Sophie’s Choice

Note:  the names/identities of the foster children and social workers have been changed to protect their identities

It was Tuesday – a full day and a half since our adventure at the Kidsave event where we met a couple of delightful teenage boys.  The first we’ll call Tom and the second, Donovan.

We’d indicated on our follow-up form that we enjoyed both boys and were interested in further contact with each of them.  We were waiting on pins and needles to see if either of them had felt the same.  Our ridiculously grandiose vision:  the four of us at Thanksgiving.  And Christmas.  Their birthdays.  Our birthdays.  Okay, fine, and holidays, road trips, Disneyland – the list goes on and on.

And on…

Our phone rang.  We didn’t recognize the number, but we answered in case it was Natalie from Kidsave.  And it was.

Natalie:  So what did you think of the event?

Us:  So much fun!

NOTE:  We were worried that the Kidsave event would be like the Omar situation where potential parents inappropriately competed for the cutest children in attendance.  And it wasn’t.  It totally wasn’t.

Natalie:  You indicated an interest in both Tom and Donovan.

Us:  Right.

Natalie:  In thinking about both boys, did you feel a connection with one over the other?

Us:  No.

Natalie:  Well, that’s fantastic.  But…

NOTE:  The following is to be read with a Polish accent.  Or German.  Oh, and Natalie sounds like an evil Nazi soldier.  And we sound like Meryl Streep.  And we look like her.  Wait – we look like her then, when she did Sophie’s Choice.  Don’t get us wrong, she’s still rockin’ it!  But she’s way older than we are…  And this is Hollywood, so…  Anyway – evil Nazi, accents, Streep – read on!

Natalie:  You must choose one of the children.

Us:  But we cannot choose!  We cannot choose!

Natalie:  You have to choose.

Us:  We cannot choose!  We cannot choose just one!

Natalie:  Then you lose them both.  I will send them over there!  Guard!

Okay, fine, it didn’t go that way.  Natalie (who looks like Natalie Portman, not an evil Nazi soldier) very sweetly (and patiently) explained to us that it is not at all possible to mentor both boys.  The county will not allow it.  We must, in fact, choose.

Egad!

We are set to begin Kidsave training at the end of this month.  We will attend the August Kidsave event where we will have an opportunity to focus on Tom.  Natalie promised to help us traverse this path slowly so that we could get to know both boys and find the right fit for us (and more importantly, for them).

NOTE:  To be continued…

We Got You

 

Dear blog subscribers,

For privacy purposes, the blog entitled “We Got You” is going out as a private email. You’ve been temporarily added to the distribution list for this entry only.  We will continue with our regular blog on the next posting.

Best,

Nancy & Heather

 

Booyah!

Note: the names/identities/details of the foster children, foster parents and social workers have been changed to protect their identities

Great news from the field!

Meth Mom’s parental rights have been terminated which brings Jack miles closer to becoming the permanent home for Jordan.  BOOYAH!

But what does this mean, exactly?  Well, here’s a quick rundown on how the Jack/Jordan story will most likely play out:

1. Jack has to have had Jordan in his care for six months before the court will allow him to file for adoption.  The six month mark for this match happens at the end of July.
2. Mom, who’s lost custody of her other three kids, will file an appeal with the court.
3. The court will hear Mom’s reasons for appealing the termination decision.
4. The court will deny the appeal for any of the following reasons:
• Mom currently has no home.
• Mom is still addicted to Meth.
• Mom failed to retain custody of her previous three children.
• Mom has no job, therefore no income.
5. The court will eventually grant Jack’s filing for permanency.
6. Jack will adopt Jordan.

BOOYAH!

So…  What’s the catch, you ask?  What could go wrong in this near-perfect story of family?   Not much, actually.  Because – get this -  Mom, desperate to retain rights to her son, has already tried the following:

1. She got her sibling in Northern California to come forward and request rights to Jordan.  This forced the County to hold off on permanency for Jordan until SoCal social workers could coordinate with NoCal social workers to see if Mom’s sib fit the bill. Mom and her sibling played it up pretty good.  Sibling started coming down for visits, and then tried to claim a bond with Jordan.  But once NoCal social workers took a look at the living circumstances that would be Jordan’s, it was clear this was not an appropriate match.  How much did the meetings, home checks, supervised visits, and court dates cost the County and the State, we wonder!
2. Mom claimed Jordan was of Native American decent.  This is a fairly sophisticated move because there are particular rules around finding Native American foster kids homes in which their heritage and culture can and will be cultivated.  Mom’s claim forced the County to do a thorough background investigation into the heritage of Mom and Mom’s maternal and paternal ancestors.  More resources, more funding.
3. Out of options, Mom’s final move was to file abuse allegations against Jack.  Yes, that’s right.  Meth Mom, who took a heroin nap in an alley while Jordan slept nearby in his stroller, filed abuse allegations.  Her claims were completely unfounded, of course, but it meant a mandatory visit by police and a social worker, the filling out of reports, meetings, phone calls, etc.

This list is not meant to portray Mom as some kind of fund-sucking demon.  She’s simply working a system that allows itself to be worked at the expense of Californians.

At this point, Mom is desperate.  So it’s hard to tell what she’ll try to do.  She has 2 months to appeal the termination of her rights.  We’ll keep you posted on the outcome.

In the meantime, Jack no longer has to deal with visits and the havoc those visits wreak on Jordan.  Although Jordan has asked for Mom a couple of times, he seems content with Jack’s answer:   “We won’t see her today, and I’m not sure when we’ll see her again.”

Jack is thrilled things have worked out as well as they have.  But he’s also very nervous about the future.  There’s no turning back now.  And the real work lies ahead of him.  Jordan will wonder why his siblings are with a grandparent, but he’s not.  He’ll wonder why he can’t see his mom.  And he’ll wonder why she didn’t care enough about him to drop the needle.

We have plans to visit with our two Dapper Dans in the next few weeks.  In the meantime, we’re fostering a dog named Rory (see photo), and we’re off to Kidsave this weekend to meet some foster teens!

BOOYAH!

 

Kidsave

Note: the names/identities/details of the foster children, foster parents and social workers have been changed to protect their identities

 

Emilio was getting close to aging out of the foster care system.  Having been taken from his family at 10 months old, he’d lived in over 25 foster homes.  Some treated him like family, some merely met his basic needs, and none wanted to adopt him.  Six months before his 18^th birthday, he sat down with his social worker and learned about the grim realities confronting him.  Once 18, he’d be on his own (Note:  the age for termination of foster care services has since been changed to 21).

 

Having moved so many times and with no steady help from an adult, Emilio had fallen behind in school.  So college wasn’t really in the cards.  He would need to find a job and a place to live.  He’d have to rely on the staff of his current group home to help him coordinate after-school rides to Social Services in order to take advantage of the meager resources available to him, to work on his resume, and to fill out job and housing applications. 

 

The irony:  society expected Emilio to create permanency for himself, despite the fact that the system had failed to provide him with any semblance of permanency in 17+ years.

 

Emilio had seen plenty of his foster brothers and sisters age out.  He’d witnessed the anxiety and stress and worry of having no place to go.  Upwards of 40% of foster children will end up homeless, which means former foster children have now overtaken veterans as the single largest population in our state’s homeless shelters.   

 

Emilio could see his future.  He’d  heard about how groups of former foster kids would huddle up in the dried-up bed of the L.A. River to sleep, taking turns keeping watch; how many of them turned to crime and prostitution for money; and how some of them just disappeared.

 

The foster care system, originally built on good intentions, removes children from their biological families in situations of abuse and neglect.  But so often the solution – the foster experience – is just as bad (and sometimes worse) than the original problem.

 

Statistics show that once a child turns six, his chances of getting adopted drop dramatically.  At 12 or 13, adoption is nearly impossible.  When a child reaches 16, who cares? 

 

These are the forgotten children.  They live in foster and group homes, and they attend school.   But their journey from foster care to the streets is hidden from view:  an exit paycheck from the state; a list of housing they may or may not be able to afford; a draft of a resume.  But no home base, other than a shelter.  No place to go at Thanksgiving or Christmas.  No social worker to call.  And no one to celebrate their birthday.

 

Enter Kidsave.  Specializing in ages 9 and up, Kidsave serves to create connections for older children in the foster care system.  With adoption as the ultimate goal, the organization strives to match each child in its program with a caring adult who will provide mentorship and advocacy and a steady relationship. 

 

It works like this…  We start attending Kidsave monthly events (next one is July 10^th) and meet the Kidsave kids (and maybe make a connection).  We go through a brief training that includes mentorship and advocacy, and when we are ready, Kidsave will work to match us with a child. 

 

But wait!  This is different than the agency we worked with before in that Kidsave is NOT a foster/adoptive agency.  They are a nonprofit org that works to create long-lasting connections for kids.  So when we’re matched, we’ll hang out with our Kidsave kid twice a month – help with homework, introduce her/him to our peeps (all of you!), advocate for permanency, and basically serve as a strong, consistent, hopefully-lifelong connection.  If there’s a prospective family interested in adopting our Kidsave kid, we’ll help wherever needed.    But the point is to be a connection.  If WE’RE interested in adopting our Kidsave kid, and if our Kidsave kid is interested in being adopted by us (older kids actually have a say), we’ll get our foster/adoptive license through the county and adopt the child. 

 

So…  We don’t typically include a call to action in our blog as this is a journey we’ve chosen to take.  But if you’re looking for a way make your personal difference in the world, please consider getting involved with Kidsave – whether it’s a donation or sharing their link or volunteering for an event, this org is crazy-awesome.  

 

Sadly, Emilio’s social worker never referred him to Kidsave.  Instead, he aged out of the system without an adult role model, without a positive connection, without a mentor.  Determined to create a life for himself despite his circumstances, he applied to job after job after job, but with no experience and poor grades, he never made the final cut.  Unable to afford a place to live, and with shelters full, Emilio began to sleep on the street.  He had no place to shower, no way to keep his interview clothes clean, thus his dream of creating permanency for himself faded away. 

 

Desperate to survive, Emilio took the only job he could get – he became a runner for a local drug dealer.  Emilio is currently serving time for possession with intent to sell. 

Do NOT Turn In Your Application: The Sequel

It’s so easy, isn’t it, to get kinda judgey (judgie?) about other people?  Like the delightful couple from our most recent blog post whose world, which included two kids in a 2 bedroom/2 bath apartment, somehow transformed into a zero kids/1 bed/1 bath situation in mere seconds?   We all kinda celebrated a little when they received a stern warning from Shondra, the social worker-superhero, right?  And maybe we even felt a little – what’s the word – justifiably happy or satisfied or vindicated or snooty or…?  Relieved!  Let’s go with relieved.  We all felt a little relieved when Shondra addressed them directly with, “Do not turn in your application.”

Well…

We have spent this week happily filling out our foster/adoptive paperwork, moving through the (ridiculously) long checklist of “A” and “B” documents we’re required to provide when we turn in our application.  And then yesterday, our whole world went catawampus when we each received word from our respective employers that our jobs would soon be ending.

Here’s the kicker – we work for completely different employers!

Now, on a grand scale, this is not a horrible, terrible, awful thing.  These were pay-the-rent jobs meant to provide us with health insurance and cover us while we work (incredibly long) off-hours to make our writing dreams come true.   But on the foster/adoptive scale, this IS a horrible, terrible, awful thing.  Because you see, in order to become a foster/adoptive parent, we must have the steady income required for raising a child.  And we must PROVE we have the steady income required for raising a child.

We both remember the exact point in the orientation in which Shondra said:  “If you don’t have a steady income, do NOT turn in your application.”

“What if we had a job and then we got two kids and then we lost the two kids and then we got another kid and then we lost that kid and then we lost our jobs?” we imagine asking.

“Do NOT turn in your application.  You see how I’m not looking around the room as I say this?  I’m looking right at YOU.  You feel me, right?   I’m talking to YOU TWO and you two alone.  I’m telling you, do NOT turn in an application to foster/adopt.  I’m also letting you know that you’ve already given us your names and your address.  And you’ve mentioned that you don’t have jobs.  You will NOT become foster parents in Los Angeles County.  And we will come check your house to make sure your kids, I mean, your dogs, are fine.  So get yourselves in order.”  This is how we imagine Shondra’s response.

So how do all those people who use foster kids as their primary source of income get away with it, you might be asking.

Well…

They run group homes.  Meaning, they have the space for multiple children and devote (we use that term loosely) themselves full-time to caring (also loose) for the children they receive through the system.  In some cases, of course, this is a BEAUTIFUL thing. For example, Champion and Radelle went to a woman who runs a group home.  They joined two other foster siblings in an incredibly loving, healing, healthful situation.  Then there are the nightmare group homes, such as the one from which we picked up Champion and Radelle when they came to live with us.  As you may recall, that foster-mom used a cage system for punishment.

But we are not (nor do we want to be) a group home.  We are one couple trying to build a family through the Los Angeles foster care system.  Scratch that:  we are one unemployed couple trying to build a family through the Los Angeles foster care system.

We shall not be deterred, however, and as such, we are viewing this as an opportunity – an opportunity to focus on landing our dream job so that we can check the box that says we’re employed and then prove it’s true by pointing to our names in credits on TV. In the meantime, we have signed up to volunteer as mentors and weekend hosts for foster children where we will be able to give kids a break from the system and provide them with a meaningful relationship that they can rely on for the rest of their lives.

So we will NOT turn in our application.  Yet.

Do Not Turn In Your Application

Note: the names/identities/details of the foster children and social workers have been changed to protect their identities

Have you ever noticed that the questions people ask tend to reveal more about them than they might realize?

We recently attended an orientation to find out what it takes to obtain a license to foster that’s from the state and NOT under a Foster Family Agency.  Before we continue, we want to be clear that this orientation was absolutely fantastic and we learned a lot.

That said, our position that the foster care system brings out all sorts of crazies was validated again and again on Saturday.  The orientation itself was packed full of information, and there wasn’t a whole lot of time for questions.  And yet… And yet, the crazies still managed to reveal themselves.

A case in point:

Two women attended together – seemingly partners – and seemingly coming down from some sort of high from the night before.  They sat at their table, hoods up, heads down, their orientation packet in front of them.  They doodled and wrote notes to each other throughout the parts of the presentation having to do with home safety, background tests, and unannounced social worker inspections.  But when the social worker Shondra, a no-nonsense presenter with a delightful snark to her humor, got to the part about what kind of space must be available to accommodate a foster child, these two ladies were ready to listen.  Apparently THIS part of the presentation was their sole purpose for attending. Pens down, hoods off, these two ladies sat on the edges of their seats waiting for details.

Shondra explained that a foster child over the age of 23 months cannot sleep in the same room as the foster parents.  At 23 months and a day, a foster child must move into their own room, or a shared room.  But only two children can share a room.  They must have at least two drawers to call their own, and plenty of closet space.

“If you don’t have the space, don’t turn in your application,” Shondra warned.  “If you don’t have an extra bedroom ready and you get an infant, when that infant turns 23 months and one day, we will take the child from you.  Again, if you don’t have the space, don’t turn in your application.”

One of the ladies catapulted her hand into the air.  “What if you live in a 2-bedroom, 2-bath apartment and you have 2 kids already?”

Shondra shook her head.  “Don’t turn in your application.”  This was said to the group.  The question was not out of the norm.  People live in apartments.  They have other children.  This was a good answer for all of us to hear.

So Shondra was ready to move on.  The two ladies, however, were not.

They quickly rearranged their lives.  “Okay, what if you have no kids and you live in a 1-bedroom, 1-bathroom apartment and ONLY want an infant – like a newborn?”

Shondra, obviously pretty good at math, smiled.  “What happened to the two kids?”

The woman glanced nervously at her partner, who shrugged.  “Well, this is just a for-instance.  Hyper-thetically speaking.”

Shondra physically fought the urge to correct this potential foster-mom-of-the-year.  She took a moment to consider her answer.  And then:  “Don’t turn in your application.”  This was not said to the group.

“So if we got a 2-bedroom/2-bath apartment and had no kids, then we could get a baby?”

Shondra’s demeanor changed from sassafras to serious.  It was like watching the Transformer character Optimus Prime go from diesel truck to Autobot.

“Do not turn in your application.  You see how I’m not looking around the room as I say this?  I’m looking right at you.  You feel me, right?   I’m talking to you two and you two alone.  I’m telling you, do not turn in an application to foster/adopt.  I’m also letting you know that you’ve already given us your names and your address.  And you’ve mentioned two kids who are apparently disposable.  You will not become foster parents in Los Angeles County.  And we will come check your house to make sure your kids are fine.  So get yourselves in order.”

Well, this was not at all what these two ladies came to hear.  They were not going to stick around to have more abuse heaped upon them.  Plus, they had to go find their children and make sure they looked presentable before the cops arrive.  So they left.

Besides the fact that we shouldn’t have disposable children at home, we learned the following:
1. Latinos have replaced African Americans as having the most children in foster care in Los Angeles.

2. Los Angeles County is number one in the entire country for the most children in foster care.  The total?  A staggering 35,000 kids.  Can we hear a “We’re number one!”

3. At any given time, 700-900 children in Los Angeles are permanently removed from their families with no hope for reunification.

4. If the door leading from your house to your backyard is rotted out and there’s a 4-inch gap between the bottom of the door and the ground, get it fixed before you turn in your application.

5. We are NOT required to lock up knives that are used for cooking.  If you have small children, the knives must be kept high enough that a child would need a chair to reach them.

6. Alcohol must be out of reach of the children (and possibly some adults).  CHECK!

7. Make sure you introduce your pets to potential foster children BEFORE the foster children move in with you.  Wait, what? Before?  OOOoooohhhhhh!!!!!

8. Don’t store cleaning chemicals like bleach and chlorine with your hand lotion.

9. If you have to move debris out of the way to get in and out of your front door, don’t turn in your application (even if the debris is neatly stacked).

10. A book of matches lying on the ground is a safety hazard, even if the book is a part of a “collection” of matchbooks.  And even if the matches probably don’t work because they’ve been rained on.

11. If you use a part of your yard for storing your boards, rusty nails, car fenders, yard tools, and bags of garbage, don’t turn in your application.

Just as the presentation wrapped up, Shondra got one final question.  “So what if my 18 year old son
sleeps on the couch already and is willing to give up his room for a foster child since he doesn’t really use it anyway?”

“Don’t turn in your application.”

Next up:  an orientation at an organization specializing in teenage foster children.  We’ll let you know how it goes!

A Rapture In Blue

Note:  the names/identities/details of the foster children and social workers have been changed to protect their identities

We arrived at the community swimming pool about 15 minutes before Champion’s lesson began.  The boys had never gone swimming before, never laid eyes on a pool, never owned a bathing suit except for the used pair of trunks their former foster mom tried to pass off as shorts on the day we picked them up to bring them home.

Champion, in anticipation of his first swimming lesson, had laid out his trunks the night before.  He’d also laid out his towel, his sandals, a T-shirt, a pair of sunglasses covered in soccer ball stickers, sunscreen, a baseball cap, a baseball glove, a baseball (in case any of his classmates wanted to “toss a ball around”), and a jigsaw puzzle.

Radelle added to the stack a book, The Cat In The Hat, and his harmonica.  “Music is important,” he explained.

By this point in our first foster experience, we’d come to expect the onslaught of “firsts” that happens with young foster children.  The first movie, the first birthday cake, the first helping of polenta.  And honestly, we enjoyed the rush.  We quickly realized how much we take for granted when the boys arrived at our apartment for the first time and found the fridge to be full of food instead of beer.  So we looked forward to moments like this – moments where for the slightest of wisps we got to see the world through their wondrous eyes.

In the community center parking lot, we could hear shouts and laughter from inside the pool area.  Champion and Radelle squealed in anticipation as we approached the enormous brown gate.  We showed a lifeguard our class ticket.  He glanced down at Champion.

“Is this your lesson?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Champion replied.

“Make sure you pay attention to the lifeguards.  They’re the ones in the orange swimming suits.”

Champion nodded, fairly certain he could figure out the “orange” part of the lifeguard’s request.

“Today’s Champ’s lesson.  Mine isn’t today, though.”  For whatever reason, Radelle felt he needed to explain his situation, his presence at the pool.  “My lessons are next week.  But I wore my swimming suit in case I fall in or if Champion wants me to get in with him cuz he’s scared.  Or if he wants to play with me, or if anyone else does, I’ll be ready.  Champion’s my brother.  I brought a book.  And music.”

With that, we ushered the boys inside.  And then came to an immediate halt.  The pool, of course, was a total zoo.  A zoo run by pimply teenagers trying desperately to appear cool as they blew bubbles with toddlers or corralled a floating turd toward a vacant corner.  Champion and Radelle stared at the Olympic sized body of water in front of them.  Early classes had just ended, so children and parents splashed their way out of the chlorination and into waiting towels and flip-flops.  A crackling loudspeaker informed us that Champ’s class would be taught by Dirk and students and their parental assistants should head toward the 3 ft. marker in the shallow end to begin their lesson.

Heather took the first go at swimming with Champion.  She got into the water via the stairs, then turned around to help Champion in.  Terrified, he just stood there, frozen, as toddlers half his size ambled in around him.  Heather picked him up and eased into the water.  On instinct, Champ’s arms wrapped tightly around her neck, his legs clung to her torso.  He shook violently.  Radelle cheered him on from the bleachers.

“Good job, Champion!” he hollered.  “Way to go!  You’re doing it!  You’re swimming!”

He wasn’t swimming, of course, but it didn’t matter.  Dirk got the class going on assisted floating while Heather trolled around the pool with Champion around her neck like a human cape.  He grinned ear-to-ear, frequently glancing toward the bleachers to make sure his brother was watching.

Thirty minutes later, the class was over.  Champion, who never let go of Heather’s neck, emerged from the pool triumphant.  Radelle, blown away by his brother’s bravery, peppered him with questions.

“Was it hard?”

“Yeah.  Pretty hard.”

“Was it cold?”

“Yeah.  It was cold until I started swimming.  Then I warmed up.”

“What did it feel like?”

“It kinda felt like a bath, but bluer.”

“That’s what I thought.”

Champion spent his week of lessons learning to let go of Heather’s neck.  That’s it.  Just letting go.  While this could seem like a simple accomplishment for the rest of us – and certainly for his classmates who ended the week getting comfortable under water – for Champ, the moment of letting go was huge.

It happened after the last class ended.  Parents and their almost-swimmers exited the pool.  Heather drifted toward the stairs, her human cape intact.  Champion lamented the fact that he hadn’t gone under water, that he hadn’t let go.  If he could just have another chance, another lesson, he was sure he could do it.  Heather eased onto the first stair when suddenly, without warning, Champion let go.  He just…  He let go.

There was this moment, this nano-second, where it felt like the whole world stopped.  The pool paused, except for the four of us.  As Champion slid away from Heather, his attention turned to the bleachers, to his little brother, his biggest fan, his constant companion, his home.  Champion slid away from Heather and into the water, under the water.  Finally under the water.

Our minds raced.  What will Scout say when we report that Champion drowned in 2 feet of water, 2 feet away from us?  And will they let us keep Radelle?

The pool unpaused.  Heather easily reached for Champion, and Radelle rushed to the side of the pool.

Champion emerged from the (2 ft.) depths of chlorine absolutely jubilant, a thunderous rapture of blue a week in the making.  His head bobbed above the water line, his feet planted firmly on the ground.

“I can stand on my own!” he exclaimed.

“You did it, Champion!  You went swimming!” Radelle cheered.

“Yeah,” Champ nodded.   “I finally let go.”

Today we got a call from the community center asking if we’d like to sign the boys up for lessons this summer.   We declined, fighting the urge to explain as we continue to let go.

 

Mourning Becomes Electric

Note: the names/identities/details of the foster children, foster parents and social workers have been changed to protect their identities – except for us, of course…

Heather:  Remember this?

We look at a photo of Champion and Radelle on their first visit to Disneyland.  Nancy, holding Radelle, cozies up on one side of Winnie the Pooh, while Heather and Champion snuggle in on the other.

Nancy:  They were terrified.

And they were.  They’d never seen life-sized versions of characters before.  They’d never been to a land where everything seems perfect.  They hadn’t ever taken a boat ride through pirate-infested waters or joined in a parade or watched in awe as the sky lights up with fireworks.

Heather clicks her mouse and another photo appears.  It’s Jordan.  He’s playing in the grass.  We’d just gotten his hair cut.  He clutches a Buzz Lightyear from Nancy’s brother.

Heather:  He was happy that day.

Despite Jordan’s smiles and despite his enthusiasm, he had a kind of sadness flowing beneath the surface.  He wanted his mom.

Heather clicks to the next picture…

This is how it’s been for the past few months.  We once imagined ourselves creating an enormous family, built entirely through foster care.  But when all of our matches and both of our previous placements failed, it was hard not to feel as though our dream-family was just that – a dream.

We have to admit, we’ve relished our time and space sans children.  We’ve enjoyed the quiet.  We’ve taken advantage of the extra time to write.  And we certainly love NOT paying for a babysitter.  But we’re haunted, in a way.  The shadows of the foster care system frequently sweep over us, tugging and taunting and enveloping us in thoughts of children who are waiting.

We have moments in which it feels as though we’ll never get over the boys, particularly Champ and Rad who became such a huge part of our lives.  At the same time, we hope we never get over them because maybe – just maybe – if we carry them in our thoughts, if we continue to remember them and mourn their departure, maybe we’re somehow still a part of their lives, still a part of showing them what’s possible.

But lately, there’s been a shift.  Now that we’ve made the decision to leave our foster agency, we frequently find ourselves on Heart Gallery looking at children who are legally free – untangled from the families that put them there in the first place.

The possibility of an enormous blended family reemerges as we imagine ourselves with Anna, who’s 15, a straight A Honors student, and who aspires to a career in psychology; and Marcus, 16, an elite athlete, who craves parents to attend his football and basketball games as well as help him with college applications; and Tyrell, who’s 7, willing to go anywhere in the country for a permanent home.  He’s the only one of six siblings not yet adopted.

There are 17 year olds out there who still hold out hope for adoption so that they can spend the rest of their lives as a part of a larger family.  They want somewhere to go at Christmas.  They want someone who will make a fuss for their birthdays.  That could be us!  That could very well be us!

Last week we called LA County Child Services.  We explained our situation, and they invited us to a foster/adopt orientation where we will learn what steps we need to take to get licensed without an agency.

And just like that, our time of mourning transforms into a plan.  Step 1:  Get certified!

Day-O!

Note: the names/identities/details of the foster children, foster parents and social workers have been changed to protect their identities

When an individual or a couple decides to become fost/adoptive parents, one of the requirements is that they attend several hours of training on what it takes/means/feels like to be a foster parent.   The training, of course, cannot possibly cover all topics, nor can it really provide much in the way of truly valuable information for people with any semblance of common sense.  Those without common sense, however, will have several a-ha moment opportunities.

In Foster School, they teach things like how to be sensitive to a foster child’s needs, reasons why foster children cannot be spanked, how to deal with racism, and what to do if your foster child hoards food.  Information is presented in a positive, upbeat fashion with the occasional furrowed brow or stern nod for dramatic emphasis.  Foster School students, us included, remain ignorant about the glossy nature of the information given.  It’s not until you’re out there in the real world (a.k.a. The System) with an actual foster child that the real training begins.

One of the subjects most glossed over is that of the BM.  No, this is not another story about a toilet.  This is the story of one of the most powerful forces in human existence:  the Biological Mother.  Now, we’ll just put this out there right now – we were both raised by fantastic moms (hi moms!) who saw to it that we grew into compassionate, smart, incredibly beautiful, very fit, and ridiculously beautiful (we know we said this, but we really can’t stress it enough) women (thanks, moms!).  Our moms are fine examples of this powerful force used for good. 

In the foster system, there are good moms who made some mistakes and are working like crazy to right their wrongs and earn their children back.  These women embody the goodness of The System.  They take advantage of the services offered to better themselves and do right by their kid(s).  But there also exists the dark forces of The System, the bio-moms who, for whatever reason, choose to wreak havoc on themselves, their families, their social workers, their children, and the foster parents who care for their children. 

Jordan’s mom is one such BM.  A meth and heroin addict, BM makes it to every visit with her boy.  She brings a toy or two and snacks.  But she’s often strung out, jagged, or vacant.  Any potentially adoptive parent is a threat, and while her brain scans the horizon for her next fix, her heart searches for the loose thread, the one that will ultimately unravel the fabric that is her relationship with Jordan.  She vacillates between kind and hard, warm and cutthroat, mom and junkie.  She is fighting for custody of her son, but refuses to fight her addiction.

Champion and Radelle also had a dark-side BM.  She never made a single visit with the boys, but called them off and on during their time with us.  She always sounded upbeat and fun, and spent her call with them planning all of the exciting adventures they’d share once reunited.  She thanked us over and over for “temporarily” taking care of her boys while she got her life together, as if she’d hired us as her personal nannies.  After calls with BM, the boys were distraught.  Where was she?  Did she have their little brother with her?  Did they have to go back and live with her? 

One night, the boys had a particularly disturbing call in which birth mom heard Champion refer to us as “Mama Nancy” and “Mama Heather” and subsequently lashed out at them both.  “No one will love you like I do,” she told them.  “They don’t really love you,” she said.  “No one will love you like I do!”

Neither Champion nor Radelle, both clearly upset, wanted to talk about their conversation with BM, so we felt it best to, well, dance!  We put on Harry Belafonte’s “Banana Boat Song” and began moving around the living room.  The boys watched in fascination.

“Daaaaayyyyy-Oooooo!!!” we bellowed along with Harry. 

Radelle was the first to join us.  He couldn’t help but move his little hips to the rhythm of the song.  Champion watched, still processing the warnings from his mother as Radelle let himself go, arms and head swaying to music.

“Champion – it’s a song about bananas.  You love bananas!” he informed his brother. 

Somewhere, somehow this made sense to Champ and he joined in.  We danced in a circle around the room. 

“Daylight come and me wanna go home…”

We watched the boys let the music take over.  They immersed themselves wholly and completely.  They held hands as they maneuvered around the coffee table.  Champion got an idea for a trick.

“Wow!” we marveled at his lopsided somersault.

Radelle followed suit.  And soon the boys were practicing spins and jumps, the call with their mom fading away.  The song drew to an end, and the boys sensed this.  Their dance slowed until they just swayed back and forth.  Finally, Harry sang the last of the lyrics:

“Daylight come and me wanna go… home.” 

As the song finished, Champion suddenly looked at us.  Really looked at us. 

“What if I don’t want to go home?” he asked.

“What if this is home?” we responded. 

“Okay.”  He nodded.  We hit Repeat and the song started over.

 “Daaaaay-O!  Day-ay-ay-O!” we all sang.  “Daylight come and me wanna go home.”

 Happy Mother’s Day!

An Ocean of Possibilities

Champion & Radelle

 

Note: the names/identities/details of the foster children, foster parents and social workers have been changed to protect their identities

Within foster/adoption system there is an ocean of possibilities.  Although our journey to build a family is temporarily paused, we thought we’d share one of our favorite days with Champion and Radelle – the day we took them to the beach.

We got the boys up early one morning.  They’d never been to the beach before, never laid eyes the vast beauty of the ocean.  The brightly colored buckets and shovels they’d been using as cooking utensils in their pretend-kitchen would find a whole new purpose that day.  Both had just finished two weeks of swimming lessons, so for them, putting on their trunks clearly indicated a pool visit.  Despite our repeated explanations to the contrary, they hurried to the car with their goggles, regaling each other with tales of bravery. 

“When I jumped in, Mama Heather let me go all the way under the water!” Radelle boasted.  “I didn’t even cry.”

“Oh, yeah?  Well, Mama Nancy threw the fish toy all the way across the pool and I swam over to get it,” Champion countered. 

“Nuh-uh.  Not by yourself, you didn’t.” 

“Almost by myself.”

One of us buckled the boys into their car seats while the other arranged the trunk with boogie boards, the cooler, a picnic lunch, beach chairs, and bags of extra clothing.  As we pulled out of the driveway, the boys debated who’d be first into the pool.   We passed the community center, and Champion began to panic.  He was wearing swimming trunks.  Were we not going swimming?  The logic of this escaped him.

“We’re going to the ocean” we said.

“What’s the ocean?” Radelle wanted to know.

“It’s where the fish live.  There’s water and sand.  We’ll be able to play, and we’ll have a picnic lunch.”

“Does the ocean have a pool?” Champion asked.

“The ocean’s like a pool, but bigger.  Way, way bigger,” we replied.  

The boys fell quiet.  We rode in silence for awhile, so long that it seemed like the boys had fallen asleep.  But they hadn’t.  They both stared out their respective windows as we wound our way through a canyon.  Despite our excitement to bring yet another experience to the boys, a certain stillness settled over the four of us, a kind of familial peace that comes from days, weeks, months of shared routine and adventure, grief and joy.  Eventually, we ascended a hill, leaving the canyon behind us.  And suddenly, there it was – the ocean.

“Look, you guys!”

The boys strained to see.  Radelle took off his sunglasses. 

“Wow!   It’s big!”

We glanced at Champion, certain he’d see how much fun this day would bring.  But giant tears rolled down his cheeks.

“Buddy, what’s wrong?”

“I’m scared,” Champion confessed.  “What if I disappear?”

We paused.  This was one of those moments – one of those moments where the possibilities to express our love for these boys seemed as vast as the ocean before us.  Every response, articulated alone, seemed insufficient.   For how do you say to these two – whose parents, grandparents, aunts, and uncles would disappear for hours, day, or weeks at a time– how do you say, “You are safe.” 

“How about this” we said, “how about you make it your job to stay close to us.  All day long, that’s your job, to stay close.”

Champion nodded.  This made some sense.  He had a job – to stay close – and if he did his job well, he’d be safe. 

“Okay.”

We unloaded the car and picked a spot.  We laid out towels and applied sunscreen.  We unpacked toys, set up beach chairs, and laid down ground rules.  We spent the day building sandcastles, running from waves, and tossing a beach ball.  All the while, Champion did his job.  He remained within a few feet of one or the other of us and policed his brother to do the same. 

By the time we got back into the car to drive home, Radelle had fallen asleep.  But not Champion.   

“Great job today, Champ.”

“Thanks,” he said. 

He leaned back in his chair stared again out his window, craning his neck to keep his eye on the ocean, even as we descended the hill and headed back into the canyon.

That night, the ocean was still on Champion’s mind when we tucked him into bed.

“Where does the ocean end?” he asked.

“Far, far away,” we told him. 

“Can we go there someday?  To see the end of the ocean?”

“That sounds like quite an adventure,” we said.  “Full of possibilities.”

“Yeah.  I’m gonna practice staying close before we go there.”