defy all reason, all natural ability and that's because it does.  It's supernatural and cannot be thought of, celebrated, or lived through without acknowledging that it occurred only because GOD was in it and through it.

May we see Him in everything this season and trust that He is always in everything- the good, the bad and the seemingly impossible.

"Everything was created through him;
    nothing—not one thing!—
    came into being without him.
What came into existence was Life,
    and the Life was Light to live by.
The Life-Light blazed out of the darkness;
    the darkness couldn’t put it out."

John 1:3-5, The Message

So I want to wish you a very happy and Merry Life-Light-mas.

Love,

Jane

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And All Was Right with the World

It was 10am on a weekday.  Jamey had the day off and was with Sam at the library checking out books and looking up articles for the upcoming start of Challenge B.  Sadie and Miriam had been begging for harder chores that I'd pay them a little something for since big brother Sam has recently been doing some odd jobs for a neighbor.

Sadie was down below me in the front flower beds- pulling up the remaining roots of bushes that Jamey and Sam had extracted this summer.  Her task was to rid these beds of weeds and roots and level them out so grass could take over.  I am SO not into flower beds these days.

Miriam was inside reorganizing our DVD and game cabinet that had been ravaged over the summer- no small task for a seven-year-old as game pieces and DVDs needed help finding their homes.

Where was I?  The baby and I were snuggled into my new porch hammock/chair*, swinging gently.  The air was still cool, the porch still in the morning shade.  Sunflowers and hydrangeas swayed and bent in the breeze as a flock (no kidding- I've never seen so many) of barn swallows swooped and darted in the yard and field in front of me.  The baby, usually climbing all over me- attempting to eat my face and finger my earrings- was calm and tender as he played with my arm and was mesmerized by the swallows, too.

Out of the blue, a feeling of peace and genuine thankfulness overtook me and brought me to tears.

I haven't been experiencing many of these moments lately and I didn't realize how starved I had become for them.  Fostering this time around has put me in intimate touch with another world- a world of mental health issues, poverty, chaos, and violence.  It's hard to shake off and fully live in my own safe and quiet life.

A month or so ago I was trying to describe this feeling to a new friend (who also fosters infants).  I told her it felt as if I was sitting on the seat of a dunk tank.  Sitting up on top, I live in my world.  It's a quiet life.  I think of myself as a fairly sheltered Mennonite girl- I garden, can, attend church and homeschool my kids.  I have supportive and loving family, friends and neighbors.  My husband is my best friend and we enjoy our (fairly) quiet life.  

But then---Bam!  A ball hits the target (I take the baby to a family visit, get a call from his social worker or check his birth parents' facebook pages- I highly recommend you not do this) and I'm plunged into this other world.  And it's scary there. ( I try to imagine living there- what if my reality was a birth parent’s reality?  Not knowing when and if I’d bring my child home with me.  Not knowing if I’d make rent or have enough gas to get to work or whether my partner will stick around or if I’ll end up in jail again.)

I'm hauled out, dripping wet, and try to re-engage in my life.  But I'm shivering and shaken up and it takes hours and sometimes days to recover before I'm dunked back under.  This.  This is why these moments of peace and bliss aren't bubbling up for me as often.  I'm pulled down and hauled up.  Dunked under one second and then scrambling to dry off the next.  Attempting to engage both worlds for the sake of this baby.  Trying to get my footing in my world and brace myself for the next entry into the other.

I was starting to worry that fostering was callousing me to the point that I wouldn't be able to see God's handiwork as readily before me as in the past, that I wouldn't as often feel His calming touch and caring presence that reassures me that He loves me and is for me.  I've been too busy trying to suppress a panic attack- which creates stellar knots in your neck and shoulders, by to the way.

That instance of peace- when all was right with my world- was all the sweeter because it was isolated.  It was as if God knew I needed it but wanted it to be special...treasured.  I know there will be more and I look forward to each one with longing.  For an instant, it was just me and God and the dunk tank was nowhere to be seen.

******************************

*Side note: I highly recommend considering purchasing one of these hammock chairs (or something similar). Not only do babies love to gently swing but a chair like this has forced me to sit, enjoy the outdoors and SLOW DOWN.  Our front porch has become the new place to be because of it- mom is relaxed and not distracted.  I can be more present for everyone.  Plus, it's sturdy enough that the girls like to take turns sitting with me in it, too.  Who would have thought a silly chair could do all that?

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Season Shift

I've been meaning to write this post for weeks.  Instead, I've be continuously thinking of and reeling from a tragedy that some dear friends are living through.  Their sweet 4-month old baby boy passed away.  Please remember them in your prayers as they and their little girl grieve this enormous loss.  Thank you.

I'm still here (more or less).

The past couple months have flown by in a blur of baby and kid care, cooking from CSA boxes, trying to stay cool, birth family visits, a week of vacation, lesson planning, and day to day summer life.

In one week, we will start school as best as we can.  I recently read an article encouraging homeschool moms to think of their plans as "guesses".  I needed that.  Life is unpredictable and I am forever learning that I can't hold so tightly to my neatly structured plans.  Naps, appointments and feeding schedules are sure to change.  Lord, help me flex with them.

A summer without a huge garden of produce was, to be honest, so very nice.  Tomatoes came pouring in from our garden last week and I managed a large batch of canned, chopped tomatoes and a batch of tomato soup with one more go at soup planned for this week.  Thankfully, I have enough tomato sauce from last year to carry us over.

Since this was our first experience with a CSA (a full share) I wasn't sure what to expect.  Several people told us they found themselves trying new recipes to use up produce they usually don't buy.  I don't think I tried one new recipe.  Instead we roasted or ate fresh almost every single item.  It was a breeze...and so delicious.  If you don't have the space or time to garden, I highly recommend you look into a CSA.

The little boy with us is 8 months old already.  He is happy and healthy- a real joy.  It appears he will be with us for awhile yet.  Where he goes from here is still uncertain.  We welcome prayers for his sweet life and those who will care for him next.

I've missed writing here.  I've started a million blog posts in my mind these past few months- many about foster care.  The feelings and ideas are so hard to put into words- too complex and fragile all at the same time.  Maybe one day I can put these stories down.  For now, we live them out and do the very best we can with God's grace and strength holding us up.

September, ready or not, here we come!  Blessings to each of you as you make the transition, too.

Love,
Jane

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Loneliness in Foster Parenting

I wrote this a couple weeks ago during a particularly difficult spell.  I've hesitated to post it since these feelings are not as intense currently (although they wax and wane).  I offer it up anyway.

I have a little time to write.

I should write about the swarms of bees Jamey caught and the two pigs that did NOT want to go the butcher but did and then about the bacon Jamey smoked himself on his new (and first ever) grill/smoker.  I likely will write those posts sometime soon but instead I find myself needing to write about the loneliness that can come from being a foster parent.

We have GREAT friends and family and an AMAZING support system that includes a WONDERFUL church family and supportive neighbors.  I don't want any of them who might read this to feel the least bit like they're not doing an amazing job of being there for us.  YOU are and I can't imagine how much harder this would be without them.

That said, it's hard to explain how these last few months have really been.  When folks ask how he's doing, we can talk about how he's sleeping. We can talk about what a good baby he is, how he's laughing, loves his doorway jumper, and is starting to roll over.  We can talk about how much he's taking by bottle and the goals for getting him off the tube...but there's so much left unsaid- right under the surface.  And if I opened those gates of thoughts and feelings I wouldn't be able to stop them and I'd likely end up in a pool of tears on the floor.

Okay, that might be a bit dramatic.  I don't feel like that all the time.

But there are times that I do.

There are times that I know I'm the only one out of all our friends who is still changing diapers. Somehow, this sets us apart and seems to undo some of the other things we have in common.  I wonder if many people know what to do with us.  What else to ask us about.  Whether they can invite us over. Whether they can come over to our house.  I feel like we're weird in an accepted but awkward sort-of-way.  Just to be clear- we are actually weird (who isn't?) but this has added a new dimension to our weirdness.

Sometimes I feel like I've gone backwards in the child-rearing progression.  Many others are plowing ahead- beginning to look at what their lives might be like one day when kids move on and out.  And I'm looking at bottles that need washing and birth parents who have so far to go before they're ready to take this precious boy home with them.

This large part of my current world is, in many ways, off limits to others.  It needs to be to preserve confidentiality and the respect due birth parents going through a very difficult time.  This world is full of family visits, home visits, home-health visits, speech therapist visits, pediatrician appointments, specialist appointments and follow-ups...all of which I can't discuss or process in detail- except with the professionals and Jamey.  Oh, how I thank God for Jamey.

{This precious boy just nodded off to sleep by bouncing himself gently in his jumper.  I cannot convey the sweetness that is his little face.}

I hear others plan island vacations, talk about the sports and other activities their kids are involved in, lament about possible presidential candidates, or about redecorating their home (ALL fun and worthy topics of conversation!) and yet they leave me feeling alien because I have no room in my head or heart to really dwell on such things.  But I want to hear about them!  Because I do care about my friends and family and what is going on in their lives.  I seem to be wearing some sort of tinted lenses on my heart- everything is slightly colored by how this foster placement impacts us.

And all this leaves me feeling lonely even at home with my great kids, even surrounded by my congregation, even at the park with other homeschool families, or even sitting in our living room with good friends. Don't get me wrong- foster parents don't have dibs on loneliness.  If you're struggling with depression, health issues, marriage issues, children struggling with emotional issues, or just the demands of the everyday...you KNOW, likely even better than I, of this loneliness.

I just didn't expect to experience it in foster parenting.

I'm not complaining.  We chose this and we'll likely choose it again.  I just wondered if folks knew about this other challenge that foster parents sometimes face.  And while encouragement is always welcome, if we're praised over-zealously that, too, can make me feel set apart. And we shouldn't be.  We're right here with everyone else just trying to do the best we can.

There are a few things that help.  One, in the midst of loneliness, I know that in reality I am not alone (turn your volume up).  Two, I know that my loneliness ensures that the little baby in our home will not experience loneliness for the however many days he's with us.  Three, occasionally I talk with someone who discloses in whispers that they are considering foster care...and, oh, how my heart soars when I hear this.  Because despite all the challenges, it's worth it all.  And if they choose this path, I look forward to walking beside them- knowing what it feels like and ready to accept their pools of tears and mess when or if they open up.

Time and time again, God answers our loneliness through song, His Word, notes of encouragement, etc...all timed perfectly- lifting us, strengthening us and sustaining us.  If you feel so moved, take time today to write a note or place a phone call to someone you think might be feeling alone.

And if you're a fellow foster parent, I'm right here with you.  We are not alone. Pin It

Life Flows On

Four out of the six colonies survived the winter which we find pretty miraculous.  We will harvest honey this year.  We've already lost (and captured!) a swarm- more on that to come.

Easter pies- sour cherry and blueberry 

swine decimation 

Two of the culprits.  The other two are no more.  Stay tuned for more on this- we made our own bacon.

 

The adoration goes both ways.

guarding his yard (from squirrels, that is)

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There are days...

There are days when he takes long naps. When the kids and I get all (or even almost all) the school done I had in mind for the day.  When he eats well. When he smiles every time our eyes lock.  When I'm able to throw together something for dinner or have the foresight to set dinner out to thaw in the morning.  When there is enough time to play a game with my kids or put him in the stroller so I can pull a few weeds.  There are days when I feel rested.  When he gives me his first giggle one day and his first belly laugh the next.  When I feel confident in my ability to juggle four kids, appointments, school and life in general.  When I feel as if we have reached the other side and are settled in our (temporary) new life and routine.

But often, I have a different kind of day.

There are days when his naps are 20 minutes long.  When I feel as if I'm neglecting my kids' studies and barely have enough energy to oversee the daily goings on.  When he doesn't eat well and I wonder if he'll ever not need to be tube fed.  When the kids turn up their noses because dinner is a mishmash of leftovers that do not compliment each other well.  When I feel like I haven't spent quality, one on one time with my children even though I'm with them all day, every day.  When I am under the weather with colds and/or the flu (I've had both) or feel exhausted even though Jamey took the night shift.  When I wonder if I'll ever be able to keep up with everything and feel like life is manageable again.  When I allow myself to imagine what it would/will be like to send him home to his family whether I think they're ready or not.  When I just want to cry because I know I'm where I'm supposed to be doing what I'm supposed to be doing but it's so hard.

These are the days that will at some point, probably in the not-so-distant-future, fade quietly from my memory. Likely, the ones that will stick will be the happy ones, like the images caught on camera that will end up in a photo book that I'll allow myself to peruse now and again.  But for now, these days are real and raw, sharp images and feelings that overwhelm.

Regardless of the day, Lord, help me to remember that it is a day that You have made.  Let me rejoice and be glad in it...no matter what it looks or feels like.

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Giving Myself Permission

It feels like scaling a mountain to even begin this post.  That's because I've had to give myself permission to do so.  Do I really have time?  Is this even worth writing about?

I like to think of myself as fairly self-sufficient.  You see, I'd much rather take a meal to someone than to have to accept one.  I'd rather hang my clothes on the line than run up my electric bill.  I'd rather grow our own vegetables, teach my own children, tidy my own house, etc., etc., etc..

And yet I find myself in an extremely humbling season of life because I. can't. do. this. by. myself.

When we decided to go through the foster care training I knew deep down that more than anything else I had yet done in my life, THIS experience was going to humble me the most and drive me straight into the arms of my heavenly Father.  No skirting around His offer of help.  No pretending I could do it all on my own accord.  None of that.  I was going to need His supernatural love and strength to carry me through and I *knew* I hadn't done enough of that in my life thus far.

It scared me to death to think about.

I wasn't afraid He wouldn't be there for me, that He wouldn't keep His promises.  I knew He would and He has- time after time after time.  I just didn't want to admit my inability to do it myself.  What silly creatures we are.

In giving myself permission to lean on Him, to admit my short-comings and His all-knowing, I am allowing myself to do that which I believe we've been called to do- nurture an infant in his/her early stages of growth and development.  Saying yes to foster care has meant saying no to doing a lot of things on my own- spiritually, physically and emotionally.

I haven't mastered it yet.  I work on it every day as I load wet clothes into the dryer, pay the cleaning women, watch as an amazing tutor teaches my daughter math, accept yet another meal, another prayer, another ride to yet another out of town medical appointment, sign up for a full CSA share, and say thank you for one more offer of kid-care.

If you find yourself in a similar season, let me tell you that if you can be so kind to yourself as to give yourself permission to let go of all that you "should"/could do, you may free yourself up to do what you have been called to.  

And you'll likely do it better than any of that other stuff anyway.  But you'll need to give yourself permission each new day.  And, sometimes, at each new hour.  

Say no so that you can yes.  Even though from experience I know it is true- I, too need the constant reminder: The view from the top of what seems to be a treacherous, humbling, and surreal mountain is so very worth it.  Soak in His love and let the unimportant stuff fall from your pack.  

It will drive you through the woods to the top.

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Four Weeks In

It's been four weeks since we've once again become a temporary family of six.  I am finally coming out of the overwhelmed-adjustment fog that occurs with a new placement.  This time, it's taken longer for the fog to lift.

Our current placement is a baby born premature with special needs.  He is beautiful.  He is resilient. He has many strengths.  He needs a lot of care.

I don't know what these last four weeks would have looked like without all the meals from church, family and friends.  Or without friends who've come mid-day to hold him while I shower or do some laundry. The girls are taking an extended school break (except for Math).  Sam continues with his work despite the disruption. The prayers of so many are felt.

I've found myself doing things I couldn't have imagined before. I've hired cleaning help (for the first time in my life).  We've hired a math tutor (for the first time in our lives).  I went almost four weeks without cooking a meal myself.

On the way to one of his (countless) appointments, I looked over at Jamey and said, "You know, we've usually had our garden meeting by now".  We both chuckled and seriously discussed signing up with a CSA.

I don't know what our spring will look like but I know it will look very different from years past. The garden, the animals, the canning projects all pale in comparison to the need that lays in our arms and rests his little chin on our shoulders.





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Everything

Hi, friends.

I will not be blogging for awhile.  We have another foster care placement.  This time he's a wee-tiny one who needs a lot of extra care.  We are managing with the help of AMAZING family and friends (some who trudged through the snow to get to us to help this weekend).  Please remember him (and our family) in your prayers.

Love,
Jane

"For I can do everything through Christ, who gives me strength."

Phil. 4:13

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I Didn't Know About Dogs: Part 3

You can read about how we became Turkey's new family in Part 1 and Part 2.

We've been dog owners for a total of two and a half months.  Turkey adjusted very well. We are so thankful for this because we've heard stories of dogs who had a very hard time being separated from their first owners.  Turkey spent his whole five and a half years with another family.  The fact that he's been able to so quickly build trust and form attachment to our family shows how much credit his first owners deserve.

I'm learning so much.

1) My mama instincts evidently transfer to dogs I really like.  I wasn't ready for this.  I almost feel like I'm fostering- trying to get to know the needs of my new dependent.  How are they sleeping?  Eating?  Is he acting differently today?  Is he adjusting well? Does he need more attention?  More exercise? What's the best food for him? Is he warm enough?

People. I'm scaring myself.  I am NOT a dog person.  I AM a Turkey-person now.  That is for sure. My best guess is that I may need another real foster placement SOON.

blending in

2) Our family hikes are even more fun than they used to be.  We love to hike and go for walks but we don't go nearly enough.  Having a dog gives us one more reason to get out there because he needs exercise, too.  The first time we took Turkey along, the girls (especially) could hardly stand it that we let him off leash.  But Jamey had learned on trail runs with him that he is an awesome dog to take in the woods.

 enjoying the outcropping and sunset at the top

Here's what happens.  He runs way ahead on the trail, occasionally venturing into the woods.  He's out of sight for a couple minutes and all of a sudden there is a streak of movement way on up ahead. He's racing back to touch base/check on us.  Then, he takes off down the trail again.  He checks in if the trail splits on the way out but remembers/smells the right trail on the way back.  He likely covers two to three times the miles we do on any given hike and never stays out of our sight for very long.

He generally likes his blanket by prefers lying on a person.

3) Vizslas are a curious breed.  They are incredibly affectionate.  They can become nervous when overstimulated or frightened and show it chattering their teeth or quivering.  They also chatter their teeth and quiver when they're cold (see below).  It's our understanding that Turkey's parents and he were bred as hunting dogs although Turkey wasn't trained as one.  Despite the lack of training, he points (nose pointing, left front leg raised and tail straight out while holding incredible still) when he discovers a hiding critter.  He will hold that position until we acknowledge that we see it.  If we tell him to "get it", he flushes it out and chases it but as of yet hasn't caught anything.  I think he very well could if he wanted to.

under the school table

4) I now buy toys and clothes for a dog.  Vizslas lose most of their heat from their chest/belly where they have the least hair.  They also lack an undercoat so they can easily get cold.  They have to be inside dogs because they can't handle the winter (or parts of fall and spring for that matter).  When Turkey is cold, he will chatter and shiver- a sign he needs help keeping warm- even inside.

Because he has such a large chest, it was tricky for me to find a coat that fit him and his wide chest well.  Duluth Trading Company makes one that fits well (shown above).

5) I am so thankful he's an adult dog.  In dog years, Turkey is about Jamey and my age.  He's graying around the face and likes to lay around come sun down.  From what I've read Vizsla puppies have an incredible amount of energy.  Videos (like this one) on youtube show how much energy these dogs have to exhaust.  Turkey's five and a half years are just about perfect for us- he enjoys his regular runs with Jamey but can also be content to have a lazy afternoon lying about the house. Thank goodness.

sacked out after a long run together

6) Dog adoption and foster care seem to be related.  Animals are part of God's amazing creation and are here for our enjoyment and awe just like the rest of His creation.  While I know that they experience a wide range of emotions and physical pain similar to people, these characteristics (to me) point to the fact that we share the same Creator, not that we are the same.  

Because of all the similarities, I can see why and how some people consider their pets as important (or more important) than the humans in their life.  I hate that some animals are mistreated and abandoned and I'm glad that there are rescue centers and the SPCA to match those unwanted to good homes.

But.  There are children in very similar situations that need homes, too.  Pets can be easier, I know. Part of me was relieved that adopting this dog would push off our next foster placement as we got used to him and him to us.  Taking on another placement is scary- I won't lie and say it isn't. But thankfully, it has made me realize that child foster care/adoption is even more important.  There is another child out there waiting for us.  I thought that Turkey might tempt me away from the hardness that foster care can be but instead he's reminded me how much love we're capable of and that the quality of our love can span birth children, adopted dog AND foster child.  Or so I think:-).

We await God's timing and in the meantime, I'm learning how much I didn't know about dogs.  It's a good thing I love to learn.

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Post-Placement

Well, it's been a month since we've last seen our foster child.  He came to us at nine months of age and returned home seven months later after he'd learned to talk, walk, and feed himself with a spoon. For his first month back home, we provided childcare about three days a week.  At that point their childcare needs resolved and they no longer needed us to watch him.  We promised we'd stay in touch and that we'd see each other often.

It's been a month since we've seen him.  This isn't at all abnormal.  Many foster families lose touch when the child returns home.  It's not what I necessarily expected in our case, though.

His initial return home was hard (pre-childcare) but saying goodbye that night a month later without anything scheduled on the calendar was harder.  Even with the promise of staying in touch, I knew it could be the last time we would see him.

Those first couple weeks were difficult.  I didn't walk around bawling my eyes out but only occasionally shed a tear or two.  I did feel very unsettled, though.  As if something was off kilter.  It was.  I felt all my normal emotions with a little more intensity.  I felt myself "space out" occasionally as my mind wandered or as I had to remind myself that we might not be seeing him anymore.  I packed up a lot of the baby/toddler things we had out for him (that are ours).  I washed his sheets, reorganized the nursery and sometimes found myself just sitting in the nursery chair...just sitting and remembering all the many bottles I fed him there while he laid in my arms, looked into my eyes and fingered my earrings, {almost} always gently and carefully.

It was all I could do not to pick up the phone and call his mother.  But I realized that if I did it would only be for selfish reasons.  *I* wanted to know how he was doing for peace of mind.  *I* wanted to see him again so that I could catch his expression when he first caught a glimpse of me- that expression of attachment, joy and love.  As much as I know his attachment needs to be transferred to his birth family, it stings to know that as their attachment strengthens, mine and his weakens and will eventually disappear.

What we had hoped for him and his family came true.  They worked hard, made every appointment, and did everything asked of them.  He was reunited with his family and they are doing well.  They no longer need us.  We have done our job.

But still.  We miss him.

I totally understand why they may not be contacting us.  As well as we did get along, I get it why they might need to put all this behind them.  For them, we are a giant reminder of all that happened. They are trying for a fresh start.  We are part of the old hurt.  I cannot force myself into that new start to fulfill my own needs.

Two pictures of him that his mother framed and gave to me sit on my counter.  It's the small counter right beside the fridge where I keep my calendar, to-do lists, and file folders of the kid's activity papers.  I'm at that counter often and therefore I catch glimpses of him often.  I'm glad he's with his family because when at all (safely) possible that is where children belong.

But still.  We miss him.

It's getting better.  The freedoms that come without having a toddler in tow are enjoyable.  I can work outside for hours at a time- something nowhere near possible with a curious toddler about.  I don't have to buckle anyone into the van when we go somewhere- I just hop in my seat.  The kids can romp and laugh and play upstairs at night without risking that he'll be woken up.  I don't have to cut up anyone's food into minuscule pieces and it doesn't matter if legos end up downstairs.  There are way less interruptions during school, we can stay out in the evenings past 7 pm and there are no more gates to hurdle.

Our kids are incredibly resilient.  They loved him dearly, played with him constantly, and helped take care of him.  Not one of them has shed a tear.  I'm not sure what to make of this other than to hope that it was our regular reminders about his stay being temporary and prayers offered up for his family and their reunification.  The fact that his leaving went so smoothly for them is encouraging and a wonderful blessing- for us and for them.

But still.  We miss him.

It's possible they will still make contact with us at some point.  I might write a short letter and pass it through the social worker.  We think and talk about our next placement.  The day I wrote this, we were asked about another toddler who needs a foster home but we're just not ready yet.  But as time passes, we can tell that one day we will be ready.  We've been praying for that next child and their family. God's hand was in our first placement and we trust it will be in our second, too.

But still.  We miss him.

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Slow and Deliberate

I realize we're already into the third month of the year but because last year was so very amazing (in a challenging, stretching, answer-to-many-prayers sort of way) I can't help but feel as if we could be on the cusp of another.

As we watch our (former) foster child adjust healthily back home to his birth family, we anticipate being needed less. This will open up space for our family and especially for me.  What will the year bring?  How can I help us get ready?  What projects are worthy of tackling?

This past Friday night as I lie in bed trying to fall asleep, the words "slow and deliberate" came to me as clear as an audible voice inside my own head can be.

Slow and deliberate.

It's a reminder to me that while my time is being freed up, I need to protect it.  Instead of filling up every extra weekend, evening, afternoon, and hour, I need to be slow and deliberate- weighing each opportunity.  Will this activity or project be life-giving to our family?  Will it promote peace, healing and rejuvenation?  Will it give us the rest and time we need to prepare for another possible placement?

Many people have asked me how we do or get done everything we do.  My answer is often one that seems so obvious to us.  We stay open.  We try to make ourselves available to those around us who may need our help and our relationships.  The idea of slow and deliberate confirms in me that we should stay this course.

While we don't know how our family will be used this coming year, I do know that I don't want to be caught off guard.  I don't want to turn down opportunities because we've over-booked or over-scheduled or over-exhausted us.

I challenge you, even as your year is already in full swing, to be slow and deliberate, too.   May we all live in a deliberate way- working toward whatever goals/dreams/visions God has placed on our hearts.  Let's pray for wisdom and God's guidance as we discern how our families should fill our calendars this year.

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And We're a Family of Five Once Again

The very day I posted this we received a call saying that in four days our foster toddler (who had been with us for seven months) would be going home to his mother.

It felt like a kick in the stomach.

Everyone involved acknowledged that it was much more sudden than anticipated.  I was expecting weeks of extended visits then overnight visits then weekend visits before packing up his remaining clothes and toys and kissing him goodbye.  The four hours notice we received in advance of his coming seemed much longer than the four-day notice of his leaving.

The day of the initial call was pretty devastating.  I managed to keep it (mostly) together in front of the kids, especially when telling them.  We talked about the simultaneous feelings of joy (for him and his mother) and sadness because we would miss him terribly.  It was a heavy day.  I found myself looking at him in a totally different way.  I vacillated between giving him extra attention and starting to gather his things.  When I'm stressed, I clean.  Evidently, when I'm about to send a foster child home I pack days in advance.

By the second day, as plans came together (when his overnight visit would take place, the actual time of his transfer, and plans to see him again), I began to feel peace.  I knew I wouldn't feel like a true foster parent until I had the experience of watching a child move on.  I was almost there.  This was part of it all.  I could do this.

The day I handed him back to his mother was emotionally charged but, oh, so positive.  We met at the office and talked of his routines and most recent new skills. I was nervous and I'm fairly certain his mother was, too.  Out in the parking lot, we exchanged tears and hugs.  On the way home, I lost it and bawled like a baby.

**********

It's been almost a week since he's gone home and I could not be happier.  God is so good.  Our family is blessed to be able to provide childcare for him several days a week.  His mother and I are developing a voluntary relationship- one that is not forced, one in which we are equals.  Having her in our home is even more wonderful than I had imagined.

I feel like I'm walking on a cloud.  Sure, I miss him and wonder if he wonders where I am and when the kids will bound around the corner to play with him, but we get to see him and love on him every few days, often even a couple days in a row.  I count his mother as my friend and look forward to having them in our lives for as long as they want us.

Well before we knew of his imminent departure, I was anxious about what we would do when he left.  How long would be the right amount of time to wait until we accepted another placement? Would we all feel ready at the same time?  Would I feel like someone was missing again?  Would I be perpetually sad?

Being able to help with his childcare has been the answer to so many of these questions and prayers.  I consider this phase an extension of his placement.  There's no reason to think of my next step.  This is my next step.  Instead of breaking down in tears of loss, I weep tears of joy.  My heart and life are full.  This- the reunification of a family and the ability to remain in relationship with them- is why I wanted to do foster care and I feel bowled over and incredibly lucky to have experienced it on the first try.

**********

My heart breaks for those who have had to send a foster child home to a birth family that doesn't seem to have it together.  My heart breaks for those who have had to send a foster child along when they wish they could call them their own.  My heart breaks knowing that it's possible that one day, no matter what our intentions, we could be some of "those" folks.  For now, I am incredibly thankful. And I am so very grateful to each of you who have prayed for us and reached out to us via email as fellow foster parents.  We have felt your prayers and your love.

While I do find myself with more time these days, this blog will likely stay fairly quiet until spring. We are all still adjusting to our new normal.  We are reestablishing old routines, sleeping longer (my alarm clock went home) and feeling out our new roles.  We talk often of new projects for the warmer seasons and look forward to sharing them with you in a couple months.  Until then, may you feel God's supernatural love and bask in His peace.  God is so good.

Blessings,
Jane Pin It

Mid-Placement

I anticipated the initial adjustment period of a foster placement to be difficult.  And it was.  I also expect the end of the placement to be challenging for a whole different set of reasons.  And it will be. But I did not expect the middle of the placement to be as hard as it is some days.  In many ways, things right now are easy.  He seems like just another member of our family. He goes with our flow and knows what to expect of us and us of him.  I'm well used to navigating baby gates, nap time and declining invites out after 7pm. But within the groove are rough patches.  Infants become more aware of their abnormal situation as they become older and deal with their confusion in ways I wasn't quite ready for but knew were possible.  I know the systems involved are not perfect.  I used to be a social worker myself.  But when you're watching a child grow up before your eyes and become deeply attached to you as if you are a mother-equivalent, you can't help but hope reunification comes quickly.  For the child.  For the mother.  And for yourself. (Assuming the birth mother is ready and has proven so, of course.)

******

So the other day I was walking through the house, semi-attempting not to step on the many toys and things-turned-toys strewn across the floor, when I accidentally stepped on a new canister of cocoa. The pressure broke the nifty foil covering and blew off the lid (with significant force) sending a dust storm of cocoa into the mudroom, school room and under the door (and several feet) into the bathroom.  While it made the house smell divine, it inspired Miriam to give me her wise advice once again, "If I were you, I'd move to a new house."

******

While bottles in my fridge, onesies in my laundry and smelly diapers in a bin outside my back door is the norm now, there are moments when it still shocks me.  I'm a foster mom.  I waffle between looking forward to the freedom that will come when I'll return to parenting my own three children, the near panic at the thought of his leaving, and the anticipation of what the next baby will be like (after a considerable break in between).

My emotions swing along from one pondering to another but are never allowed too wide a berth.  I can't let them swing out too far.  I reign them in and tuck them down and pull out the next school binder, clean off the high chair tray and fill another bottle.  I don't feel like I'm suppressing anything as much as I'm keeping it in check.  One day (or week or month), they will be given permission to swing their farthest and I'll most certainly break down.  For now, all I can say is that there is a season for everything and while my mind races forward, I really need to keep it (mostly) centered in the here and now.

******

I no longer wash Sam, Sadie or Miriam's clothes.  This is not a punishment.  It occurred to me recently that they are fully capable of taking care of this themselves.  And since they're home most days all day they have the time to do it.  When Sam or Sadie and Miriam's (Sadie and Miriam share a room) laundry baskets get full they bring it downstairs, wash it, dry it and fold it.  Sadie does Miriam's for her since their clothes are together.  Now I only wash Jamey's clothes, mine and the baby's.  I can't tell you how this minor shift in responsibility has lightened my load.

******

The baby has weekly all day visits with his mother.  We make a point of doing fun things with our older kids on these days.  The visits fall on our homeschool co-op day so we spend the morning there. Then, I take the kids to a local bagel shop for lunch.  In the afternoon I try to find something fun for us to do.

{If you know me, you know that this isn't really me.  I'm a homebody and a bit stingy, believing that children shouldn't need to be entertained all the time.  That said, my kids have been AMAZING through this placement.  It's not all warm and fuzzy but much of the time it is.  They're helpful, loving and incredibly understanding despite the hard feelings that surface now and then.}

So one day we spent the afternoon at a friend's house, another visit day we went to a paint your own pottery studio, one day we went to the movies (there were only two other people in the theater!) and most recently, Jamey took off work early and met us at the bowling alley. We want our kids to see and participate in the service that is foster care but we also want to remind them how much we love them and are so very proud of them.

******

Our foster child has been with us for six months and we are on our fifth foster care worker.  Fifth.  I know turnover is high and therefore experience/stamina is often low (which contributes greatly to the high turnover, I believe).  This is no fun, light-hearted profession. I get that. Thankfully, we haven't needed a lot of hand-holding and an amazing private agency has taken over visits and therapeutic services for the birth mom and her child.  If I did need more assistance from the actual foster care agency, I do feel like I could get it.  Having worked in child mental health in the past, I know who to call and what to say.  No matter how well each worker explains and passes on each case to the next, I do worry about continuity.  It's strange being on the other side of things and having to remember my place.  It's not that they don't want my input but I'm not a professional player on the team anymore. I'm the foster mom and in some ways this is freeing.  My job is to love and nurture the child and do my best to connect with and support the birth mom to increase positive interactions and transitions.

And that's plumb enough.

******

Until I can muster the time and courage to share more of this journey again....

Jane

my first forced amaryllis- off topic but glorious

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