breaking hearts.

I really dislike having my heart broken, but my heart doesn't shatter the way a kid's can.  

Yesterday morning we received the Child Inventory Study for the little we want.  The inventory is a document that summarizes the child's life.  Some of it is not too exciting to read, legal proceedings, immunizations and whatnot.  Most of it, though, is VERY relevant to raising a kidlet.  The document tells you what that child is up against, what their home life with their birth family was like, what the mental health background for them and their biological relatives is like, any disabilities they have, allergies, diagnoses.  

Our job is to read the document carefully and figure out if we can parent the child.  Interviews go both ways, the social workers figuring out if we're the right family for the child and us figuring out if the child is the right one for us.  The inventory provides an incredible amount of information and questions arise from reading the document.

After reading about this little one, I called our social worker.  I tried to get some questions out, but mostly I just cried.  Luckily, my social worker can handle it and the boys couldn't hear.

See, I was reading about this child and I may as well have been reading about our sons.  I know how much hard work this little one is going to need to be OK.  Having fantastic foster parents is a huge benefit to the kiddo.  These foster parents sound just amazing.

Now we pray.  We pray that the child is meant to be ours.  We pray that if the child  is NOT meant to be ours the parents have the wisdom and insight to figure out what's normal kid, what needs a bit extra and what's really serious.  We pray that the parents adore the bejeebers out of the little one.  We pray that God protects this precious one from more harm.  And, well, we pray for all the kids in the world going through what this child, and our children, have survived.

Later that day, actually, late at night, Superdad and I reviewed the inventory together.  There are some pretty scary ideas in that document, but we don't care.  This child, well, we want this child and we feel prepared to parent.  Maybe the social workers will agree with us.

a small but BIG update!!!!!

We have an interview!

"What does that mean," you ask?  Well, it means that we made a MAJOR cut!  From however many families expressed interest in the child (it wouldn't be uncommon to have 100+ homestudies sent in), we are on THE SHORT LIST!  That means the social workers narrowed the field of potential families to 3 - 5 (or up to 10, but they're only interviewing for 3 days, only in the morning and each interview is an hour and a half or more. . . do the math).

What does that mean?  It means we have a shot at a kid.

Not just any kid, either, this kid is the kid of our dreams.

We're praying in a major way that the child comes home to us.

So, what's next, you ask?

We interview in a week and a half.  They interview the other families over the 3 day period.  Then the social workers meet and "match" the child to the family they feel can best meet the child's needs.  They call that family and ask "Are you still interested?"  If the answer is yes, the family matched to the child gets to meet the child.  Then they start transitioning the child to the new home.  Well, the family CAN back out, but I doubt anyone would back out in this case.  If the family does back out, the social workers call the #2 family.

After transitioning the child, there is an adoptive placement.  Social workers visit you once a month to check things out.  After six months of having the child in the home, the family can file for finalization.  That court date usually comes within a month or so, then YOU'RE FINAL AND THE CHILD IS YOURS.

So, IF we're chosen, they'll call us the next week.  We'll set up a transition plan (usually no longer than a month) and bring our new child home.  Yup, we'd have less than a month to get our home ready for Blow5!!! I refuse to get ready for a specific child until we're matched.

Needless to say, we're on our knees, praying our hearts out!

Failure to Thrive.

Aquaman was diagnosed with inorganic Failure to Thrive as an infant.  Some basics:  Failure to Thrive means a kidlet is not gaining weight as expected.  Sometimes there are organic reasons (such as a metabolic disease).  Our little booger, though, had inorganic, which means there is no physical reason for not gaining weight.  When he came home, Aquaman wasn't on the growth charts.  At 2, he wasn't on the growth charts.  Despite the small12 month clothes (which means most kids grow out of them at 12 months, he was twice that age) we dressed him in, everything was baggy.  He had to wear overall type garments to keep them up.  His hip bones stuck out, we could see his vertebrae, there was very little fat on his toddler body.  Aquaman didn't eat much solid food at all at that time.  He drank pediasure from a bottle.

So, the kid was skinny, he's on the growth charts now, who cares?  He's healed, right?

Nope.  See, Failure to Thrive affects more than stature.  Because he didn't get the nutrients he should have at the time he should have, his brain works differently.  Well, it's more than because he didn't get the nutrients.  Let's think for a minute:  there was NO physical reason for him not to gain weight.  None.  Let that sink in.



Do you understand what happened?

So, a loss of food during infancy isn't as simple as "feed the kid."  A lack of proper nutrition (and touch) during infancy affects kids their whole lives.  They can be socially delayed, gross motor skills can be delayed (think, they're not rolling over, they don't crawl and walk at the normal times) puberty can be delayed (even if they received nutrition AFTER infancy), it can affect their cognitive aptitude and it usually sets a kid up for eating disorders.

Why eating disorders?  Well, food becomes control to a kid like that.  It's sort of like baby anorexia.  It's not about the food, it's about the deep needs every child has.  How does that translate to every day life?  There are food avoidance tactics that are pretty amazing.  Aquaman makes most picky eaters look like adventurous kids.  Being upset about anything affects Aquaman's ability to eat.

Gone are the days where I had to teach him to chew.  He now knows chewing is moving your mouth up and down with food between your teeth.  It doesn't work if the food is on your tongue, under your tongue, or in your cheeks.  However, with that knowledge came more food avoidance techniques.

When Aquaman doesn't want to eat, he has some pretty predictable MOs.
1.  Say it's not your favorite and that you hate what's being served.  This is the first line of defense, even if it's chocolate chip cookies.  After that is rebuffed, point out the little things that are wrong, too much ketchup, not enough ketchup, there's a bump, there's a chunk, it's the wrong color, it's stale, it's mushy, it's firm . . . whatever you can use to describe the food.

2.  Sit stoically.  Watch everyone else eat with a slight pout on your face.

3.  Try to fill up with liquids.  Even water works.

4.  Complain that your food is cold/no longer cold.

5.  Throw a fit.  A 20 minute crying "I don't know how to eat" while kicking and screaming, rolling around on the floor and huge tears streaming down his face SHOULD work.

6.  Say your stomach hurts (sometimes it really does, but Mom and Dad will worry and fuss over you with this one).

7.  Don't chew your food, keep shoveling it in your mouth then try to swallow.  This often leads to regurgitation, which should make Mom and Dad have pity on you.

8.  Eat the darn food so you can get up from the table.

Yes, mealtimes can take two hours at our home.  Aquaman has superhero powers with food avoidance.  Unfortunately, the commonly quoted, "He'll eat when he's hungry enough," advice does not hold true with Aquaman.  How do I know?  I tried.  For five days that little bugger lived on 5 bites of food a day.  I set out his favorite foods, didn't try AT ALL to get him to eat.  He started getting squirrely early on.  By the third day he was having incredible problems concentrating.  I finally broke down and sat him at the table when he could barely stand up, said he was dizzy and wanted to sleep all the time.  He felt better as soon as he ate.  Imagine that.

See, his food fights are not about me, they aren't about food, they're about controlling his life and feeling loved.  When Aquaman is worried about anything (gosh, there's a fly in the house, I'm starting a new grade, my shoes aren't green, a leaf just blew past), he stops eating because that is within his control.  When he's feeling like his world is spiraling away from him and his needs aren't being met, well, he stops eating.

So, just meet his needs, right?  Then this will all go away.

Sure.

No problem.

Well, maybe one or two little bitty problems.  His body is 6.  His cognative skills are older than 6 (but I won't get him tested 'cuz who really cares, so long as he's OK?), his social skills are about 4 - 5, his emotional skills are about 3 - 4.  Let's translate this.

While playing with his brother, Aquaman wants the BLUE car because it would go so well with the yellow car.  Yellow and blue do make green, after all.  However, his brother is playing with said blue car, and is in the midst of loading and unloading a very important load of imaginary weaponry (or toilets, depends on his mood).  Aquaman says, "hey, I NEED that car, give it to me."  Spidey says, "NO.  I AM PLAYING WITH IT NO WAY NO HOW."  Aquaman reaches to take it.  Spidey resists, ends up pushing him.  Aquaman runs to me, crying "Spidey pushed me."

I can either hover and pop in immediately, saying, "Dear, if you want the blue car, you need to either talk to your brother or wait your turn.  Why do you want the blue car?"  to smooth things out before the hitting begins.  Or I can wait until he's reaching, then say "Dear, your brother said not now, you need to wait your turn,"  OR I can sit back, watch the events occur in their predictable fashion and either reprimand them BOTH for using their hands and not their words or ignore the slight skirmish.

Not a big deal, right?  Sure, until it's happening 200 times a day.

Sure, until his friends don't want to play with him because he doesn't play right.

Sure.

He tries so hard, he does what he understands, but he just doesn't get those social things as well as some kids.

So, welcome to a bit of Failure to Thrive.

the roller coaster continues. . . ON GOTCHA DAY!

Four years!  Our amazing sons have been home for FOUR YEARS!  I still look at our sons with awe and amazement. . . these little ones are OURS to raise, OURS to enjoy, OURS for a lifetime!  The miracle happened, we became parents.  Just gazing at them can bring tears to my eyes.  I'm rather attached to them, I do believe.

Four years. . . four years ago we thought Aquaman was retarded.  He had 7 words.  Today he says things like, "Mom, how does the piston work exactly?  Which lever do you use and how does it connect to the piston?"  or "I really don't think Superman and Batman know each other because they're just pretend.  They are not real, it's costumes."  We haven't had a pediatric neurologist appointment in 3 1/2 years.  His brain works so fast he can't slow down!

Four years. . . four years ago Spidey wouldn't smile for us and was a year behind in almost every area (including the playground skills!).  Today he grins at me and says, "I'm glad you're my mom" or giggles with his brother over the word toilet.  Today he's amazing at sports and reads above grade level.  He's so busy joking around he doesn't take time to do his work!

Four years.  . . four years getting to know these amazing little boys who constantly amaze me.  Four years of tucking them in, asking how their day was, feeding them, training them and playing with them.  Four years of measuring them against their height the very first day they came home.

Obviously, it's a special day for us.

And I found out today that we're not out of the running for another kidlet who just reminds us of our boys.  Yes, he looks like them.  Yes, he has some of the same issues they had/have, but it's more the spark and our gut reaction to his picture.

We thought it was over weeks ago.

It's not.

So we're back on our knees, begging God for this little one.  I was begging God to make sure his family adored him and knew how special he is, but now I'm begging to be his mom.  I'm begging to bring a sibling home to the boys, another son for my husband, I can already hear his laughter, see his mischief and predict how they'll all gang up on me.

I thought it was over.

When we interviewed for the boys I was SURE a foot in mouth comment eliminated us from the running.  God used that comment, though, and they became our sons (mostly because of the comment, ironically, go God).  I'm praying history is repeating itself and my conviction that he's not ours, my grief over him, is the unnecessary grief of a mother who does not yet know she's a mother.

Did I mention that I hate waiting?  And that this is a roller coaster?

We should hear if we got an interview (which would mean we've made the short list), in the next week or two.  I pray.  I pray REALLY hard we'll find out we did.  And that we interview and it's an easy choice for the social workers to send this boy home to us.

Then our gotcha day will be one bigger, one happier, one more!

MOM YOU DIDN'T DO IT.

Today it was all my fault.  It's always the mother's fault, right?  But some lessons were learned, I do believe.

It was my fault Spidey had to study his addition.  I mean, the fun way didn't work, so now we have to try and memorize.

It was my fault he wandered away from us in a store.  The first time he whimpered, "Mom, you walked away from me.  I was looking at a toy,"  I smiled and answered, "I'm sorry, dear, I told you we were in a hurry and trusted you were behind me."  The second time he accused me of heartlessness I said, "Excuse me sir, I already told you we're in a hurry and you need to stay with us.  I'm sorry you chose to go another way.  You can be responsible for seeing us when we're in front of you."   He sulked, but did not wander again.

We settled back into the mom-mobile for the trek home.  Superdad was driving.  Before we left, we'd adjusted headrests, acquired ice for water that had warmed up a bit, made sure toys were in reach, ensured the bathroom was used, draped blankets on little bodies, and generally made sure they were comfortable.  Sitting in the passenger seat I opened a book to read.  For once I was reading just for fun, no parenting books in sight!

A little voice chirped, "Mom, you don't LOVE us.  You're READING.  If you LOVED us you would talk to us, NOT READ."

Huh.  Who knew?

I placed an old receipt in the book, set it down and said, "I'm sorry, I'm taking care of myself.  I love you very much, reading a book doesn't mean I don't love you, it means I'm taking care of me."  I picked up the book, opened it to the marked page and resumed reading.

A wondrous thing happened.

The kid started to draw and to play with his brother.

He did test the boundaries of talking back an hour or so later, but for the most part he took it all in stride.

That boy has me wrapped around his little finger.  I wonder how he knows I love him when he's off playing with a friend?

ssshhhhhh i have a secret

My secret is NOT about kids.

My secret is NOT a bad thing.

It's a really fun secret and I'm totally excited.

But I'm not sharing yet.

HA!

adopting a dog vs. adopting a child

Superfriend and her family are in the process of adopting two dogs.  Lucky pups, with the pesto she makes, I wish she'd adopt me.  Well, the pesto, the costumes, the vacations, the neat ideas to get her kids involved in writing and reading, how she teaches her oldest to play solitaire . . . (my own mom is pretty cool, but the costumes, the pesto. . . sorry mom)

Now, Superfriend probably had a fairly short application, she just has one home visit and three references (one is her vet).  I highly doubt they had to give their finances in triplicate, get fingerprinted or have their doctor say they are fit to parent two rambunctious pups.  One thing struck me though:  the person in charge of placing the puppies CALLED.  She called within an hour or two.  We had letters sent, but no phone calls were made.

Hmmm. . .

She'll also get the traumatized pups (just like kids in the foster system, the dogs Superfriend and fam are adopting were through trauma) within a week or so, at the longest.

Hmmmm. . .

Why doesn't it work like that with waiting kiddos?  I mean, of course, once we've been fingerprinted, you know our entire family tree, the doctors and vets have been checked with, etc. . .

Why do those kids sit and wait while dogs are joining happy families?