That Face

This picture of Charity really cracks me up. I thought about just doing a Wordless Wednesday, but I think the reason I find the picture so funny takes some explanation of her personality.

It captures so perfectly her determination. She tries so hard. Too hard, really. She thinks she needs to be perfect. She pays attention to every detail... toes pointed, hands touching toes, jump real high, just the way my big sisters do it... Oh, sweet baby, we love you no matter what! We don't want you to be just like them.

Unfortunately, for a long time her determination was directed towards less than desirable behaviors. She was determined alright... determined to keep us at arm length, to control the house hold, and to cause chaos. She was pretty successful at it, too. She was in survival mode, and I'm glad I understand that now. Because at the time it was extremely hard to swallow.

Oh, the mountains she's beginning to move. RAD is diminishing, and Charity is emerging. I read a great comment a special needs mom made about her daughter. About how her daughter had epilepsy, but epilepsy didn't have her. She talked about how her disorder didn't define her. Unfortunately for RADlings, or at least for me in Charity's case, it did define her for a very long time. It's all I could see. But that isn't true anymore. She's moving that mountain, one rock at a time. We (her family) are trying to help her move rocks, too, but most of the work is hers alone. AND SHE'S DOING IT!!!!! Praise God for His mighty works in her little heart!

She's a hard worker and a perfectionist. To a fault, really, and we're actually working on messing up. And it being ok to mess up. Like, practicing getting things wrong and then reacting nonchalantly. I say, "I want you to tell me the sound this letter makes, but tell me the wrong sound." Then when she "messes up", we laugh and snap our fingers and say, "dad-gum-it, I messed up - now I'm gonna try again." So that maybe when she really messes something up she thinks she should have gotten right, it won't cause a downward spiral of fits and rage.

But my point is that her determination isn't aimed at gaining control or the attention (at any cost) of everyone around her. She's now applying that same strong will and determination to getting along with her sisters. To doing her chores well. To accept what we've said and just say, "yes, ma'am". So when the moments of being stuck or regression come, they are oh-so-much-easier to accept... to respond to her the way she really needs instead of my own anger and frustration oozing out.

Funny how a strong character trait is both a weakness and a strength. The very thing about her that makes me want to pull my hair out is also the very thing I love deeply.

Fairapy

That's what Blessing and Grace call "therapy".

Between 4 hours in the car (2 hours one way -so worth it), double sessions, and lunch, therapy with Charity is an all day event. That's perfect, actually, because it gives us a day to ourselves. No sharing with 5 other girls. Total attention on her. And total enjoyment, too. She's more relaxed without being so worried a sibling might be getting more than she, or trying to control them, and therefore I, too, can quit trying to outwit her every second and just enjoy the beautiful child she is. We eat out... typically at our favorite, Pei Wei.... when weather permits we visit the park to chase the ducks and run off steam between sessions. We sing a thousand songs at the top of our lungs on the way there and back. Great, great days.

When I was a kid (ok, maybe as an adult, too), if someone mentioned to me they saw a therapist, I would've thought they were a few nuts shy of a cluster. Oh, I would respond with an ever-so-polite smile, appropriately, etc., but my head would be screaming, "NUTCASE!!". Yeah, I was stupid. But it's true.

All that to say I always had this sort of negative feeling or perspective about therapy. I've even been sort of guarded about sharing (you know, the whole cyber world doesn't count) with others the fact that we attend. So a few weeks ago when our therapist suggested we begin incorporating other siblings I was curious to how they would respond to needing to go to therapy, fully expecting to have lots of discussions and mold their attitude about it.

No. Turns out from their point of view, "fairapy" might as well be Disneyland. I mean really. You should of heard all the squealing and arguing over who gets to go first and excited chatter. Who knew?

So all but Mercy have had turns sharing our day with us, and all just LOVE fairapy. Like Grace has a meltdown every week cause it really isn't fair that Charity gets to go to fairapy and she doesn't. Poor baby. Sorry, kid, develop RAD or PTSD or something, then you can go. The child is seriously praying to be given RAD or something that needs help processing through so she can go to fairapy. **smirk, snort**

Don't you know some of our grown-up request sound about as ridiculous to God? Aren't you so glad He doesn't always give us what we ask for? Cause we totally don't get it, and He totally does. Ah, God is good.

Adoption Day

Our family with the judge:



The name:


The first name (pronounced uh-LEE-ah)is Hebrew for ascend or exalted, and we pray that is exactly what will happen: her little life will become God's shining glory, a story of his healing and love, a story that exalts Him, and lifts her. Her middle name is a piece of her birth name (the birth name had -lyn tacked on the end of it), and it's what she's been called since birth even though her given name was a little longer. That fits perfectly because all of my girls' names start with "k". Plus I do like to keep a part of what their birth moms have given them. I typically call her the double name, and Grace has followed suit. Most everyone else just sticks with the middle name. And that's perfect. If asked, Charity actually says she prefers a pet name, (ka - ty - bug). I think that's because no one has ever used it negatively. Smart girl!

I have so much to catch you up on with Charity. She has been officially diagnosed with RAD, now, and we are SO thankful to have a therapist who actually gives a flip, (yes we've had one that didn't), and who seems to know just how Charity's brain works. She doesn't let Charity get away with any of her manipulation games or lying or "forgetting" her manners or whining. She has high expectations and holds Charity to them. All the while genuinely loving her, caring for her, and helping me to do the same. Oh, I always loved, but with a RADish, love just isn't enough. Typical parenting doesn't work. And I'm so thankful we finally have a therapist who is working with our family! What a huge difference from this day when I totally took a nose dive and was about ready to give up.

On with the adoption day! Charity had said in therapy that she did not want to change her name. And her therapist and I both inferred that she actually just didn't want to be adopted. Armed with ideas from her therapist, Charity and I talked diligently, worked on her life book, helped her understand the process and what adoption really means, and worked at getting to the root of the problem. I gave her some options, like not changing anything but her last name. Nope. The last name was what she wanted to keep. Non-negotiable in my book. Finally one night as I was going over all that would happen at court, explaining to her what the judge would say and grant us a family, she said, "What if he says no?"

Can you hear her fear? That baby is no stranger to court. She knows what happens there. People leave. New people take you away. The judge just might say "no." So I bawled. Blown away by her fear and that she would share it with me. Oh, my sweet baby girl.

Charity's adoption happened in a little court house nearly 5 hours from our home, and since we had to be there at 9 a.m. we set out the day before and stayed in a hotel where the girls could swim. We spent the evening before swimming, celebrating, and loving our time together. At court Charity did not become obnoxious or over-the-top giggly or any of the things we typically see when she's nervous. She clung to her daddy who had told her so gently that he would not let anyone take her away, and that he would be right there with her the whole time (you know, when I couldn't stop crying and get it together to say anything in response to her fear). She did fabulous. Now Christmas is another story, but I was happy to watch her conquer a trip, and fear like that! Ah. mazing. We are so blessed to get to be her family and a part of her life!

Swim time:

46 months, Take 2

At 46 months old, Blessing had lived with us for half of her life. Charity, on the other hand, was 46 months old when she came to live with us. Just 2 months shy of her 4th birthday. That means, theoretically anyway, that we can't really expect the fears she has of being ripped from us to leave until she's lived with us half of her life.... 92 months old, 4 months shy of her 8th birthday. I can't think about that now. Our life with her is very much so day to day. I get overwhelmed if I think about continuing to live like this indefinitely. When I look back at Blessing's pictures over her first days and weeks with us, I think about how far she has come, I'm overwhelmed with love and joy and thanksgiving for her accomplishments. Sometimes, it's that bursting heart feeling, like I can't even stand the blessing she is to us and our family. Too good to have. Too wonderful to explain.

Can I be completely honest? Don't misinterpret. I can't even begin to tell you how much I love Charity. In fact, I think that's why this walk hurts so much. She's this amazing girl. I know it. I see it. She's in there somewhere. I know what she's capable of. I know the impact she can have on this world. I know she hurts. I see that, too. I know she's been wounded far beyond what most people can even comprehend. That knowledge, though, makes it SO STINKING hard to watch her self destruct. Maybe it's because we haven't seen the improvement so easily. Blessing changed by leaps and bounds at a time. Every day her learning, loving, and change was noticeable, and tangible. For whatever reason, though, when I look back at Charity's pictures, all I see is this very sick little girl. It isn't the same feeling. It's frustration, sadness, and anger. To the point that I don't like looking at them. All I can think is how sick she is.

Here's where we are with our precious Charity: her attorney has made the recommendation that we be able to adopt. Fantastic. One check on our very long list. Next up: I finally approached her case worker about my disdain for her psychiatrist, and she gave me the approval I needed to find someone else. We found an attachment therapist who was willing to take her, however does not do her own evaluations or diagnosing. In other words, we would first have to find someone who would diagnose RAD, or at the very least say it needed ruled out for her. Another wall. Let me remind you we're here in po-dunk AR, where there seems to be lots of slamming of doors at the mention of RAD. But my pessimism turned out to be uncalled for, and a local therapist did a diagnostic evaluation on our Charity. She came up with 4 possible diagnosis that she felt Charity might be dealing with, all of which need to be ruled out by a psychiatrist. They were RAD, PTSD, FAS, and Bi-polar. And I'm sure any mother of "normal" kids reading is probably blowing a gasket, I'm here to tell you I was not at all phased by the possibility of us facing one, or a combination of any of those. In fact, as strange as it may sound, it's almost comforting. Mind you I do not want anything to be wrong with my baby. I do not want to deal with any of those disorders. But my husband and I are long past the stage of denial, far beyond hoping love will be enough. We know we can't love this out of her. We know just living with us won't somehow penetrate and heal her wounds. We know we need help. We know she needs help. We are more than ready to just accept whatever this is, and get on with how to handle it. Just like if she had cancer or some physical medical condition, we just want the best care, the best doctors, the best chance for her to live a full, joyful life. And in that moment, it was nice to be heard, to know that someone was agreeing that these things are not normal, and that we need more help than, "Oh, she's just a tough nut to crack. Come again in 6 weeks."

So we're in another holding pattern, but this time optimistic about having an actual attachment therapist. The referral has been made, so we wait. And hang on for dear life in the mean time.

46 months

Blessing was 23 months old when we first met her.

Which makes this month the month that she's been with us half of her life. This is supposedly a big mile marker for us. I can't say I see any difference. I suppose it's sort of like a birthday. Today, she's really no different than she was yesterday. Or at least, the growth is to tiny we can no longer see it. But we're here! She's lived with us half of her life! Woo-hoo!

But it is amazing to think back on what she was like in those first days, months, and even her first year. She's not the same kid at all! Just a few days into her stay with us, she was sick and I took her to the doctor. I'm not sure there has ever been a single situation that was harder than that one. This was a little one who would scream when I held her for any length of time. A few minutes she could handle, if we were looking at a book, or walking to the swing. But quickly holding became threatening, I suppose, and she'd go rigid with her tiny little body. She'd scream. She'd kick. She'd bite. She'd spit. A place like a waiting room was horror. There was no keeping her in my lap or holding without the rage. There was no letting her down, either, because she'd quickly run over to someone else and bite or spit at them. Hours I felt the scrutinizing gazes of other parents who were certain I was a terrible parent. Certain I had caused this little one to be so defiant and out of control. Lovely day, that was. I also distinctly remember that after an hour of trying to console the inconsolable, as I was walking around the waiting room with her fitting self in my very tired arms, she reached her tiny hands out to an older black gentleman sitting in a chair, also waiting. Blessing had lived with a black family prior to living with us. He was familiar.

He reciprocated the reach, and I let my baby go. She laid her head on his chest and went to sleep. It took all I had to choke back tears. It was bitter sweet. Thankful for a moment of comfort for her. Thankful for his willingness. Yet feeling not only scorned by the mass waiting parents, but also wondering if she would ever view me as her mom. I loved her so much but she reciprocated nothing.

And something else I couldn't really explain.... she walked. It was like walking was her therapy or something. For months I could stand in one spot, and hold her hand as she walked around and around and around me. Eyes down. Arms out and up for balance though she was too old to still do that. Or if I walked with her, she'd walk for miles. We spent hours walking. And hours in our front porch swing. TheY were about the only 2 places she was relatively happy.

Her hair would fall out in globs when I brushed it or pulled out a rubber band. Her gums bled when I brushed them. Not to mention the screaming she did about it all. A bath? pure torture. I had to sit on her and hold her arms down with my knees, and pry her mouth open to brush her teeth. If my husband or I started at her quickly, even if it was in play or to grab for a quick hold, she'd fall to the ground in the fetal position and throw her hands over her head. She only grunted one or two (I only remember one... "dog", oh wait, maybe she said, "shoe"). They were deep throat grunts, not toddler sounding words. Know what she said the other day? "I'm not going to be your friend No more! I called thousands of times, and you didn't answer!" Full sentences. Completely understandable. Very big words for someone not talking at all at 2. I know you can't be as excited about that as I am.


And what else today? Well she can certainly be a defiant little cuss. And there are some neurological/developmental issues that show their head occasionally. I think there will likely always be some hints that she was exposed to drugs and alcohol long before she took her first breath. But they aren't going to stop her from living a life that's full, abundant, or from accomplishing anything she wants. She's bright. She's beautiful. She eats with a fork (hey, let's celebrate the little things, too). She is very likely our most affectionate child, very sweet and can be very sympathetic towards her sisters (something we were beginning to think we'd never see). I'll never forget the first time we hurt our feelings. Oh, she cried, and threw fits all the time when she didn't get what she wanted. Or when I was brushing her teeth. But not that sweet cry even Mercy already does if my voice is too harsh. Or the cry you get from most toddlers when they realize they did something wrong. They wanted to please. They were trying. We didn't get that from her for a very long time. When we finally did, and she tuned up and cried real, genuine tears; my husband and I looked at each other and cried, too. I've never been so glad to hurt a kid's feelings! ;)

These pictures are literally her first hour with us. Sweet aren't they? They look very different than the picture I've painted. But, you know, she didn't decide she didn't like us until that night at bath time! tee-hee! ;)

Walking Commercial

... for Ergo, that is. Because this is how we spend most of our day. And when people say things like, "Do you hold her all the time?". They really sort of mean it in a you're-spoiling-your-child-and-you-don't-know-what-you're-doing kind of way. But that's ok. I don't mind. Because I do know exactly what I'm doing. I'm making my bed. And I'm the one who will lay down in it (I think, it's looking that way, anyway). You see, parent a RADling, and you'll be all about attachment and bonding, too. I promise. Especially for a little one who is quite at risk for the same thing.

But the truth is, even if she wasn't, I'd be doing the same thing! ;)

Oh, and, by the way... the kitchen and cooking were photoshopped in. Because I would never wear a baby on the front and cook at the same time. What mother would do that? So unsafe!!!!!! Maybe I should have done a "Not Me Monday". ;) And, the picture was taken by a munchkin, hence the cut-off head. At least you can see my smile!

Therapy

So I would be completely ashamed of myself if Charity's psychiatrist somehow ended up here on the blog. But I so must blog this. It's just too ridiculous. And that seems to be the theme of my life lately.

The therapist and I have had little success getting on the same page. She's a kind lady who I think genuinely wants to help kids. I think I'm somewhat at fault because it's hard to really describe fully how things are going, especially when I know my own actions, feelings, and responses are being evaluated. And not as a mom. As a foster mom. One whose care could be considered not the best for this child. Then, bye-bye baby. So perhaps I'm a little guarded.

But I decided before this particular session that all gloves would come off. VERY frustrated with not really having any help. Oh, we go. And we talk. And there she sits across from me talking to Charity as if she's trying to talk her into better behavior. For 30 minutes every 4 to 6 weeks. I'm left wanting help and direction, and feeling like I'm not getting any. I'm reading all these amazing things about tapping, weighted blankets, specific parenting techniques for kids like mine. But what we get is 30 minutes of batting eyes, a high pitched voice, and pleas for better behavior. That's likely to work. Right?

So I went in hoping that clearing the air and setting out better expectations might help things. I started by saying maybe she didn't completely understand what I meant when I say we've had some really bad days. Maybe she didn't understand just how she's been acting out. My husband and I are very concerned and very alarmed at some of the things she's done. We're talking false allegations of abuse (Mom doesn't feed me, she doesn't let me play with toys, she'll be mad at me, etc.). We're talking pet abuse. Enticing first, then a swift kick. "here, kitty, kitty", then a few blows to the head. We're talking peeing in a drawer. Serious stuff, people. My kid is sick, and we need help. I even teared up. I didn't beg with my words but she had to see the stress and frustration and need for some direction.

So, she said that next time she hurt the cat, I should put the her in a kennel. For about an hour. So that she would have a consequence that she could physically see a response to her action.

I used so many "she's" in that previous sentence because that's exactly the way the therapist said it. My response? I busted out laughing. And said, "which one? The kitty or the kid?" I mean does that sound logical to you? Am I crazy? Is that a fitting consequence for Charity?

In my hysterical laughing I noticed her eyes bug out. A look I'm all too familiar with from my husband. It was that look like I had just dropped from outer space or something. A martian in her presence. And then I realized she was searching for whether or not I would put Charity in the kennel. And then I stammered and stuttered all over myself trying to explain that I didn't mean which one to put in the kennel. I meant, which one did she think that was a consequence for?

And she responded in her well trained way, "So, what I hear you saying is... (thoughtful pause while eyes blink)... Charity wouldn't really care if the cat was in the kennel? She isn't really attached to it?" Her EXACT words.

Again hysterical laughter. Um, NO. She has little to no attachment to ANY OF US. That's why we're here. For heaven's sake. Are we on different planets, here?

I went on to outright ask. What can we do? We don't know how to handle this. We are not even considering disruption, in fact, we just received word that we have been approved to adopt her. So finalization is coming and we celebrate that joyfully. But our kid is sick. And just like if she had cancer or some other disease of the body, we want her very best chance at life, and the very best treatment we can find.

And she says we're doing just fine. It will just take time. And unfortunately, Charity may be a tough nut to crack.

Really. Her words. Not one exaggeration.

And what's really telling, is I just told this woman my kid is abusing animals, lying like crazy, and peeing in a drawer. She said I could make another appointment if I wanted to. I asked how soon. She said in 4 to 6 weeks.

She's getting paid for this.

Practice Sessions

It must be some new fad I've bought into about raising kids. I can't tell you how many practice sessions we've had since Blessing's arrival in our home over a year ago. When Charity joined our family, then the ghost, practice sessions hit an all time high. I wish I had video taped some of them. I mean, we practice things "normal" kids don't usually need to practice. Like, with Blessing we practiced looking at the dog without falling into the fetal position and screaming bloody murder. Really. We would stand her in the room, tell her "Let's practice". Pull a stuffed animal dog out complete with mocked growling, and ask, "what are you going to do?" and I'd hold my arms out so she'd know to come to me when she was afraid. At first she didn't get it, but eventually the game of jumping into mom's arms became something fun. I'd laugh and squeeze her, and make a big deal. Then we'd put her back in the middle of the room and call Toby. Of course it took her awhile to come to me in the real situation, but you get the idea of a practice session.

Oh, the things we've practiced. We've practiced saying, "yes, mom" with a smile rather than folded arms and pouty lips. We've practiced putting an empty plate into the sink without licking it down, first. We've practiced a low, normal toned voice rather than whining. We've practiced getting in and out of the car seat quickly. Patting gently rather than way-laying. Petting rather than kicking. Looking at who you are talking to in the eye. Telling the truth. And the list goes on and on and on.

Just a few days ago I summoned all 5 older ones to the rug, where I then told them we'd been having some trouble. I told Faith to tell me "no" when I asked her something. I said, "Faith, will you help me put these dished away?" She said, "No". And then I threw the biggest, exaggerated fit possible. Really. Got down in the floor and kicked and screamed and said phrases common to the two born of the heart babies. "It's not FAIR!!!" and so on and so on. I did a good job. ;)

Then I asked her again. Again she said "nope." And I folded my arms and pouted and whined. You get the picture? We went through that cycle several times, with me giving different, yet inappropriate responses. The giggles were fantastic. Did you know throwing a worthy fit is exhausting? I had no idea my little ones were getting so much exercise! Whew!

From there, I suggested the kids ask me for something they commonly ask for. Then I had them first give the WRONG response. Then I had them give the RIGHT response. This was hilarious to me, because each one actually asked for something that they ALWAYS ask for. Something that drives me crazy, especially when they ask at the most inopportune times. Then, each one did EXACTLY what they usually do that is wrong. Might I remind you I did not tell them what to do, just to do the wrong thing. Faith rolled her eyes. Hope looked pitifully sad. Charity whined with all the flare we usually see. Grace did some fake crying complete with real tears. And Blessing cocked that little head to the side, jumped up and down, and proclaimed, "But, Mom...." and then fell into her fit. Really funny. It proves how devious they really can be, how fake the fits are, and how they often ARE in control when I want to chalk it up to something in their past. I'm NOT saying there aren't times when rage-full fits are a result of being overwhelmed and their little bodies' way of releasing major stress, but more times than not it is something they can control... or at least should be learning to control. Any way you think about it, it was certain proof they absolutely understand their normal responses are not correct, and they are fully capable of rising to the occasion and responding appropriately.

So... go practice! (If your kids need it, like mine!)

Morning Routine

So the picture has absolutely nothing to do with the post. I was looking for an image (without uploading from my own camera) that would go with getting kids up in the morning. For some reason, my search words pulled this image, and I thought it was hilarious, and fit my exhausted mood. So there you go, the link between the post and the picture! ;)

I was telling a friend yesterday about our morning routine. Now, I must warn you that just a few short weeks ago our morning was NOTHING like this. At that time, we were home schoolers. We slept till 8 or so, mornings were leisure like, and it wasn't really until lunch or after that any real work was accomplished, chores/school or otherwise. The combination of choosing to put our kids into school, learning more about how to help RAD kids, and a need to affectively get everyone ready and in the car by 7:25 without spending my morning yelling and nagging, spurred my husband and I to hammer out a routine that works for us in the morning. I'm proud of how well it's gone, and thought I'd share.

First of all, I did some practice sessions with the kids. I talked, explained, posted some rules and chores, and even had the kids literally walk through the "morning" the way we expected. (Remind me to dedicate a whole post to some of the practice sessions we've had. You're sure to die laughing) Then, we started the first morning with a bang. I think one of the main keys to making this work is that we committed to not ask the kids over and over to get their things done. They don't get them done, breakfast is not served to them. I have had kids come to the table, only to be completely ignored as I spooned every one else's breakfast onto their plate. And yes, even my slightly delayed 3 year old knew what needed to be done and completed it without being told again. She screamed for awhile first, certain we'd break and remind her. And I'll even admit I wasn't sold. I wasn't convinced she understood why I was ignoring her and not putting anything on her plate. It was hard not to tell her again that her bed needed made and her shoes needed to be on her feet. You know what? After only a few minutes of ignoring, she went to her room, finished up, and came to the table with her shoes on. SUCCESS!!!! And then a little anger on my part, because that means the little toot has had me repeating myself senselessly when she really knows what she should be doing. ;) They're so much smarter than we give them credit for.

I wake them at 6:30. You'll be happy to know wake up call comes in the form of beautiful, loud singing on my part, "Rise, and Shine, and Give God the Glory, Glory!" Complete with enthusiastic clapping and ripping of covers to expose pajama'd bodies to the cold. Faith, just this morning, said with hands over her ears, "Really? I mean, really... must you? Must you do this EV.ERY. MOR. NING.?" In fact, Blessing is the only one that seems happy to see me and joins in song. I picked the right name for that one, huh?

I serve breakfast at 7. But only to children who are at the table, fully dressed with shoes on, whose beds have been made and rooms are clean. They also must have already brushed the hair and teeth. I realize the teeth thing is slightly out of order, but, I assure you there is NO WAY anyone's teeth would be brushed at all if we waited until after breakfast. Can you imagine? 5 girls gathered around one sink right about the time we should be walking out the door? Besides, nothing can be held over them as incentive if breakfast has already been served. The oldest 2 do have a couple of extra morning chores. They make sure the bathroom is back in shape, including kitty litter and sweeping around her litter box. Often, the kids are actually done before I'm done with breakfast. In that case, they each go to their "Think within yourself" spot, and do a brain gym we call strong sitting till I'm ready. I'll try to remember to explain that one a little later, too, but for now just know they are still, quiet, in one spot practicing some self control while thinking or praying. Blessing, because of the drugs she's been exposed to, has the most trouble with this part, but is getting better all the time, and poor impulse control just runs strong in her veins. I usually have her sit close to Faith, who just reminds her to sit back down every time she gets up, and that's usually enough to keep her on her spot.

Now, sounds great, doesn't it? And most mornings it really does go that well. Don't get some picture perfect idea in your head, though. This morning was one of those that just didn't go right. We still have those. I'm not even sure exactly how it went wrong this morning, but no one was strong sitting. In fact, 2 kids had oranges on the way out the door, 1 will eat at school, and I told the others we'd eat when we returned home. Blessing left with NO shoes on her feet, Charity was crying because she couldn't find her jacket, I was still in house shoes, and Hope was desperately trying to find a book she was suppose to return today. So, every morning is not that smooth... But most have been, and I'm proud of how every one is doing. Charity even helped Blessing put on her socks yesterday morning. For those of you who can't appreciate that, you should know that Charity has shown very little interest in helping anyone but herself unless she has a 2nd agenda. Blessing is neurologically challenged and socks give her the worst fits! Those seams, the feel on her feet, I'm not sure exactly what goes through her mind... but putting on socks is usually an ordeal and they must be pulled back of and put on again several times and there are often tears and throwing the socks across the room and kicking involved! ;) Which, by the way, is the beauty of the morning routine. I'm not fighting with her anymore. No socks and shoes? No breakfast. No emotion. No pleading. Just ignoring. And eventually, she gets them on herself and appears at her place to be served! And I congratulate, tell her how nice it is to see her this morning, and all is well! How 'bout them apples?

The Never Ending Story

Cook a meal. Feed a meal. Clean up a meal.

Cook a meal. Feed a meal. Clean up a meal.

Cook a meal. Feed a meal. Clean up a meal.

He calls me "Mom"

Early in Feb. Charity came to live with us. By the end of February, her older brother joined our family as well. We fully intended to be their forever family. Our whole hearts in love with them instantly. Just the same way we instantly fell in love with Blessing. The ghost's time with us was fairly short, he left our home at the end of May. It was our decision for him to leave, a decision that tore our hearts to pieces, and left us broken like never before. I cried. For months. Still do, at times.

His visit with us this weekend brought a wide range of feelings, each feeling an overwhelming rush, and each bringing with it a cycle of thought that only goes around and around and never really ends. Were we right? Were we wrong? Could we have done something different? Yet knowing it's impossible to pray harder, or to love more than I did... and still do.

He still calls me "mom". Yet, I can't be that to him. Does he still wish for that? Do I still wish for that? It was also obvious, though we enjoyed our visit with him, that we cannot be his forever family. We simply can not meet his needs as well as the needs of the rest of our children. It sounds so cruel. Saying those words is oh so painful.

His time living and then leaving us has taught me more than any other circumstance in my whole life. He taught me what I could handle. Actually, that's not true, he taught me what God's empowerment can allow me to handle. He taught me what I can't handle, a lesson that was much harder to learn. He taught me love isn't enough. He taught me that though my plan seemed much more magnificent, that God and I don't think alike. He taught me that the deepest desire, belief, and faith in healing doesn't mean it will come. He taught me that God's grace is, indeed, sufficient. That God is absolutely He who gives.... and He who takes away. He taught me that I will choose to follow with my life and say, "And if not....".

And it's most ironic that he dressed as, and is referred to in this post as "the ghost". Because his memory is much like that... I remember him with love and joy. The bike ramps and boots and dirty jeans and swinging from rafters were all things foreign. For a time, tutus and skirts and twirling girls were not the only things in my home. There was a boy. A loud boy who made me laugh, those full belly laughs, as he ran through the house in his batman pajamas, a sheet as his cape. A boy whose socks were never clean, and who left a rank smell in the van and his room and everywhere else he visited. A smell he was proud of. He was rambunctious and full of life and his smile could make my heart skip a beat. Yes, I loved being a mother to a boy. And yet his memory also brings sadness, and a pain that is haunting, allowing guilt and questions and anger to rise again. And I throw up my feelings all over my God and again, grace is sufficient.

Must Be Quick

I have so much on my mind, but I simply don't have the time to sit and write it all out. My days have been a whirl wind of court, visits, doctor's appointments, and somewhere in there meeting the needs of 6 amazing little girls and brushing my teeth, too. Oh, wait, did I brush my teeth?

I was plum giddy about receiving an award. Thanks, Scrapper Mom. As soon as we return from camp, I'll pass on the award, and link some great blogs I read. This is my first bloggy award, and I'm so excited! ;) Who knew a little square widget could make my day? :)

My life as a foster mom is causing a lot of deep thought lately. My husband and I are still trying to work through exactly what our next step is in terms of ministry/mission/and INCOME. We have lots of ideas, and change is looming. The time I've spent with Mercy's mom and dad, and in court with all of them has me turned inside out. I hope to articulate all that's been going on much better for you soon. Hopefully this week at camp I will have time to write and will post it for you when we return. I hope you guys come back after a week of silence. Please do! I've so enjoyed getting so many new "faces" lately.

For now, though, I must attempt the daunting task of packing a family of 8 for a week of camp. Hmmm.....we'll see how that goes!

And since I won't be here for this coming "Not Me Monday", here's just one thing I would absolutely never ever do:

I did not strap my poster-child-for-ritalin in her car seat, and put it in front of the TV so that I could shower without any destruction of property or emptying of soap bottles. NOT ME!

Thanks

to all of you for being so interested and encouraging. I don't think I've ever been point blank told, "Do not blog pictures of your foster children." And I actually did post them for awhile. Till I got a site meter and realized how many people I did not know that were reading. At that point, I felt if safer to not put pictures, particularly close ups or their faces, just so ensure their privacy and their families' privacy. That's also why I use fake names for all the girls. I didn't want anyone to be able to google any name of our family members and pull up my blog. I know you'd love to see a good picture of my new little one. And I'd love nothing more than to show you just how beautiful her eyes are. Oh, those eyes!

But, for now, this will have to suffice. That's my 8 yr. old holding her. Can you tell how little she is? She's a grunter. Like I seriously would call her Miss Piggy for her bloggy name. But somehow, I can't justify that when all the other's are sweet names. She's still so teeny tiny to us. I know she's not at fragile as she seems, but I'm not nearly as laid back with her as I have been with the other babies. It's probably both her size and her preemie status that has my guard up. She did horribly last night!!!! Ack! I'm guessing there is no difference in night and day at the hospital, and so it will take her some time to learn that 1 to 4 is not time to party! ;)

She's here!

And she's beautiful.

And chocolate. (oh, how we wanted chocolate! ;)

And TEENY!!!!!!

The only thing I really know now, that I didn't before, is that she was born at 34 weeks. I don't even know how much she weighs now (or at birth), but I'm guessing a high 4 pounds or low 5. There was a time I was VERY good at guessing the weight of a baby by sight, but I haven't worked in labor and delivery for 4 years, now. The little girls were already in bed, but the oldest 2 are plum giddy and silly. We can't take our eyes off her!

Family Growing?

We should get an absolute confirmation call sometime today. The case worker isn't 100% positive just yet, but she already feels fairly confident.... but on Monday, if all goes as she is planning right now, she will be bringing me a new little baby girl right from the hospital! As always, we don't know how long she'll be with us. Could be anywhere from 5 days, to 6 weeks, to a year. I anticipate mom working hard and being able to care for her eventually, she is currently breastfeeding and planning to send milk for us to use. That alone speaks well of her.

We can't wait to get our hands on her! I had not planned on telling the kids until we knew for sure, but Grace asked about Little Boy Blue last night, who went home in July after a 6 week stay with us. She was not at all upset, but asked if we could go get him for a little stay. I took that opportunity to go ahead and tell her that no, we couldn't see him, but that we might be taking care of another little baby while her mom gets better. She was excited about that! She asked a thousand questions I don't yet know the answer to: "What's her name? How little is she? Is she chocolate?" Obviously the last question cracks me up. All my born of the body kids have wanted a "chocolate" baby. As a matter of fact, Hope desperately wanted Grace to be chocolate. While I was pregnant (she was 4) she tried to place her order. Like I had control over what kind of baby was growing in my belly. "I want boys, momma. 2 of them. Chocolate." All matter of fact like she was sure that's what was in my protruding belly. I really worried she wouldn't accept her GIRL sister, only 1, "manilla". Not even 1 factor what she wanted. hahahaha!

This baby is biracial, (I wonder if that is chocolate enough?) and I'm sure the other girls will inspect every inch of her as soon as she gets here. Just like they have with every other baby that comes to our home. Whether staying or just visiting. What is that about kids (and some adults - me)? I even find myself asking other moms if I can take their baby's socks off. And I really would completely undress them if it wasn't so dang inappropriate! Upon entering the room to see Grace for the first time, Faith (then 6) immediately loosened the burrito wrap, pulled the socks, and then pulled her diaper tabs and took a peek. Bwahahahahahahahaha!

Quarantine

I spent the entire night last night grabbing the trash can and sticking it under Grace's mouth, holding back hair, filling sprite cups, washing bed clothes and towels in HOT water (like, 4 loads), and calculating how long it would take for such a virus to run it's course through 5 kids. Also, hoping it will spare the 2 adults. Since, you know, we can't afford for one not to work, and it's kind of hard to hold down the fort with your head in the toilet. So far today, my patience is low from the lack of sleep, and more patience is required because no sleep for Grace means she's extra whiney, and is melting down over every little oh-so-unfair act by her siblings. You know, since they breathe her air and they're watching her movie, too.

Despite last night's battle (and what I'm assuming will be a week long battle as everyone else falls victim to the virus), we've been doing extremely well. Our RADilicous baby (Charity) has had some marked improvement (at least at home, but not in public, yet). She tends to take 2 steps forward, then regress again for a few weeks, but once a new (good) behavior is there, we can usually see it take root more and more often over time. What we've seen, that we had previously not, is affection. I mean, she has been more than capable of wrapping her arms around strangers, extended family, climbing all over them in a ridiculous manner. In fact, that is often accompanied with "evil eyes" from her towards us as she overly affectionately hugs and kisses those around us. Rest assured, I AM NOT trying to make her out to be a monster. The opposite is true. More and more we are seeing that she is an amazing little girl, and we love her more each day. It's just that what we see at home is most often (some of our church family is beginning to see it and understand it - after keeping her for our Life groups and hanging out with our family for extended periods of time) much different than what the outside world sees. But I do want you to understand what this RAD can be like to live with.

Back to the affection for us. Before last week, true, relaxed, genuine affection without some agenda has been rare, if not completely inexistent. Eye contact had been extremely slim, unless she's lying, of course, and attempts by us to hold her were not pushed away exactly, but you could feel the tension in her little body, and if I scooped her in my arms and placed her in my lap, she would only remain for a few seconds before hopping down. Lately, however, she's sat in my lap contentedly. Looking me in the eyes and talking about all kinds of things. Once, after discipline, she even hung on to me while crying. THIS IS HUGE, PEOPLE! The only other time I think I saw sincere crying from her was only for a few minutes the day her brother left our home. And that day, she would not allow me to comfort her. She walked away, and cried for about 2 minutes with her back turned to us. Then, you could visibly see her shake her little body, as if to shake herself back into control. She shook her head, stopped the crying like she had a sudden revelation, held her chin high and then walked back to where we were standing. That's it. That's the only time I've felt her crying was sincere until the other day after a very extended time-out session and stand off between the two of us. There was one other time when one of the kids pushed her in the pool, and she clung to me from fear, and allowed me to comfort her. Even needed me for comfort. But 2 times in 8 months for a 4 year old? This kid has not had an adult to trust. No adult has convinced her that he/she is not going away. No adult has consistently met her needs and not disappeared shortly. It's amazing what this kid has survived. It blows me away. She's been with us for 8 months....that's longer than she's ever stayed anywhere.

So I just read back over the post, and it seems depressing. That was not what I intended. I wanted it to be a celebration of her life. I wanted the love we have for her to shine through the words. I wanted the joy of being a part of her life to be clear. We didn't just end up with her. And we aren't somehow frustrated that we're now dealing with a horrific disorder. We wanted her. We still want her (though that is still to be determined by DHS). We delight in her. And we are thankful that we get to be a part of her life....and just hope that she continues to be less and less guarded, fearful, and controlling, and that her spirit will be more and more free to enjoy the life God gave her. Oh, she could change the world one day! She's incredibly smart, discerning and methodical. Just you wait, world!

Battle Fatigue

After several email conversations, Annie suggested this book about disorganized and disoriented attachment disorders. Hungry for information, but finding very little, I dove head first into the book. It's the first (I hope of many) books I've opened on the subject, and my working information previous to it was limited to a few articles sent to me by a friend who is a psychologist, websites, and a few blogs by moms of kids with RAD. The book did not disappoint, at least not the first half of it.

The first half was perfect for me on MANY levels. You see, we do not have a diagnosis of RAD. Or any diagnosis for that matter. Actually, she did receive a diagnosis before she was placed with us, at the tender age of 2, with adjustment disorder with anxious mood. But the mental health services she's received once placed with us only entail one visit with one counselor that lasted about 20 minutes. I wrote about that here. I may be jumping extremely quickly to extremely ridiculous assumptions, but based on our first meeting I have little confidence in her competence to help my daughter with healing or adequately diagnose/teach us to deal with this disorder. If you are able to understand my ramblings, and are still interested, my point is that there has been basically NO understanding, no pointing in any direction, no support, and no affirmation. The book most certainly answered any lingering doubts about the disorder. No, I'm not a psychiatrist, but much of the book might as well be titled with my little girl's name. It was as if they studied her and then wrote the symptoms. I can not begin to tell you how much relief that alone has brought. Self doubt has certainly been a way of life for much longer than I care to admit. But there it was, in text, things I thought I might just have made up.

It completely disassembled the behaviors, the reasons behind them, and therefore furthered my understanding of the disorder (and thus my understanding of my little girl). I almost feel as if I know her better just because I have gained a little more insight into her behaviors. Because she has such a flat affect on big things, while blowing very small things entirely out of proportion, it's been hard to connect with her. Love her, yes, but know her? Not yet. She's quite skilled at keeping us at arms length. She may need us, and therefore she'll string us along, but only for her own agenda. Not really letting us in on her life just yet. I still believe it will come, though.

Not only did it solidify my growing belief that she has this disorder, but it even pegged my own feelings as if they'd prodded my very soul and wrote what they saw. More relief. My reaction may not always be right, but it's not abnormal. It's understandable, and apparently predictable. I know I've written the word relief way too many times already in this post, but I just can't think of a better way to describe the weight that lifts when you can see plainly that others have traveled this path, felt the same way, acted the same way, and that my family is not alone.

Where I felt the book came up short, though, was the area of what I can actually apply. First of all, it is directed to therapists who will be implementing corrective attachment therapy. It's process includes 2 weeks of 3 hours of therapy per day. Therapists. Not parents. And strongly urges unqualified individuals from employing the process. It did include case examples and very specific dialogue, but no child under 7 was used. My little RADling is only 4. And while it clearly states this order takes root in VERY young infants/toddlers who might not even remember their abuse/neglect/trauma, the dialogue in every case study it uses as an example is with children who do remember. Again, doesn't apply to us.

So, it's now my life mission to find out everything I possibly can about this disorder, and becoming an expert on every therapeutic method out there. I'm not interested in any re-birthing or other insane method, though I can certainly see how a mom would be willing to try it. Right now, while I find more information to read, I'm just concentrating on lots of eye contact, appropriate touch and holding. I've heard some moms make mention of things like letting kids put stickers on their face (promoting touch and eye contact) and popping sweet candy into their mouths while looking into their eyes (connecting pleasant with eye contact and touch), so I'm wondering where they got that type of applicable information? I'm asking, since, you know, you guys are experts in this disorder, right? Actually, Annie does read, and she's fighting this battle, too. And sounds as though Dean might be an excellent source as well.

And if you aren't sleeping by now or if I haven't put you into a boredom coma, you can pray that the battle fatigue that has consumed my husband and I lately (and includes many other aspects of our lives other than helping our little girl heal) will fade. We know Whose we are, and we have not mistakenly put our trust in Him. But walking the walk minute after minute becomes exhausting and frustrating at times. We just need a little boost and will take it in the form of your prayers, please. We reciprocate, by the way. And do not hesitate to fall to our knees on your behalf. In fact, I can think of several of you that we are currently interceding for. You, and You, and You(and family), and You......

The book

On this particular day, I felt extremely alone. I had built up that day in my own head, believing whole heartedly that I would be coming home with a new sense of purpose, direction, support, and guidance. I had been hanging by the very end of my rope, and thought the rescue team was finally showing up. But instead of beginning the process (and I did expect a process, not sudden cure) of pulling me back up to where both feet would again be able to stand on their own, they just shook the rope. I was barely hanging on to the thing, anyway. It didn't take much of a shake to send me spiraling down to the self pity vastness below.

That day, I did choose to share with the world (the world being the 5 of you who read my blog) my grief. Only words can't describe how I really felt when I typed that post. What you don't know is how my husband reacted when I spilled all to him later that night. I'm aware the publicity I give him here on the blog doesn't really paint the accurate picture of him. The few times I've mentioned him it was because his reaction was not exactly what I needed at the moment. On that night, he was equally blunt and did not indulge me in my pity party. Only, this time, he was right. Maybe he's right every time, but I won't give him that much credit. "What are you so upset about? We know her so much better than they do, anyway. And we know her Creator."

So, we hit our knees. Again. They were still bruised and carpet burned, as I suppose knees should always be. I've clung to the God breathed words of James, who said true wisdom comes only from God, and that he gives when asked. I began to seek out websites and even blogs where mothers share their deepest thoughts and struggles through fostering and adoption. I found this mom, and this site, and Annie suggested a book by these guys. The aloneness faded. I'd chase rabbits explaining all the details, but the short of it is our current financial situation leaves a lot to be desired. My mom graciously ordered the book for me, though, and I'll be picking it up from her tomorrow. I hope I'm not setting myself up for another downfall. You'd think I'd learn not to place so much hope on one event, or book (unless it's God's precious Word). But here I am again, hardly able to stand waiting to peer inside it's cover.

Many of the sites I've found list symptoms of RAD or other attachment disorders. I had seen several lists, but only recently saw some lists that included this symptom: Parents seem hostile and angry.

I'm no psychiatrist. And that symptom has not been explained. I can only speculate what I think it means as a mother of a young girl struggling with an attachment disorder. I can think of a couple of ways that applies. But the biggest thing that struck me when I saw that listed as a symptom was relief. I'm not making this up. I'm not making it out to be worse than it is. I'm not the only parent in the world that outsiders are watching and thinking I'm not being fair to this kid. Yes, she's only 4. Yes, she's as cute as a button. Yes, she can charm and please and has fantastic manners and looks as innocent and sweet as a lollipop. So, when she tells her Sunday school teacher that she can not play with toys because her mommy would be mad and doesn't allow her to play, and when her teacher mentions this to me while my cute-as-a-button RADling watches with utter glee and complete satisfaction, it is still me that looks out of control and ridiculously overreactive as the smoke runs out of my ears. A hostile, and angry response.

It's like that all the time. The action of the child in and of itself does not seem that bad. It is beyond most people's comprehension that one so young can master mind such a scenerio. That she can, indeed, pull the strings of most puppets around her. That sounds so insane. I hear myself. I realize how ridiculous it sounds. And before her placement with us, I'd think anyone who said such was crazy, too. That sweet little face who has been through so much trauma can not possibly be bad enough to elicit those hostile reactions from her mother. I saw what she did, her mom is making it out to be such a bigger deal than it is. She's just being a typical 4 year old. 7 days, I say. Live with me. For about a week. Then we can talk about this.

The flip side of that is, though, that on some level I am hurt. The triangulation (pitting one adult against another), the pushing away, the frustration. And I'm sure there are times when my reaction is not what it should be. It's battle fatigue. Just fatigue. Just plain tired of fighting the fight and trying to be affectionate and loving.

So, that's where we are. It's honest. Brutally honest. As honest as I can possibly be and still preserve the privacy of my baby. I'm beginning to understand. I know she's operating out of fear. I know that no matter how hard she's pushing right now, that there is a tiny beating heart in there that wants my unconditional love. Even if her brain hasn't figured that out, yet. I also know she's worth every tear I shed. She's worth sleepless nights and carpet burned knees. And if your knees aren't already burned, but you'd like them to be, burn them over her. And us. And other mothers who are battling attachment disorders. It's tiresome work.

Ridiculous: Take 2

That can of worms is starting to look enticing. Where do I even begin? Let's start with my expectations. Even I am almost laughing at what I THOUGHT was going to happen. For over 6 months now, I've been entangled in a mess of miscommunications about mental health, who it was that needed it, who exactly needed to make the referral, where to, and paperwork out the wazoo. FINALLY, 7 months after initial placement, I got an appointment at a child development center that I was ECSTATIC about. About a week before the appointment I received a thick packet of papers to fill out and information to read. The letter said the average appointment lasted 3 hours, and could last much more. It tossed around words like "full evaluation" and "head to toe assessment" and "holistic care". My excitement rose. As I sat rating behaviors on a scale, I began to get the idea that someone would be listening, taking every word into account and putting our baby's symptoms/behaviors down to form a care plan and guide us in beginning to heal her hurts and teaching her to form appropriate attachments. I envisioned a team of doctors watching her behavior alone, with just me, with other children, when strangers come in..... from behind a window. You can laugh. I don't know what I was thinking. Ridiculous. I know. I expected a doctor who would be decisive and truthful, some support, assurance, and applicable ideas. Someone who understands attachment disorders, children of abuse and neglect, and has a plan for them. I expected 3 hours of jointly designing a plan specific for my baby. That's what the letter said, right?

What I got was 20 minutes of eyes that blinked 60 times a minutes and said "What I hear you saying is____________" about 300 times. I'm not saying she wasn't genuine, but the calm softness of her voice could only be made, not natural. We were in a 4x4 room that was HOT. She asked me questions in front of my little one that the real answers would scar a regular child just to hear. I wanted to scream. I didn't want someone to repeat back to me what I was saying. Like I needed to know she heard me. I wanted someone to have some answers. Or ideas. Or at least, "Keep doing what you're doing, it is helping her, it's just going to take time". I ache for some kind of sign that I'm not screwing this kid up farther. I'm completely OK with however she will be all her life. I'm not OK with blindly stabbing at how to guide her. After our 20 minutes of fame, we were ushered out, paper in hand stating next appointment: more than a month away. Lovely. I'm already dreading a 2 hour trip, finding care for the remaining 4 for the day, for more of NOTHING. Can't wait.

Over crowded?

Yes, those are my 2 oldest children sleeping in the top bunk, twin size bed. For the record, there was a completely empty queen bed in the next room over. In their words, they didn't want to sleep there because they didn't want to be alone in that other room. "That other room" was said in a way that would convince any stranger of a horrific monster lurking in there. The kind of monster whose sole purpose is to torture and eat little girls.

Ahem, there are 2 of you. That's not alone. And "that other room" is right next door. But, hey, I know how to pick my battles. I couldn't care less where they sleep. As long as they are getting adequate rest, and actually under my roof.

This is the way it's always been in our home. Every child has an assigned bed. A bed that's their very own. A bed they don't have to share. But every night, it's musical beds. I have even gone in there some nights to find 3 in one twin, 2 in another, and 4 empty beds in the rest of the house. Inevitably, all 5 girls end up in the same room. Why am I so worried that they need their own space?

Also notice Faith's twisted hair stuck in her ear. Just think, some people have normal kids who simply suck their thumb.

Quick, unrelated link....but this had me in stitches!