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.