Tuesday, December 26, 2017

I’m in a dark hole.  

And I know I need to climb out.  

The Sun will come out tomorrow!  I’ve promised myself tomorrow will be the day.  I can’t be this person. Joy is missing.  Its not what my Heavenly Father wants for me.  Its not what I want for myself.  Every time a visit ends with the girls I’m sad.  But this time was different. Ever since the girls have gone home, I have been fine for the most part…doing what I know needs to be done, but my bed has been my only comfort…sleep.  I took a 5 hour nap today.  Kyle has been patient, but I know its time to focus on the here and now and rely on faith for the future.  Everyone experiences a little situational depression in their lives now and again.  Its no fun, but it is life!

I’ve been avoiding writing.  Anything.  But I have to write this story.  

A few nights before the girls went back I was praying, pleading with my Heavenly Father for answers.  For months the girls had been coming back for visits days, weeks at a time.  Each visit I prayed the visit would never end.  But it always did, and it felt like torture.  I wanted to know why.  Why I had to do this every month.  Why I had to hurt so much.  Was there a purpose?  In the middle of my prayer, as I was pleading to know what to do, what He wanted from me…I heard a crash.  I opened my eyes to darkness.  Nothing.  A few seconds later I heard a Lola wandering over to my side of the bed. She had bounded in through the door in the middle of my prayer and ended up by my side asking me for a drink of water.  

The answer was clear to me.  Keep on keeping on.  Take care of them.  Give them water, and whatever else they needed. They were Heavenly Father’s little girls and for whatever reason, He needed ME to help take care of them, to be in their lives at whatever capacity I was given.  That was all he was asking me to do.  Of course easier said than done, but how could I refuse?

A couple days later we heard from the girls father.  Mother had relapsed, he had separated from her because of her relapse and he made plans to come and get the girls.  We invited him and the girls’ grandmother to dinner.  Kyle and I knew what we had to do, and we knew it would be hard.  After a heartfelt phone conversation from the girls’ father, we knew he was trying to do what was best.  He had make many mistakes in his past, and he was trying to right his wrongs.  He thanked us for being his biggest support in his life this past year.  We were confused because all we had done was take care of his girls.  We knew he had no support system, but we didn’t realize how much he counted on us.  After our intimate conversation one thing was clear, he loved his girls, and we loved his girls.

Even though I knew he loved his girls, and that he wanted them, I would be lying if I didn’t hope something would change before Saturdays dinner.  But it did’n’t.  I packed the girls, added the huge Costco box of diapers I had hoped I would have needed, and a few more outfits to help supply their new home with their dad.  But nothing I did helped me feel any better.  I prayed for strength for what I knew needed to be said.  

I wanted to plead with him.  Tell him the girls would be better growing up away from his past, away from all that pushed him down his entire life—drugs, lies, disappointment, betrayal.  He was trying to change in the same environment that had always prevented him from having a healthy life before, why would it be any different now?  Did he really want his girls to grow up there?  Where every living relative was either an active addict or an addict in recovery and virtually half of his dead friends and relatives murdered by their own addiction?  He could still be in their lives, he can still see them, know them, and love them.  Every time I played this conversation in my head a storyline of a lifetime movie would pop into my head.  “Poor young father gives children to well off couple who manipulated him into thinking they knew best.”  I felt guilty for feeling the things I did.  After all, they were his children.  Who was I to say he wasn’t what was best for them? 

It is hard to know the ending to this story, but not be able to do anything in the middle.  I hold onto that faith.  I do know the ending, even though I can’t really explain it.  I knew the ending before it all began.  But for now, I know I need to support the middle, even though it hurts.

Saturday eventually happened. Their father came.  We ate dinner.  We sat in silence.  But when it became time for them to go, so he could make it back in time for his court ordered drug testing, Kyle and I asked if we could speak to him privately.  We expressed our love.  Both for him, and for his girls.  We told him we hoped he would succeed and that he would stay clean and sober forever.  We told him the best place for the girls were with their healthy mom and dad.  If mom wasn’t healthy, it was up to dad to take her place.  We sincerely told him that we were not rooting for him to fail.  That we loved his girls like our own, that we loved them so very very much. At this point there were no dry eyes.  It was clear we all wanted what was best for the girls, even though what was best, wasn’t always clear. 

We desperately wanted him to know that at any point he felt like he couldn’t do it, that the girls needed more than he could give, or that he succumbed back into his addictions, that we should be used as the first resort NOT the last resort.  That WE would be his plan B.  We wanted to make sure history didn’t repeat itself.  The previous year, he had hidden his girls from DCFS with his ex-con father, their grandfather, for almost a year.  DCFS had no way of getting the girls into the system because a judge in a different city (not knowing the history of the family) granted custody to their grandfather.  Eventually, his criminal lifestyle caught up to him and he was arrested and the girls were eventually placed in our home.  I didn’t want history to repeat itself, and we pleaded with him that he would always put his girls well being over his fear of losing his rights.  He agreed, and we believe him.  

Thursday, December 28th, 2017

I’m in St. George now with the family.  It was fun driving the green machine, AKA the Gus the bus here, where at every stop along the way entertaining stares fed our kids imagined fame. They felt very important and loved the attention!!  I got to drive it for the first time and enjoyed it thoroughly.  So, the sun did come out—quite literally in St. George.  I’m currently sitting in the sun by the pool watching the kids swim (nearly fight-free).

I feel better.  And I’m happy to finally feel more than just ok.  People ask quite often on an update on the girls— how they are doing, how we are doing.  Well, for now, and for the foreseeable future, they will be living with their dad, his brother (who has recently become his sister), and their great grandmother.  We will support their father with our love and encouragement and we hope he continues to do well.  We don’t know when or if they will visit.  We have faith that we have done what we were supposed to do, and we have to take comfort in that.  To know they are safe is a huge burden lifted.  To know that their father knows we love him and that he can trust us is a gift. 

The system isn’t perfect, and we have experienced it failing more than once.  If the judge had listened to the caseworker, the girls case would not have closed so soon—too soon.  Their mother had relapsed just 2 weeks before it closed, but random testing didn’t pick it up—-they do not test on the weekends and there was enough time for her to dilute her system and do whatever tricks she tried that unfortunately proved successful.  Being foster parents sometimes seems completely pointless, but I have to believe we are doing something to help, even though sometimes it doesn’t always seem like it.  But I guess that is what parenthood feels like sometimes too!!  I wouldn’t change anything though.  The lessons my kids have learned have been invaluable, things I couldn’t have taught them on my own.  And they continue to learn because of the blessings of adoption.  Recently I spoke to Simon about foster care, realizing that I had never really explained it to him, or that it had been awhile and I felt like he needed a refresher—-its been part of his entire life.  He spoke matter of factly about it and after we talked I asked him why we did foster care and he said—“we help people because we can.”  I think he is spot on.  


*I do realize I still haven't finished our adoption story...I'm still going, just got a little derailed for a bit:)

Agreeable

Penny had the best 7 year old birthday.  She was perfectly spoiled.  Her first (and maybe last) birthday with us.  Our Vernal family came (birth mom did not) and we had an amazing time with them.  I recorded a part of  it, hoping that somehow the video would get to the judge and he would see how beautiful it was for this foster family and birth family could have such good and loving relationship for the benefit of three very loved children.  Kyle and I had decided to tell them at the end of the party, as they were leaving, what DCFS was planning on doing.  Of course, they were devastated.  We cried together, and then they went home, I’m sure feeling as hopeless, and helpless as we did.  They knew if the kids went to Nebraska, they may never see them again.

The 2 weeks expiration date of our bonus kids stay came and went.  DCFS was not communicating with us, so besides our lawyer telling us he had submitted a motion to contest the transfer, and that it had put a stop to the transfer, we didn’t know what was going on or what to expect next.  I don’t remember the exact day, only that it was 3 or 4 weeks later  (I should have kept better track of things) that the caseworker called to ask if she could come for a visit.  I was as sweet as sugar and said of course!  

I made sure Kyle was there. I remember having a silent mini panic attack when not one caseworker showed up at my door but 3 caseworkers, one psychologist, and the assistant district attorney as well.  We had no warning they would all be showing up.  I knew it would be very good news, or the complete opposite.  I sat down holding two babies on my lap.  I was shaking.  I hoped it went undetected as I forced a face of confidence.  I wanted to feel control in a situation that I had no control in, I didn’t want them to think they scared me, but I also wanted to seem humble, workable, and open to compromise.  The ADA took the lead and said that after a lot of time and thought, it was determined that it would be in the children’s best interest to stay in our home.  There was a part of me that wanted to celebrate, and say “Haha, I told you so” , but I knew it was too early for that, and that it was of course far too childish—-and I was SO mature, I would never really do that—-just imagining myself doing it would have to be enough.  

However, there wasn’t any time to let that news sink in before they added “there are 2 conditions.”  I wasn’t worried.  I would agree to anything and everything.  One—“We want you to spend the time now until the adoption, without contact from the birth family. We feel it would be good to spend this time bonding with the children without conflicting or outside influences.”  Agreed, done, and two?? “We would like Emily to attend counseling.  This is not negotiable with Keith.  He feels you are unbalanced and that you need help with dealing with your issues with your relationship with DCFS.” There was a pause in the room.  I felt as if the entire room except for me was holding their breath.  I tried not to laugh, and with a huge grin I said of course.  I did add that I had no other issues with DCFS except them trying to take my kids away and give them to a distant aunt only related to ONE of the children, and that now that they weren’t doing it I felt great!  They still wanted me to discuss these feelings with a counselor.  I had zero problem with it.  I was more than ok.  An hour plus away all to myself and my new best friend on DCFS’s dime?  I was excited!!  Before they left I hugged the caseworker.  I caught her off guard, for it was a stark difference from the chastisement I gave her the last time she visited (that I was surprised had worked).  But I really wanted her to know how grateful I was.  Later we found out more of the story.  The judge did not agree with the transfer as soon as he heard about it. He heard about it because our lawyer had a nice long talk with the ADA. This is not common we were told, for the judge to go against what DCFS decided. Furthermore, after telling the birth family, word got around to what was happening…got around to some semi-creepy/dangerous other family members who then called and threatened and harassed the great aunt.  They told her to leave the kids alone, to let them stay, in not such a nice way.  The great aunt was nervous, and I think shocked by everyone’s response—-not supportive in the least, and started to have doubts herself.  

But my favorite part of the story was that after leaving my house, the caseworker got to work, finally standing up to her boss, with back up from the team, and let him know she didn’t agree with the transfer.  She did this before she even knew we had a lawyer. She knew we would probably get one, but before anything official was done, she went to work in the best interest of the children.  I was beyond proud of the team.  They really did care more about the kids than policy, which I wasn’t convinced was true until that moment.  It seemed, that despite what I thought about DCFS, because of my very limited, yet overwhelming negative experience with them, there are good people there, trying to do the best with what tools they have. Some are definitely better than others at their job. Foster parents still need to be ready to fight, in those circumstances when policy isn’t in the best interests of the kids, and in the hopefully rare cases when a DCFS employee decides he just wants to win the power struggle.  

A fun little tidbit of information.  I had tried to get a class covered by DCFS.  An expensive attachment parenting class specifically for adoptive parents.  They had said no two times.  When I called to schedule my first couseling appointment, they described a few members of their staff for me to choose from.  One was the teacher for the attachment class, and I chose her.  On our first visit, I explained the entire situation to her.  She was blown away,  she had never heard a story quite like it.  I was happy to offer her an interesting story, but more importantly, she was happy to offer all off her attachment classes in the form of my therapy sessions.  She saw no imbalance.  No angry individual sitting in front of her, so obsessed with hatred and disappointment in DCFS.  Instead she saw me.  A mother excited to adopt 3 new children, and in need of some tools and advice on how to be a better mom to those kids who had been through so much.  And for the next couple of months, I took a private class and learned all about the brain and how neglect and trauma affect it, and how to best help it heal, and form healthy and consistent connections.  All paid for by DCFS.  Alone time, powered with knowledge, and FREE.  Win-Win-Win.

Plus I got my three kids.  Can’t forget that! ;) 

Our Vernal Family

(birth mother wasn't able to come)

2 weeks

It was February.  The week before Penny's birthday.  We had invited birth family to help us celebrate and we were all excited for them to come.  I had a visit schedule with the caseworker, which wasn't unusual, but this visit she brought her supervisor with her.  Later, I realized it was because she was nervous and scared.  Too scared to deliver the news that she would make him deliver.  I was already nervous.  The Supervisor, Keith, had already shown me that he was the man in charge and that he liked it that way.  We had a team meeting a month before and it was disturbing to watch the other DCFS workers (mostly female) almost bow to him when their opinion didn't match up with his.  How quickly he was able to get an entire room on his side.  I didn't care for him much.  But I could tell almost immediately, the feeling was mutual.

He obviously wasn't there to visit.  And without warning, as he was playing with Max on his lap, he told me that they (He) had decided that since we at one point we didn't didn't feel as if we could keep Max, they had looked to a great aunt as another option and had decided to send the kids, who had been part of our family for 11 months, to Nebraska.  They would come back in 2 weeks to collect the kids and would we please have them ready.

I tried not to cry, to talk rationally and when that did nothing to sway them I cried my eyes out and begged.  They wouldn't budge.  I realized the caseworker had said little to nothing the entire time.  I finally felt bold enough to tell them it was time for them to leave.  But before they left, I turned to the caseworker, and in one last ditch effort, tried to appeal to her emotions and said, "I'm very disappointed in you.  You know this isn't right." She had no response, but I knew if my words could sway anyone, it would be her.  I didn't have a lot of faith in my words. or her.

After they were politely kicked out, Kyle was immediately on the phone calling lawyers.  We found out that if they had waited one more month, they wouldn't be able to make the transfer, that is why they struck now.  11 months they could still take the kids away without a judge batting an eye.  Or so we were told.  The details are blurry now, but I remember not being able to breath.  I couldn't believe what was happening.  I have never been so scared in my life, so helpless.  Kyle offered as much hope as he could.  And I just cried.  I think the kids went to a friends house to give me some time to pull myself together, but I don't remember.  I do remember wondering what I was going to tell the birth family, what I was going to tell the kids.  In the end, we didn't tell them anything.  We decided to have faith that we would never have to tell them anything.

I remember going into my bathroom, looking into the mirror for a long long time.  Looking at my red face and puffy eyes, and realizing my spirit looked as hopeless as it felt.  I took a picture, I don't know why, but I think it was because I wanted to remember exactly how I felt, how I looked, when I was about to lose three of my children.  A snapshot in time that would remind me of my lowest moment, and just maybe, someday, there would be a picture showing the opposite.  A picture of me looking into the mirror feeling triumphant and full of hope again.  I talked to myself and gave myself a pep talk, telling myself that I could do this, that everything would work out. But I had valid doubts.  There were many stories from foster parents that were sure their placement would stay, that they would adopt, but the kids ended up going back.  Many times they went back only to be returned to the foster care system within  a year.  There would be so many hearts broken.  Not just Kyle and our kids, but also the entire birth family, whom we referred to as our Vernal family.  I knew I had to fake it until I made it, and that weekend I planned on giving Penny the best birthday ever.

But first, we had to find a lawyer.  We thought it would be best to find one in Vernal, but it proved to be an impossible task.  We couldn't find a lawyer in the area that hadn't, at one point in time, represented someone in our kids birth family.  It was ridiculous, and frustrating. After meeting with a few lawyers we decided to go with one in Provo that we felt like would fight hard for us.  I was happy to find someone that would be on our side.  DCFS is very powerful, and having them on the opposite side meant almost certain defeat.  I reached out to as many people as I could, to see if there was some law that would prevent the transfer.  I made the mistake of posting on a Facebook page for foster parents for my region.  I didn't know where else to ask my questions, so I took the risk even though I knew caseworkers and RFC's were also on the Facebook page.  Big mistake.

It took me a long time to decide to post this picture (its a very ugly picture--and its a very personal moment for me).  I can't help but cry when I see it--because I remember how I felt, and how much I felt.

the chapter I wish that wasn't

          I have written this part of the story in my head dozens of times.  But when it comes to writing it down on paper, it seems impossible.  I'm scared to write it wrong.  Its hard to put as much emotion into my writing that is necessary to explain the next part of the story: the story of Max, our son who may not have been.  Our crazy happy, crazy loving, crazy cuddling, crazy sweet little Max.  From the beginning, we thought our 3 little birds were meant for a different family.  Even after they were placed, we wondered if we were just a stopping ground before they moved onto a different family.  At first glance, Max seemed like a happy 9 month old baby boy.  But in reality, Max cried ALL. THE. TIME.  He seemed miserable.  He screamed even more than he cried.  Dinner time was a nightmare.  I just wanted him to be happy and he only seemed happy if I was holding him.  We knew he had anxiety.  But mostly I thought he was unhappy and hated his new home. I was going insane and things only got worse after Simon was born. I needed help.

        Help and hope came in the form of another foster family.  The *Hansen Family.  They did respite for us the first weekend we had our bonus kids since we had a trip already planned.  It would be the first (and only) time Kyle's parents had ever babysat for us and we didn't want to overwhelm them with an extra three kids.  Penny, Millie and Max had a blast.  A few months later we planned a trip to AZ--but we only had 9 seats, someone had to stay behind.  Max volunteered to stay with the Hansen Family.  He hated the car anyways, and he LOVED the Hansens.  From all reports he was happy in their home.  I knew it was because he had so much more attention--attention that he deserved.  So we went on our trip and Max stayed behind.  After our trip Max spent more and more time with the Hansens.  It made things easier at home, quieter, but oh how we missed him.  I kept telling the kids he was so much happier there, and we wanted him to be happy.  I was trying to prepare them for what I thought would happen.  Kyle and I both truly thought he was meant to be the Hansens son.  In public, I stood confident and faithful in this belief, and we were adamant with DCFS about him being better off in a smaller family.  DCFS was not happy, but told us it may be a possibility (they were lying to us but we didn't know that--as soon as we voiced our opinion about Max, they reached out to a great aunt in Nebraska as a possible placement for all 3 kids--but thats another part of this story for another time).  I was a brand new foster parent.  I had no idea how things worked.

        As I was saying, in public, I acted ok with our belief that Max was better off with the Hansens, but in private, I was devastated, felt like a failure, and mourned over the loss of a son I would not have.  For me it was the hardest most unselfish decision I HAD to make.  I wasn't enough for him, he needed more.  It wasn't until Christmas break that I realized how much we needed Max and how much he needed us.  It was also becoming clear, due to the lack of communication with us, that DCFS wouldn't support Max's transfer.  One of the best decisions DCFS ever made in this case, and that I'm forever grateful for...because I don't know if I would have had the strength on my own to tell the Hansens that I had changed my mind.  Max had started to grow to be a part of their family as well, and I knew they loved him.  It was also around this time that we discovered he would need tubes.  We wondered, and it was later confirmed, that the cause of most of his screaming and crying and unhappiness was chronic ear infections for most of his life.  He didn't show the common signs---he had no fever, but would throw up from time to time--which at the time, we didn't know that puking is also a symptom of ear infections.

          After we informed DCFS that we were happy to keep all 3 kids, and that his new tubes had greatly improved his disposition, we went along our Merry little way.  We were forever indebted to the Hansen family, for how much they helped us, especially during some very hard and long days.  We thought things were looking up and we were very excited and hopeful that we would get to add our new bonus kids permanently to our family.  We had no idea what trial was around the corner--the scariest moment of my life so far.  I still can't believe it happened, and that against all odds, everything worked out how it was supposed to work out.  

Most of my days looked like this...kids fighting for my lap.  Me trying to smile through it.  Sweet, perfect baby Simon, somewhere in the background letting them have me.  If he had been a needy, fussy baby, I think I would have lost my marbles...4 crying babies would just be too much for this exhausted mom to handle.  

Max Today

Preschool Graduation Spring 2017

* Name has been changed.

Oliver: baby to big brother of 3 overnight

               We tried to prepare all our kids little by little for the changes that would come.  We talked about foster care a lot before we even had a placement.  The 3 older kids were excited and wanted to talk about it all the time, but Oliver was clueless.  He had no idea how his life would change--almost overnight.  He was the baby for 2 years and 10 months before Millie and Max showed up.  He adored Max from the moment he met him.  And he found lots of mischief with Millie.  It seemed he was just fine except for one thing--whenever I would leave he would panic.  Scream at the top of his lungs.  Cry and hold on to my legs for dear life.  I don't remember who started it first but pretty soon there would be three screaming babies crying for me not to go.  I was guilt ridden all the time.  I couldn't leave but I needed to--I had to have some breaks from the clinging trio, especially before the fourth arrived.  Millie and Max had a reason for being so anxious, and I knew it would take time for them to feel secure.  But I didn't expect it from Oliver.  I took him everywhere I went hoping that would help.  We talked a lot about how Millie and Max's mommy had to leave because she was not making good mommy choices but that I was never going to make those choices, and that I would always be his mommy.  Anytime I left the littles I would have them repeat, "moms sometimes leave but then they always come back."  After a LONG time with my own made up therapies for Oliver, he started to relax and he started to be the one that assured Millie and Max every time I left.  He was now the one having them repeat "moms come back."  I didn't point out that their mom, may never come back.  

Imagine yourself explaining to your 3, 4, 7 and 9 year old that their new brother and sisters may never go home.  That this may be their forever home.  Or the other possibility that their new best friends would go home someday, and in all likelihood that they would never ever see them again.  Imagine introducing them to this world of children without homes and unfit parents.  They learn words like drugs, and drug tests, and family team meetings.  They learn to share everything including their mom and dads time--so much time given to the other kids that may or may not be part of their family for very long.  Each one of my kids had moments of frustration and jealousy, but thats all they were--moments.  I don't even think they knew what they were feeling when their emotions would surface. But I knew it was because of all of the changes, I had been preparing for the worst but I turned out I didn't need to.  The overwhelming feeling that my kids had for their new siblings was that of love and acceptance and concern for their wellbeing.  I was a proud mama and I still am. 

Oliver has always loved babies.  Ever since he was 18 months old he has been mesmerized by them--following them around trying to take care of them or just sitting but them, watching them sleep.  He was obviously made for his new big brother role.

Kids are amazing.  They are resilient, strong and love unconditionally.  And they easily forgive---its a good thing too!  I have made so many mistakes along the way and I plan on making a million more before I die.  People always tell me that my kids, especially my adopted kids, are lucky to have me.  I have never ever, not even once, felt that myself.  I am my greatest critic and I know all of my faults perfectly.  I agree with you and say thank you when you tell me how lucky these kids are, but in my head I am saying "Actually, I am the lucky one."  They make me forget my faults.  They make me love myself more than I think I deserve.  They forgive me and teach me and if I could, I would adopt an orphanage of children for very selfish reasons.  They make me love so much it hurts.  (Lets not talk about how they also make me so crazy I want to check into a looney bin or that Kyle and I joke about putting them in foster care....bad joke?  Its just a joke don't worry.)

 

And then there were 8

                             
We fell into a routine after a couple of months that kept us sane and mostly happy.  But obviously still sleep deprived because I wet the bed.  Ug. The last time I wet the bed was...wait for it...on my honeymoon!  Too much info?  Talk about the most embarrassing story ever (saved for NEVER! but in my defense I had a UTI).  I didn't want to wake up Kyle but 8 month pregnant self was having a few cramps so I didn't turn on the light and after using the el bano didn't flush and decided to watch Call the Midwives on the computer in the living room.  Kyle eventually stirred and came out to wonder aloud why the heck his wife was watching tv at 5 am.  I told him I thought it might be time to have a baby.  The cramps were contractions and getting stronger.  I went in to check on my yellow sheets and instead found a red surprise.  I found the same surprise when I went to the bathroom to flush.  I had never seen so much blood.  Kyle and I were worried and unsure of what to do first.  We divided to conquer.  He found a sub for his 6 am meet up for cub scout camp that day and I called my friend Michelle to come to the house.

We drove to the hospital and after a scare of possible placental abruption, our healthy baby boy Simon Hernry was born.  I celebrated with a cherry coke.  He was beautiful and I was in love.  I had decided not to nurse for the first time.  It was a hard decision. Not because I especially loved nursing, but because of all of the pressure put on me in the hospital to nurse.  I knew I wouldn't be able to handle a nursing baby and 3 babies at home who thought every time I sat down it was an invitation to climb on my lap.  Nursing was stressful, especially the first few weeks and I wasn't prepared to add anymore stress on our family.  I had to remind the nurses several times (sometimes through tears) that I wasn't nursing.  After a pep talk from Kyle I held strong and fed sir Simon the beautiful bottle with confidence.

Too soon it was time to go home and get back to work.  Vacation was over.  The kids were thrilled to see us.  Oliver  could't contain his enthusiasm over a new baby and made us show him all his fingers and toes. I wish I could remember every little moment of those newborn days but they are mostly a blur.  What I do remember is that for the first time I had an angel of a baby.  He rarely cried and he brought a feeling of peace and love that newborns are often guilty of.  We all adored him and we all needed him and it was clear-- Simon came at the perfect time.

Life was definitely busier with a newborn.  Kyle did the first visit or two but eventually I started driving out to Heber for visits.  I took our three bonus kids as well as Simon.  Simon and I spent a happy hour in the car together just us two.  I cuddled and cooed with baby all the while trying not to think about the visit happening just a few feet away in the Dcfs building.  The kids were always happy to go to the visit, but they were also anxious to get back into the car afterwards.  I remember after only a few weeks of doing visits Millie saw me driving the car after the visit and was so worried that I was going to drive away that she started to freak out and scream.  She calmed down as soon as she knew she was getting in my car to come home.

For the fist time in my life I knew I had postpartum.  I was crying ALL THE TIME and most of the time I didn't even know WHY.  I definitely didn't feel like myself and finally asked for help.  I remember on the phone with the nurse when I made the appointment they asked me if I had thoughts of suicide.  I told them no, but I had thoughts of running away! I arranged with Kyle to have him meet me at the doctors office to pick up the youngest 5 kids so I could talk to the doctor in peace. Unfortunately, we didn't communicate the location of the doctors office and he drove to a different doctors office.  It was too late, I would have to take my baby, 1, 2, 3, and 4 year old into the appointment.  I'm sure her seeing me with those crazy monkeys climbing all over me trying to share one bag of fruit snacks made the doctor want to prescribe all kinds of medication for me. She was so sweet and after figuring out most of what I was feeling was anxiety, she prescribed me a low dose of prozac.  I was doubtful anything would help me, let alone a little pill, but I was thankful she listened and validated my feelings.  She went a step further helped me and my brood out to the car.  Even helping the kids into their carseats.  I will never forget that kindness.

You are told when you certify as foster parents that there will be a rollercoaster of emotions.  But can anything really prepare you for loving a child for a year and then sending he or she back back to  the place of neglect and abuse they came from? After all your hard work to undo the mess the the trauma caused, DCFS sends them back and HOPES that they will be ok.  Some days I couldn't take it and I would just cry in frustration and hope they would go home the next day before I got too attached.  Other days I pleaded with my Heavenly Father to please, please let them stay.  Let them be MY children forever.  In the beginning it looked like the kids would be going to an aunt.  A sister to Penny's birth father.  We prepared to have them moved in every way we could but things never materialized.  Forms were't completed, appointments missed and DCFS was finally told that the aunts husband would only take Penny, not her siblings.  We breathed a sigh of relief and continued on.  Next we were notified that grandma would be taking the kids.  She talked to the kids each visit about how she was fixing up their room, got new carpet, and a crib for Max.  Again, after a few weeks, DCFS finally came out and ruled against grandma ever getting custody of the children because of her past.  I wasn't sure at the time that it was the best decision.  The grandma was very loving, and seemed like she would provide a loving home and stability.  Rumors surfaced that she was still using drugs and that her husband was an alcoholic. But that wasn't what made DCFS decide not to move the children to her home.

There are a few details from Penny's first week with us that I will never forget.  She was a colorful cute little liar that first week.  She told me she lived in the biggest house on the street.  That her grandpa drove a submarine.  Another memorable conversation was about foster care.  She told me in her happy go lucky voice, "It is normal for kids to go to foster care.  Lots of kids do.  My mom did".  I had to tell her in the most loving way that it wasn't normal, or ok. I explained that the reason her mom went to foster care was because her grandma made some bad choices and didn't know how to be a safe mom.  I also explained that she was in foster care because her mom had made the same bad choices.  She was in foster care to be safe.

Her birth mom had been placed in foster care when she was about 16, and after some time, moved back home--only to continue to use drugs and live her colorful lifestyle.  It was only a matter of time before the cycle resurfaced.  I don't think mom ever had a chance to live a normal happy life.  Life isn't fair, but that wasn't Penny, Millie, or Max's fault.  I was determined to make them know that.

I am also determined to finish this story, but Lice interfered.  We are now a proud family of 12 lice FREE scalps.

at the doctors.  So much fun!

 This is not a staged picture.  This was my life.  I can't really believe I did it--not without help of course.  But I did it.  Not only survived it, but I came out a better and stronger person-because of them, all 8 of them.

Detour

This is my journal.  Originally I envisioned it being private, but after a lot of thought, I decided I'm ok with it being public.  People ask a lot of questions about foster care, adoption, our life with 10 littles and I'm totally ok with that but most of the time I don't know how to answer right on the spot, or I don't have enough time.  Here I can take the time to formulate all the words I have swimming around in my head.  Also--I really do love to share our story.  Not because I think we are amazing, or special, but because I want to show everyone that we are just regular.  And that regular people CAN do AMAZING things if we listen to the promptings of the spirit and follow them.

My journal includes a lot of talk about God, and the spirit, and power of prayer.  And if that makes anyone feel uncomfortable I'm not sorry.  First of all, because this is my journal, and second of all--my life, this life, my husband, my children, would not have been possible had I not listened to the spirit.  I can't take the all credit of doing amazing things because without God, I would not be able to do any of them.  Compliments seem to be hard for people in general to accept.  It sometimes feels like you are prideful if you too easily accept a compliment.  Most people make some type of excuse or another why that compliment is unfounded.  I do it all the time.  People say, "Emily you are SO amazing!" and I always say,  "No, I'm insane, it's different."  The other week someone told me I was amazing in Costco and it played on repeat all the way home.

"Is it ok for me to feel amazing?  Because I don't.  But, isn't what I'm doing amazing? Yes--yes it is!  I alone am not amazing.  I am not perfect.  I am full of flaws, but that doesn't mean I don't do amazing things." 

When I was a senior in high school someone taught me how to take compliments.  How to not feel so uncomfortable with accepting them.  I have let myself forget it these last few years, but I am going to try harder to remember.  When someone gives you a compliment you imagine it bouncing off of you to God and back down on you again.  Its like you are saying thank you to Him first, because that is where you came from, where all your talents, and skills, and beauty originated.  It's because of my Heavenly Father and Savior Jesus Christ that I decided to do this blog.  It may sound cheesy, but its my way of complimenting Them. Show how amazing They are for helping me to do amazing things.  That being said, I really truly believe ALL mothers and women (and sometimes men..j/k...they are amazing too) do amazing things each day.  I see them all around me.  Teaching me and showing me how to be a better me.  

And so after that detour--I will end with a story.

Once upon a time, there was a husband and a wife.  They had 8 beautiful (and sometimes a bit crazy) children.  One day they became foster parents (again) to two little girls. The wife had an experience that she will never forget that made her believe these little girls would be her daughters someday...before they were even born, she thought this.  But as the years passed by, doubts of this ever becoming a reality started to surface.  She pushed them away over and over again.  She asked her husband what he thought, and he said, "Don't worry about it, it will all work out. And you already got your answer."  He reminded her of the analogy of Peter walking on water towards Christ. If he kept his focus on Christ, he would not sink.  But he wasn't able to do it.  He encouraged his wife to walk on water.  She continued to pray for faith and assurance that what she felt so long ago would; stay strong with her through the storm and the raging waters.  But some days were hard.  An especially hard day she asked her husband to remind her how he felt about the situation.  He said he believed what would happen but he did not know what would happen or how long it would take.  This made her feel as if the rock she had been standing on disintegrated into sand.  She realized she had been relying on his faith and had misinterpreted his beliefs.  She was devastated.  She felt confused.  Betrayed even.  How could she do this hard thing and NOT know what would happen. She felt as if she might drown if she couldn't know the outcome. She wouldn't survive it.  This wife tried to stop feeling sick about it and went to sleep.  She went to sleep and dreamed.  The dream was so vivid that she cried real tears of fear in her dream.  She didn't think much of it until the next morning when she was reciting the dream to her husband.  When she put the images into words, she realized that the dream was not a coincidence.  She had never had a dream that seemed to mean anything. The dream went like this:

The wife was at a familiar beach.  She was on the sand alone and without a warning, a huge rush of water came and surrounded her.  It was a tsunami and it was terrifying.  She survived but every time she remembered her experience she cried.  Later, she visited the same beach, she was scared but felt assurance it would be ok.  She was floating on the water in an inner tube and all of a sudden the inner tube submerged under water and she felt as if another tsunami was headed for her.  She was under water and drowning.  She heard voices.  It was her parents calling out to her.  "Emily, you are only in three feet of water.  You are not drowning, just put your head up!  You will be ok!"

It wasn't a dream about walking on water.  It wasn't a dream telling me everything will work out how I want it to work out.  But it did tell me I would survive, to not worry, that I will be ok.  I guess that will have to be enough right now.  I will live in the moment and love those two foster babies for as long as I can.  I will put my head up and I will be ok.