Sometimes I want to laugh so I don’t cry. Sometimes I want live and learn. Sometimes I don’t feel like hugging my children. Sometimes I need to remind myself why I made the choices I made. Sometimes I need to remember that tomorrow is another day.
Everyday I must to remember to laugh. Everyday I must live and learn. Everyday I must hug my children. Everyday I must remind myself why I made the choices I made. Everyday I must remember that tomorrow is another day.
When entering into the world of foster care adoption, little did I realize what all it entailed. Sure, I had attended classes, read books and articles, and even spoke with some other parents that adopted through the child welfare system. I thought I knew it all.
Maybe it is a good thing I didn’t know it all. Maybe if I had, I would not have done it, and therefore, I would not have my beautiful, intelligent, witty, insightful, and often wise-beyond-their-years children.
Each day brings new struggles. Each day brings new joy. Each day brings new heartache. Each day brings new hope. Each day brings new dissension. Each day brings new patience. Each day brings new revelations. Each day brings new healing.
Each day we grow closer. Each day we trust more. Each day we reach further. Each day we listen closer. Each day we hug tighter. Each day we dream bigger. Each day we love more.
This is my story. It’s a story of a single mom whose lifelong dream was to have a houseful of children. If there is one thing I have accomplished, it is just that! My house is full of children. However, they are not quite the children that I pictured in my daydreams so many years ago: carefree, innocent, undaunted, naïve. No, those children are not my children.
All but one of my eight children came to me years after their birth. Years after their innocence was lost, their bodies were bruised, their bellies were hungry, their hearts were broken, their trust had waned.
For the past ten years, my days have been filled nourishing their bodies, healing their hearts, teaching them to trust, rebuilding those bonds, making them whole once again.
My job, as it is for thousands of other adoptive parents in our great nation, is not for those that are weak at heart, short on patience, or easily grossed out. I have to be prepared at a moments notice to dodge a punch, break up a fight, run to the school to find out how many days my child just got suspended, to be cursed at, spat at, meet another principal about one of my other children exposing himself to other students, to continuously clean poop out of the underwear of a child who has been potty trained for at least nine years, to take my jewelry out of my son’s room and put it back in the jewelry box that he stole it from, to confiscate the hidden knives in a bedroom, to scrape dried, rotted food off of the closet shelf where it secretly stashed, to repair holes in walls, doors and screens, to sweep up the tiny pieces of the treasured lamp my deceased grandmother left me after it was thrown on the floor by a seven year old during a tantrum.
And that was all in one day. Just kidding, just kidding! Humor is a staple in my household. To me, it is like water to a plant. It sustains me. I must have it to survive! And I will survive.
This is my story…
Everyday I must to remember to laugh. Everyday I must live and learn. Everyday I must hug my children. Everyday I must remind myself why I made the choices I made. Everyday I must remember that tomorrow is another day.
When entering into the world of foster care adoption, little did I realize what all it entailed. Sure, I had attended classes, read books and articles, and even spoke with some other parents that adopted through the child welfare system. I thought I knew it all.
Maybe it is a good thing I didn’t know it all. Maybe if I had, I would not have done it, and therefore, I would not have my beautiful, intelligent, witty, insightful, and often wise-beyond-their-years children.
Each day brings new struggles. Each day brings new joy. Each day brings new heartache. Each day brings new hope. Each day brings new dissension. Each day brings new patience. Each day brings new revelations. Each day brings new healing.
Each day we grow closer. Each day we trust more. Each day we reach further. Each day we listen closer. Each day we hug tighter. Each day we dream bigger. Each day we love more.
This is my story. It’s a story of a single mom whose lifelong dream was to have a houseful of children. If there is one thing I have accomplished, it is just that! My house is full of children. However, they are not quite the children that I pictured in my daydreams so many years ago: carefree, innocent, undaunted, naïve. No, those children are not my children.
All but one of my eight children came to me years after their birth. Years after their innocence was lost, their bodies were bruised, their bellies were hungry, their hearts were broken, their trust had waned.
For the past ten years, my days have been filled nourishing their bodies, healing their hearts, teaching them to trust, rebuilding those bonds, making them whole once again.
My job, as it is for thousands of other adoptive parents in our great nation, is not for those that are weak at heart, short on patience, or easily grossed out. I have to be prepared at a moments notice to dodge a punch, break up a fight, run to the school to find out how many days my child just got suspended, to be cursed at, spat at, meet another principal about one of my other children exposing himself to other students, to continuously clean poop out of the underwear of a child who has been potty trained for at least nine years, to take my jewelry out of my son’s room and put it back in the jewelry box that he stole it from, to confiscate the hidden knives in a bedroom, to scrape dried, rotted food off of the closet shelf where it secretly stashed, to repair holes in walls, doors and screens, to sweep up the tiny pieces of the treasured lamp my deceased grandmother left me after it was thrown on the floor by a seven year old during a tantrum.
And that was all in one day. Just kidding, just kidding! Humor is a staple in my household. To me, it is like water to a plant. It sustains me. I must have it to survive! And I will survive.
This is my story…
Wow. I know you, and I still can't wait to read your story. This life is not for wimps. And definitely not for the easily grossed out. (What a coincidence that both of our blogs today have poop in them...) Anyway, this is beautiful, my friend. I look forward to reading the rest.
ReplyDeleteAunt Lisa...now that I am in tears...you are an amazing woman, mother, person!!! God made you for a BIG purpose and whether or not anyone can fully grasp what it is you do or why you do it, you have to rest in the fact that you are fulfilling that purpose and making Him so proud. What a blessing you are to so many people. I love you!
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