Not (yet) Quitting Time

It was an all too-familiar scene. We were in the grocery store approaching the checkout line. I really dislike the candy display that they have, at children's eye-level, while waiting in line. Wearing a baby in a front carrier, with a toddler strapped in to the cart, two preschoolers in the basket (yes, the area that says "don't put kids in here or they might die"), and despite the 1 year old starting to get tired and scream, we are actually managing to unload the groceries without any major scenes. Thankfully, the 2 preschoolers in the basket are some of the most helpful young children I've watched, so they load the groceries on the belt with me and know not to ask for the candy. One even tries to distract the toddler from it, with impressive success. The babysitting money from those two girls goes to pay for our health insurance - now more expensive than our rent and utilities put together - but there is no way I could continue to babysit them if they didn't help so wonderfully with my other children during the day. While I may look like a traveling daycare, I am grateful for them and their easy going parents.

Then there's my last preschooler - the one that I let push a stroller through the store because it's my only compromise to keep his hands off of grocery store items, and for him to stay with me. He knows if he throws a fit that I take the stroller away, and so far that has worked for us to get the food our family will need for the following week. But he also knows that I know that if I take the stroller away, he will start to rage, and I physically just cannot deal with that at this point in the store. And he's held it together for so long already. And after all the things he saw that he couldn't have (nevermind the $100 worth of food we are buying) now there is that awful candy display, and his foster mom's attention is split between the other kids, getting the food on the belt, and watching prices. So he begins to slam the stroller in to the cart, or my feet, whatever he's feeling that day. I know this is inappropriate, but I also know about his rage that makes a fit look like a small conversation. So I try to do what I can to not let his slams hurt anyone or anything and wish the cashier would go faster but try to be patient. The slams get harder and one hurts me. I can't let it go on and pray I don't need to take the stroller away. Thankfully, the cashier finishes up, and we are able to get to the van. I praise the Lord that we got out of the store without a major rage, help all 5 kids get their seatbelts on, handout the promised granola bars (to keep my humor light, I say it's our reward for meeting our goal of all being alive come the end of the grocery store trip), and get us home. My preschooler starts raging about something on the way home, but the other kids have learned well how to cover their ears, it's a cool enough day to leave the cars in the van for 45 minutes once we get home while I deal with his rage, and the girls are able to help entertain the babies at home during this time. While my stress is at it's normal extremely high level, I call it a successful trip. Probably one of the best we've had so far.

The summer the boys came was to be my last summer providing foster care before closing our license so our family could recoup and we could perhaps welcome another little one into the world. I asked the Lord to use our home and told him to "burn me out" since it would be my last time providing such care, at least for many, many years. I think He took me very literally on that one. I just didn't know how far I could go and how long I could last on that burnout.

I thought of and even attempted blogging about my last foster care experience, but I found that it was too difficult to do while I was in the thick of it. I have loved and been grateful for the experience to have been a foster mom for 3.5 years and definitely believe that the blessings outweighed the difficulties for our family. Most foster children were scared, depressed and/or anxious, but few were as difficult as our last placement. They were the absolute most difficult children I've ever cared for. We had them for close to a year, and anyone who saw us deal with them in person knows what I mean.

I know that most people mean well and that my choosing to be offended only hurts myself, but I do find it amusing that so many of the people that say "I could never do foster care because I couldn't stand the heartbreak of giving them back" were the same people that in this situation were saying  "Why don't you just give them back?" I never cared to point out that irony to them. Too much other stuff going on.

But I will admit that I entertained the thought quite a bit. Where would I give them back to? The group home (often referred to as a "children's shelter") that they came to us from? A place full of traumatized children with no parents and paid-by-the-hour rotating staff? No thanks. (And actually, it was no longer an option, because they were full.) There were literally ZERO other homes for these children. We were the very last hope.

Still, I contemplated calling it quits a lot. I didn't want to give up on these boy. I knew that if DFS had them again, they would desperately call all and any homes until they finally found someone who would "try," it would be a home that wasn't adequately prepared for such high needs, and the boys would bounce from home to home, deepening their hurt and wounds that cause such extreme behaviors in the first place. I didn't want that to happen to them. So I (we - because the family was definitely affected by it) stuck it out.

I started reaching out anywhere I could think of for help. My preschooler was able to attend a fantastic preschool for 12 hours a week, but that still left me with complete responsibility for the other 156 hours in the week. I needed the village to help me more than ever before. If the village didn't step in, I could not do it. I was finally able to convince the tribe that the baby would do best in daycare during the school day when my husband was at work, and I had a neighbor who was willing to take a kid for a half hour or so on-call when I needed an extra hand during the day. I found a friend who was willing to babysit the preschooler every day after preschool until my husband got home, a high schooler from church who would come weekly to be his peer mentor and spend 1-on-1 time with him, and my angelic friend down the street that would see me literally dragging a screaming shoeless child while pushing a double stroller and being hit with the shoes of said screaming child, and would gently come outside, hug the still screaming child, and say, I've got him, I'll bring him home in a few hours when you are both calm. She is the one I would text when I'd say, I'm done, I can't do this any more, and she would say, can he spend the night? A former foster mom herself, she "got" it, and since no official respite was available for me (again - extreme foster home shortage), she said she would rather be my respite for a few hours a week then see the boys bounce all around the system. I was also able to (finally!) get the boy in play therapy, and was also able to establish a great relationship with the district's mental health consultant, who helped guide me through many, many rough patches. Friends at church - oh my angelic friends at church - were constantly there when I needed them. I can't say often enough how blessed I am for such wonderful people in my life.

I obviously spent a lot of time in prayer and developed a healthy dependency on the Lord to increase my abilities and carry me through all of it. I came to feel a strong impression that I was absolutely supposed to have the boys at this time - not only because I was able to help them, but even more so, that there were specific experiences that I was supposed to have that I would only be able to have by caring for them during this time. The Lord, in His wisdom, not only wanted to have me serve, but He also wanted to help me become more than I currently was. He still does want me to become more than I am, and is there for me - including sending His marvelous angels - to help me every step of the way through the difficult times.

In the end, one of the boys' parents completed all requirements to get them back. I have gained such a great compassion and respect for her. There is no doubt that my life has been easier than hers, and she fought like a tiger to get those boys back. I really am proud of and inspired by her. I cried and cried happy and relieved tears when I found out that she was ready to get them back. I pray that she can continue on her path and that the boys will do well with her.