How Will Foster Care Impact My Bio Kids?

When my husband and I were taking our first steps into the foster care journey, my biggest concern was always the impact it would have on our bio son, "Big Bro." He was a toddler at the time. I Googled "How will foster care impact my bio kids" extensively, but unfortunately there was no script from the future to tell me how my kids would process this journey. We have had to figure it out as we go!

Big Bro always shared a room with foster siblings. Until two years ago, foster care was his only "normal" for having siblings. Now he has a bio sister, "Baby Gigi," and he can compare the experiences.

Last year I asked him some questions. I wanted to gauge the impact this is having on him. I asked him if we could share his answers with other people who might wonder if they should do foster care in their home, and he agreed.

Sadly, the answers got buried in my Gmail for the last year, but today they've resurfaced! Hooray!

So, for those of you who have wondered, here's a six-year-old boy's take on having foster siblings. The responses are exactly as he gave them, except for the name changes to protect privacy.

~~~

Mom: What does it mean to be a foster family?

Big Bro: It means we are helping a kid that his mama or her mama can't take care of them very well.

Mom: What do you like about being a foster family?

Big Bro: That Rooney can come here.

Mom: What do you not like about being a foster family?

Big Bro: That Rooney wrestles me a lot.

Mom: What do you think a little boy like you should know if his first foster brother is coming to live in his house tonight?

Big Bro: I'd tell him it's a little bit hard. Because Rooney just wrestles me a lot even when I say stop, stop.

(*I have to note here: This is just normal brother stuff. We've got one physically active preschooler and one sit-and-read kindergartener. This is what happens sometimes when they mix!*)

Mom: Can you tell me a little bit about Rooney's other family?

Big Bro: Birth Parent is sick. Nothing really different from being around anyone. To have her in our house feels good just like if anyone was in our house.

Mom: What do you think about the babies who went home?

Big Bro: It's sad. I know that because Rooney went back home and then it was sad but then he came back.

Mom: Do you think kids should go back to their birth families when they can?

Big Bro: Yeah. Because if they can then I want them to go back to their moms. It would probably be sad if they never saw their real mom again.

Mom: Is it different having a little sister who's a forever sister?

Big Bro: Yes. She is different than Rooney and she's not a foster care baby. We didn't get her from another mom. She's a little bit more my sister even though Rooney is still my brother. If we adopt Rooney then he will be as much my brother as Baby Gigi.

Mom: What do you want other people to know about foster care?

Big Bro: It's good for everyone and Jesus likes when you do it.

Mom: Have you learned anything by being a big brother to foster brothers?

Big Bro: I don't know.

Mom: Does it hurt you to be a foster brother?

Big Bro: Kind of cuz Rooney wrestles me.

Mom: Are you glad or sad that you're a foster brother?

Big Bro: Glad and sad. I'm sad because I get hurt a lot from Rooney but I'm happy that he gets to be safe here.

(*Again: This is a little overly dramatic; Rooney is not a violent little man!*)

Mom: Is there anything else?

Big Bro: Bye to the person who reads it.

Missing Christmas

"Do nothing out of selfish ambition or vain conceit. Rather, in humility value others above yourselves, not looking to your own interests but each of you to the interests of the others."

Philippians 2:3‭-‬4

What would you give up for someone else?

Would you give up seeing Santa at the mall?

Would you give up sleepovers by the Christmas tree?

Would you give up frosting cookies?

Would you give up an evening with friends?

Would you give up listening to Christmas music?

Would you give up Christmas dinner?

We can give up good things for others in love, but sometimes when our children need us to give up those good things, we feel guilt. We want to help our family feel normal. We want to help them enjoy all of the pieces of Christmas we always used to enjoy. We want to experience the traditions we always envisioned in the days before children.

Missing good things for your children who can't cope is not failing your child, your family or yourself. It is living out the nature of Jesus, who "made himself nothing by taking the very nature of a servant, being made in human likeness. And being found in appearance as a man, he humbled himself by becoming obedient to death — even death on a cross!" (Philippians 2:7-8)

No more guilt this year. If you can't do the things you wish you could, give them to Jesus as a sweet sacrifice. It's not that you're not doing Christmas well enough. It's that you are taking this opportunity to value others above yourself. You're not missing Christmas. You're willing to find it even when it means letting go of a lot of fun little pieces that were not really Christmas anyway.

Planting Marigolds

We have our good days and our bad days around here.

Everyone has days they're simply not their best. Sometimes I wake up and I just know that every moment of self-control today will cost me a whole lot of effort because I'm ready to throw up my hands from the beginning.

I think for Baby S and for other kids who have suffered trauma and/or have a lot of other factors playing against them, self-control takes ready-to-throw-up-my hands level effort every day. Thus, having a good day is something to be incredibly proud of. It's also straight up exhausting for them. So sometimes that good day, or group of good days, results in a lot of really difficult days. It's like they can take an advance on self-control and then wind up empty for days or weeks.

Hard days can be so deflating. Regression is discouraging for all of us, including Baby S. Going from dry diapers all day to not using the potty a single time from morning to night is frustrating. It's hard not to say "you can do this because you did it yesterday!" even when I know that's not fair. There are some days that he's simply not able to do the same things he's been doing. (He's three, so there are plenty of days he's choosing to do wrong, but I'm drawing a distinction between the days he's choosing to be naughty and the days he's not able to regulate enough to make a choice.)

We're noticing a cycle. A couple of great days with big win moments will almost certainly be followed by another round of regression. We don't know when we wake up in the morning or sit down to breakfast whether it's going to be a good-listening day or a behavior-filled day; whether I'll be able to do a load of laundry without another adult in the house or whether there's a 27-second countdown before things fall apart when I've left the room.

This weekend we had an incredible couple of days. Our little guy really shines through in these moments. His smiles melt me to pieces. He giggles and laughs and interacts and chats and just absolutely blows me away. These are glimmers into who he really is, who he was always supposed to be, and who he is becoming. I am always proud of him, but even more so in these moments.

And then this morning we were back to difficult behaviors. This (finally) didn't surprise me because I'm figuring out the cycle a little better. But it's still hard to feel so out of control about what we can do as a family on a given day. We don't know what we can reasonably expect out of Baby S and what will be out of his reach.

As I struggled with not knowing how long the downward spiral might last, I looked out my window into my backyard. And I noticed these flowers.

The baby wasn't chilling out there during said moment. Just so you know.

We don't leave babies wandering in the backyard alone.

These flowers were a gift to me from Baby S on Mother's Day. They were just bitty little green things sticking out of a red plastic cup decorated with stickers.

When he gave them to me I pretended to be excited, but inside I was grimacing. I was there the day he planted those seeds. It was a special activity for parents to attend at Baby S's preschool. I found childcare for Big Bro for the afternoon and brought along Baby Gigi in her stroller. We sat together with Baby S and his class on the grass in the shade of a tree.

Right on cue, another class came out with a ball. A BALL. During Baby S's time of maximum obsession with anything round. They decided to play with said ball RIGHT NEXT TO US. They were HITTING IT WITH A BAT. AND RUNNING. All of Baby S's favorite things in one place. He was mega excited.

And then we told Baby S he couldn't go there. And then we told him to sit quietly and do a fine motor activity.

And he said, "Heck no!" Not in words, you know, because pretty much his only word was "Ball" (which he screamed at full volume on repeat). His meltdown pretty much lasted until they left... Which was when it was time for us to go.

We managed to get him to focus just long enough to scoop some dirt into the red cup and throw some seeds on top. There were marigold seeds, mixed wildflowers, and at least one other kind. The spray bottle was a good distraction for a moment while he was watering the flowers, but then he had to pass that to the next kid, and it was maximum meltdown time again.

And the wind was blowing the dirt in my eyes. And I wanted to melt down too.

So in summary... It was a disaster. He didn't have fun. I didn't have fun. Baby Gigi didn't get my attention. I had to cash in on a babysitting offer with Big Bro, and those are valuable and not to be wasted.

I didn't realize until this morning that something beautiful came from that disaster of an afternoon. The splash of orange along my fence that makes me smile as I do the dishes... The smile Baby Gigi gives me as she touches the flowers and enjoys their soft feel (and taste, but don't worry, Google says they're not poisonous)... The fun Big Bro and Baby S and I have watering them together with the hose... All of these things came from that rather terrible afternoon.

I'd like to think that this pretty bunch of flowers in my yard is just a glimpse of deeper things that came from that day and many days like it. So often we don't get to see what was at work on the most discouraging of days. We don't get to see how God will use our sacrifices for our good and the good of those around us.

But sometimes we get little glimpses. I think we need to hold onto them. One of my favorite bits of wisdom from Paul and Timothy in their letter to the church in Philippi is this: "[be] confident of this, that he who began a good work in you will carry it on to completion until the day of Christ Jesus."

Try not to lose that confidence, friends. The dark days and downward cycles will come, but they are not the end. We can't always see what is growing in those moments. But I pray that God will faithfully use them for good, and I trust that he will keep his promises.

To The Moon

This morning, Big Boy Baby S asked me to give him wings and help him get to the moon.

More specifically, he wanted me to attach wings to his arms. Then he could bounce off of the trampoline and fly up to the moon!

He expressed a hugely abstract thought through his words, sounds and gestures. He beamed when I understood him. He laughed and grinned as I flew him "to the moon" on his little airplane.

A year ago, he wouldn't make eye contact. His smile was MIA. And now he's dreaming about flying off to space with wings, and being up in the sky in an airplane, and driving a big tractor.

He's a three-year-old boy and he can finally share his sweet visions and ideas with us. I love it.

Baby S, I can't get you to the moon, but if you still want to go there when you're big, I believe YOU can get you there! I love you, big guy! I'm so proud of you!

When We Met You

Three years.

It has been three years since we met our little man Baby S.

We'd said two quick goodbyes already to foster babies, and we were starting to think they'd all be quick goodbyes. But this one wasn't.

Baby S's birthday rolls around in June and we celebrate his achievements and how big he is getting (so big!). We celebrate him, and we celebrate knowing him. And then this day rolls around six weeks later, and we're reminded that we aren't his only family. Someone else did those first six weeks with him.

We have a set of memories from this day: getting the call while I was checking out at Wegmans; Big Bro A choosing that moment and that particular phone call to see if he could get my full attention by opening and dumping an entire box of elbow macaroni; going out to lunch to celebrate Big Bro A's successful potty training efforts while we waited to find out if Baby S would really enter care; going to a tall building in the city and waiting outside to meet our little guy; driving a baby home in our spare carseat without having had a chance to really get a good look at him yet. The onesie with the little ducks. The first bottles. The precious moment when Big Bro first held his new little brother. The pictures we always take so we can be prepared if we're still telling these stories when our baby turns twenty or if our baby leaves the next day and we only have pictures and memories left.

This is our story of that day. We'll tell that story with joy. But we'll always tell it with reservation, too. We have only bits and pieces of the other stories from that day. We weren't the only ones involved. Our gain was another's loss. Our sweet hello was the start of a nightmare for another. This relationship evolved over time into something positive, into a team effort to love on a little boy who is certainly lovable enough to hold all of that love, but it started as someone losing a baby to strangers.

I've said goodbye to foster babies. I've watched them get driven away by strangers. Even with time to prepare, printed schedules and notes and a bag of his favorite bottles and pacis and blankies and clothes, you can never feel prepared for that moment when your child leaves and is no longer under your protection. Baby S's family didn't have the ability to prepare in this way. Trying to imagine the pain of watching that car drive away is staggering.

There is so much joy in the day we met Baby S. It would be wrong not to smile and celebrate when this day rolls around. It's the day we gained a son! But we want to honor his birth family by telling him their side of this story as he gets old enough to process it. We want to validate their experience by remembering their pain. Their pain in this moment is a testimony of their love, and someday, Baby S is going to need to hear us tell him about that love again and again as he wrestles with his reality. He's going to need the stories, quotes and pictures from birth family that we've saved for him over the years. He's going to need us to handle our baggage now so we can help him with his when the time comes. However painful this journey continues to be for us, it is his life and his family. He needs to be able to process this openly without worrying about my feelings.

This is not a one-sided story. Foster care and adoption never are. God's redemption is beautiful, and we will celebrate it, but we will not forget those who are still hurting.