Dear Friends,
This post comes to you from my very heavy heart. I'm not much into words tonight but I wanted to update you all on the latest situation with Isaac. We found out about lunchtime today that Isaac will be leaving our family sometime this weekend. He has a family who has passed his homestudy and will be given custody. As you think of us this week, would you pray for us? For God's healing and peace to be on us and for it to be palpable? We are all grieving -- even the boys.
Thanks,
The Pearson Family
Wednesday, March 30, 2011
Tuesday, March 8, 2011
Talking in the bathroom
There it was, in red ink, staring me in the face -- evidence that Jack got another card change today. I hate those little red numbers. Today's offense? Talking in the bathroom. This is the second offense of this kind in a week, the third card change in that time. We draw a hard line in the House of Pearson, especially when it comes to behavior at school and church. Our rule: get in trouble at school, get in trouble at home. The infraction of the day means I'm sitting here trying to come up with an appropriate punishment. I'm at a loss. Oh don't get me wrong -- I have LOTS of punishments I can apply as appropriate sentencing for this crime. But it's really difficult to punish your child for something you don't really understand in the first place.
See I have two main issues with these bathroom-related card changes. First, both incidences were witnessed by another teacher. I'm not saying either teacher is lying or wrong but I do have to question if each has the same standards as Jack's teacher. Do these teachers not allow any talking at all while Mrs. M allows basic conversation but no playing? I don't know. Along that same line, as a teacher, I've always struggled giving consequences for behavior I didn't witness. Sure I'll talk to my kids about the behavior but I've always been a bit wary of applying punishment in that situation. Apparently Mrs. M doesn't share my line of thinking. That last bit isn't really an issue just a pedagogical difference that gets to me a little.
My other issue with the bathroom-related behavior is the expectation in general. Do these teachers really expect 5 year-olds to go to the bathroom, unsupervised, without saying a word to each other? Especially BOY 5 year-olds? Immediately after recess and lunch (when both of the infractions occurred)? I would never even expect my high school students to do that. I'm sure, somewhere, out there in bloggy-world, there is a mom whose 5 year old son would never talk in the bathroom if told not to and I'm sure there is a teacher whose kindergartners would never talk in the bathroom. But in my world that's just not a reality.
And so now I'm stuck. By definition of my own rule, Jack should get in trouble at home for getting in trouble at school. But how do you punish someone when you don't think they deserve it? I'm not sure I can NOT punish him only because of the message of inconsistency it sends. And in the I'm-smarter-than-you-so-I-don't-have-to-listen phase Jack's in, I don't think inconsistency is the best move right now ( as if inconsistency is ever a good parenting move...)
{sigh} I hate parenting days like today...
See I have two main issues with these bathroom-related card changes. First, both incidences were witnessed by another teacher. I'm not saying either teacher is lying or wrong but I do have to question if each has the same standards as Jack's teacher. Do these teachers not allow any talking at all while Mrs. M allows basic conversation but no playing? I don't know. Along that same line, as a teacher, I've always struggled giving consequences for behavior I didn't witness. Sure I'll talk to my kids about the behavior but I've always been a bit wary of applying punishment in that situation. Apparently Mrs. M doesn't share my line of thinking. That last bit isn't really an issue just a pedagogical difference that gets to me a little.
My other issue with the bathroom-related behavior is the expectation in general. Do these teachers really expect 5 year-olds to go to the bathroom, unsupervised, without saying a word to each other? Especially BOY 5 year-olds? Immediately after recess and lunch (when both of the infractions occurred)? I would never even expect my high school students to do that. I'm sure, somewhere, out there in bloggy-world, there is a mom whose 5 year old son would never talk in the bathroom if told not to and I'm sure there is a teacher whose kindergartners would never talk in the bathroom. But in my world that's just not a reality.
And so now I'm stuck. By definition of my own rule, Jack should get in trouble at home for getting in trouble at school. But how do you punish someone when you don't think they deserve it? I'm not sure I can NOT punish him only because of the message of inconsistency it sends. And in the I'm-smarter-than-you-so-I-don't-have-to-listen phase Jack's in, I don't think inconsistency is the best move right now ( as if inconsistency is ever a good parenting move...)
Wednesday, March 2, 2011
Expansion can be a bit painful
We're expanding -- this young family of ours. We're stretching space and hearts and arms to welcome our new member. And as smitten as we are with him and as hopeful as we are that we are his forever family, the expansion hasn't come without its pain.
Some pains are easy to bear, like when I struggle to re-arrange living space to include baby-gear, and toddler-gear and preschool-gear. Or when Luke and I stand together in the church parking lot, the doors closed in a brief moment of silence, as we breath deeply preparing to re-configure the way we get 4 little ones from the parking lot into their classrooms, all without loosing one to cars or crowds. These pains, these baby pains, pass quickly; they are easy.
Other pains aren't so easy, aren't so temporal. Pains of expanding our hearts to welcome a new member. Pains of expanding our social group. Pains of stretching the time I have to meet the needs of my many little ones.
Perhaps the most difficult pains are the ones that cause expansion/adjustment in expectation. We're expanding to welcome Isaac all the while our understanding of his permanency is expanding. We thought it was a "slam dunk" of an adoption case -- at least that's what our social worker said. And now, we know little more other than that certain details have emerged that make it a little less certain. So we expand to love this baby knowing we may have to give him back. We're expanding to having a fourth child while also having to expand our comfort in our own skin. I don't really like unsolicited attention. Being a white mother with a black child means that it doesn't really matter what I like -- the attention is coming. And with each stare, each double-take my confidence wanes just a bit. And my love for Isaac expands. And it hurts just a bit.
When I was pregnant with Jack I knew that childbirth would hurt but what I didn't expect was that to take the bulbous shape of being with child I would hurt. As my body expanded it also pained. And with each baby, each change in our family, each expansion, we've pained a bit. But it's always been so worth it. And this time it will be too.
Some pains are easy to bear, like when I struggle to re-arrange living space to include baby-gear, and toddler-gear and preschool-gear. Or when Luke and I stand together in the church parking lot, the doors closed in a brief moment of silence, as we breath deeply preparing to re-configure the way we get 4 little ones from the parking lot into their classrooms, all without loosing one to cars or crowds. These pains, these baby pains, pass quickly; they are easy.
Other pains aren't so easy, aren't so temporal. Pains of expanding our hearts to welcome a new member. Pains of expanding our social group. Pains of stretching the time I have to meet the needs of my many little ones.
Perhaps the most difficult pains are the ones that cause expansion/adjustment in expectation. We're expanding to welcome Isaac all the while our understanding of his permanency is expanding. We thought it was a "slam dunk" of an adoption case -- at least that's what our social worker said. And now, we know little more other than that certain details have emerged that make it a little less certain. So we expand to love this baby knowing we may have to give him back. We're expanding to having a fourth child while also having to expand our comfort in our own skin. I don't really like unsolicited attention. Being a white mother with a black child means that it doesn't really matter what I like -- the attention is coming. And with each stare, each double-take my confidence wanes just a bit. And my love for Isaac expands. And it hurts just a bit.
When I was pregnant with Jack I knew that childbirth would hurt but what I didn't expect was that to take the bulbous shape of being with child I would hurt. As my body expanded it also pained. And with each baby, each change in our family, each expansion, we've pained a bit. But it's always been so worth it. And this time it will be too.
Tuesday, February 22, 2011
Meet Isaac
I think I've been avoiding this post. As we are learning to navigate the uncertain and often cloudy waters of the foster care system I find myself very unsure of what I'm allowed to share, what I should keep to myself and what constitutes as "privileged" information. Ultimately I'm a bit weary of hiding our new wee one. If you are a facebook friend, please know you will never see a picture of Isaac on that particular social medium nor will you hear much about him. It's just too public an environment with too little control over who and what sees his information, and until he is officially and legally ours we can't take that risk.
Disclaimer over, on to the story of Isaac's arrival.
Sunday, January 23rd, we received a placement call for a 13-month old little boy which we happily accepted. In consistent fashion, we lost that placement. That was our fourth lost placement in 6 weeks. When I found out we lost it, I laughed. It was getting darkly comical -- our willingness to accept any child presented juxtaposed with our inability to actually get our hands on the little ones. Monday, January 24th, I called our placement coordinator (I'll call her Ms. C)around 930am and asked if we could give a blanket "yes" to all calls that fit our criteria (0-5 yrs old, boy or girl, sibling set ok, any ethnicity). At first Ms. C laughed at me. The more I spoke with her she seemed to understand that I wasn't joking and though she said I could do that I don't think she actually took me seriously. Around 1130 that day Ms. C called back for another placement. This time for a 2 week old little boy. He was still in the hospital, recovering from a rough delivery and was about to be discharged. Of course we accepted placement though I admit I failed to get excited at first because I fully expected to be told no again. Unlike the last 4 calls we received word that we actually got the placement. Ms. C arranged for a pre-placement visit and my sister graciously dropped what she was doing to come stay with our kids so we could go to the NICU.
Then we began to do the NICU shuffle -- a dance with which we are all too familiar. Initially we were told Isaac would come home Tuesday but when we arrived at the NICU I could tell by his progress that it would be longer -- he still had some milestones he had to achieve. Wednesday seemed more likely. Of course Tuesday's visit to the NICU brought news that it might not happen until Friday -- two steps back, all part of the dance.
Sidenote: I can't help but think how amazing God's plan is in all of this. No one wants to go to the NICU. No one. But we've been there 3 times with our bio-kids and like it or not we are pretty good at the dance. We know what to ask and how to ask it. We know when to panic and when to relax. We understand the machine beeps without even looking at the monitors and we have a general idea of what to expect before we walk in the door. And while I don't like going to that place and I hate my babies being there, of all the foster parents to give Isaac to it makes sense to give him to us. We walked in that NICU without the fear and trepidation that most people experience, primarily because it wasn't our first (or second or third) time. It has to be a God thing.
As is typical of the NICU, we received a call Wednesday lunch-time that Isaac would come home Thursday and that the doctors wanted us to care-by-parent. Fortunately my sister is great at emergency babysitting calls and was able to keep the other three at home while we spent the night at the hospital. After a very L.O.N.G day Thursday waiting for CPS to arrive with placement papers, we finally signed and headed home to Katy with Isaac in tow, around 5pm.
So far our transition has been an easy one though I've almost been overwhelmed by all the appointments; I hate being "busy" and being a foster parent is defined by busy-ness. We've had to adjust to fielding questions like, "what is he?" and "what's his story?" and "will you get to keep him?". Most questions are complicated -- either because I can't answer because I don't know or because I'm not allowed to answer. Even seemingly innocuous questions like "Is he healthy?" present a challenge.
So here's what I can tell you. Isaac, as you can see from the pictures below, is African-American. His story is that his mom couldn't take care of herself or him -- and that's why he's in foster care. Remember the foster care system doesn't randomly take children from their biological families or because they can find them homes that are a little better than the originals. He is basically healthy, though we are still watching some potential issues left over from a rough start in life. And that's all I can say about his health. Isaac's case is a complicated one so I can't speak with certainty that we will keep him forever. I hope we do. I know that regardless of where he ends up he will always be my Isaac, he will always be my son. That's really all I can say.
What else do I know? I know Isaac is a beautiful little boy with a head of wildly curly hair that I'm still trying to figure out how to care for. He has velvety soft skin that I'm terrible at remembering to moisturize so he gets ashy. Fortunately his skin rewards me when I remember by being so very soft; it's almost as if its training me. Isaac has the most deliciously chubby cheeks and the skinniest little chicken legs. I know he likes to be held and loves to be swaddled and he hates his carseat, and bouncer and swing. I know he likes to eat and is an amazing sleeper. And I know that our journey together won't be an easy one or a speedy one but it will be completely worth it.
Disclaimer over, on to the story of Isaac's arrival.
Sunday, January 23rd, we received a placement call for a 13-month old little boy which we happily accepted. In consistent fashion, we lost that placement. That was our fourth lost placement in 6 weeks. When I found out we lost it, I laughed. It was getting darkly comical -- our willingness to accept any child presented juxtaposed with our inability to actually get our hands on the little ones. Monday, January 24th, I called our placement coordinator (I'll call her Ms. C)around 930am and asked if we could give a blanket "yes" to all calls that fit our criteria (0-5 yrs old, boy or girl, sibling set ok, any ethnicity). At first Ms. C laughed at me. The more I spoke with her she seemed to understand that I wasn't joking and though she said I could do that I don't think she actually took me seriously. Around 1130 that day Ms. C called back for another placement. This time for a 2 week old little boy. He was still in the hospital, recovering from a rough delivery and was about to be discharged. Of course we accepted placement though I admit I failed to get excited at first because I fully expected to be told no again. Unlike the last 4 calls we received word that we actually got the placement. Ms. C arranged for a pre-placement visit and my sister graciously dropped what she was doing to come stay with our kids so we could go to the NICU.
Then we began to do the NICU shuffle -- a dance with which we are all too familiar. Initially we were told Isaac would come home Tuesday but when we arrived at the NICU I could tell by his progress that it would be longer -- he still had some milestones he had to achieve. Wednesday seemed more likely. Of course Tuesday's visit to the NICU brought news that it might not happen until Friday -- two steps back, all part of the dance.
Sidenote: I can't help but think how amazing God's plan is in all of this. No one wants to go to the NICU. No one. But we've been there 3 times with our bio-kids and like it or not we are pretty good at the dance. We know what to ask and how to ask it. We know when to panic and when to relax. We understand the machine beeps without even looking at the monitors and we have a general idea of what to expect before we walk in the door. And while I don't like going to that place and I hate my babies being there, of all the foster parents to give Isaac to it makes sense to give him to us. We walked in that NICU without the fear and trepidation that most people experience, primarily because it wasn't our first (or second or third) time. It has to be a God thing.
As is typical of the NICU, we received a call Wednesday lunch-time that Isaac would come home Thursday and that the doctors wanted us to care-by-parent. Fortunately my sister is great at emergency babysitting calls and was able to keep the other three at home while we spent the night at the hospital. After a very L.O.N.G day Thursday waiting for CPS to arrive with placement papers, we finally signed and headed home to Katy with Isaac in tow, around 5pm.
So far our transition has been an easy one though I've almost been overwhelmed by all the appointments; I hate being "busy" and being a foster parent is defined by busy-ness. We've had to adjust to fielding questions like, "what is he?" and "what's his story?" and "will you get to keep him?". Most questions are complicated -- either because I can't answer because I don't know or because I'm not allowed to answer. Even seemingly innocuous questions like "Is he healthy?" present a challenge.
So here's what I can tell you. Isaac, as you can see from the pictures below, is African-American. His story is that his mom couldn't take care of herself or him -- and that's why he's in foster care. Remember the foster care system doesn't randomly take children from their biological families or because they can find them homes that are a little better than the originals. He is basically healthy, though we are still watching some potential issues left over from a rough start in life. And that's all I can say about his health. Isaac's case is a complicated one so I can't speak with certainty that we will keep him forever. I hope we do. I know that regardless of where he ends up he will always be my Isaac, he will always be my son. That's really all I can say.
What else do I know? I know Isaac is a beautiful little boy with a head of wildly curly hair that I'm still trying to figure out how to care for. He has velvety soft skin that I'm terrible at remembering to moisturize so he gets ashy. Fortunately his skin rewards me when I remember by being so very soft; it's almost as if its training me. Isaac has the most deliciously chubby cheeks and the skinniest little chicken legs. I know he likes to be held and loves to be swaddled and he hates his carseat, and bouncer and swing. I know he likes to eat and is an amazing sleeper. And I know that our journey together won't be an easy one or a speedy one but it will be completely worth it.
Isaac's beautiful face -- the first time we met him
Wednesday, February 16, 2011
Sam is 3 -- almost three months late...
I was doing so well in keeping up with our family milestones. Since I was about a month late documenting Grace's birthday, I thought I'd keep that time frame up with Sam's. Well -- a month after Sam's birthday found us smack in the middle of Christmas and a couple of weeks after that were spent anxiously awaiting placement. I decided I really should document that my son turned three - for my memory and truth be told to ease a little mommy-guilt that he may someday have too much to tell a therapist because he was stuck in the middle.
Anyway -- November 21st Sam celebrated his third birthday! What a celebration it was! The third birthday is celebrated in the Pearson house with a party that for the first time involves friends. Sam declared early on that he wanted a "cookie monster chocolate birthday at Chuck E. Cheese." He held fast to that and so were happy to oblige. We (and the rest of Katy) celebrated Sunday afternoon, the week before his actual birthday. He was in absolute heaven. He received lots of fun gifts and enjoyed thoroughly being the center of attention.
Sam, at three, is losing his baby-ness. His cheeks are slimming and he's losing his toddler tummy rapidly. He's developing "grown-up" hand gestures and facial expressions when he speaks. He loves saying, "that's what I'm talking about" when something funny happens. Sam is still my physical child. He approaches the world through his ability to manipulate it with his hands and feet. And he's still my shy one, always observant but rarely heard by strangers. Of course at home he's a chatterbox and truly enjoying stretching his wings with me at home while Jack is at school. As of his birthday, Sam is still boycotting haircuts and has long flowing locks (TODAY Sam decided to cut his hair...almost 14 months after his last one). He really is a pretty little boy. He has a personality that is all his own -- I often describe him this way: Sam does not walk to the beat of a different drummer; in Sam's world there is no drummer, there is just Sam in a field, spinning in a circle. He frequently chooses outfits that contain the oddest assortment of clothing and accessories, usually worn in a way unintended by the designer. I just go with it -- some things are worth the fight. And I'm proud that he takes the initiative to try to care for himself.
Here's my handsome little man. Oh be still my heart!
Anyway -- November 21st Sam celebrated his third birthday! What a celebration it was! The third birthday is celebrated in the Pearson house with a party that for the first time involves friends. Sam declared early on that he wanted a "cookie monster chocolate birthday at Chuck E. Cheese." He held fast to that and so were happy to oblige. We (and the rest of Katy) celebrated Sunday afternoon, the week before his actual birthday. He was in absolute heaven. He received lots of fun gifts and enjoyed thoroughly being the center of attention.
Sam, at three, is losing his baby-ness. His cheeks are slimming and he's losing his toddler tummy rapidly. He's developing "grown-up" hand gestures and facial expressions when he speaks. He loves saying, "that's what I'm talking about" when something funny happens. Sam is still my physical child. He approaches the world through his ability to manipulate it with his hands and feet. And he's still my shy one, always observant but rarely heard by strangers. Of course at home he's a chatterbox and truly enjoying stretching his wings with me at home while Jack is at school. As of his birthday, Sam is still boycotting haircuts and has long flowing locks (TODAY Sam decided to cut his hair...almost 14 months after his last one). He really is a pretty little boy. He has a personality that is all his own -- I often describe him this way: Sam does not walk to the beat of a different drummer; in Sam's world there is no drummer, there is just Sam in a field, spinning in a circle. He frequently chooses outfits that contain the oddest assortment of clothing and accessories, usually worn in a way unintended by the designer. I just go with it -- some things are worth the fight. And I'm proud that he takes the initiative to try to care for himself.
Here's my handsome little man. Oh be still my heart!
Eeek! I think I may have killed it...
Did I kill this blog? With my month-long hiatus, have I lost so many readers that I managed to kill this thing? I hope not. I have posts -- many posts. But I'm lost in the fog that new mommy-hood brings. We were placed a little over 3 weeks ago with a 2 week old little boy and now I'm swimming in a sea of experts and social workers, all while trying to help our little (ha!) family grow and adjust to a new member.
Don't give up on me yet. I've got plenty of stories to tell and I think I'm beginning to see the light breaking through the fog.
Don't give up on me yet. I've got plenty of stories to tell and I think I'm beginning to see the light breaking through the fog.
Thursday, January 13, 2011
For crying out loud...
I've done a lot of that lately -- crying out loud. Sometimes it's quiet, baby cries usually because the noise of life has quieted and my thoughts and fears and "what-ifs" race in and overwhelm me. And sometimes, like yesterday, it's giant body-shaking sobs, the product of nothing short of heartbreak. Yes, it seems tears are in abundance these days. And yes, it's usually adoption related, although not always my adoption.
I weep daily for sweet little Ugandan angels as I witness their stories thousands of miles away through the writing of another adopting mom. I weep often when I read of others who really get the emotions that I often don't have the ability to express.
But the loudest cries seem to come alone, with no tears, emanating from a deep space within. They don't come often, fortunately. Last night they came though. When the phone rang again with the promise of our new little ones only to bring news that we'd lost them. Again. For the third time. Three times now we've been called and three times now we've opened home and hearts and three times now we've been left without. It hurts friends, I'm not going to lie.
But I know I'll survive; we will survive. And while I may not understand the journey, may be confused by the route, I know that this ride was Divinely appointed. I want it to end that way; it would be such a shame to begin a journey with Divine intervention only to end it with human short-sightedness. And so we'll continue to prepare, continue to pray. We'll continue to open our home and our hearts. We'll continue to wait all the while trying to enjoy the journey.
I weep daily for sweet little Ugandan angels as I witness their stories thousands of miles away through the writing of another adopting mom. I weep often when I read of others who really get the emotions that I often don't have the ability to express.
But the loudest cries seem to come alone, with no tears, emanating from a deep space within. They don't come often, fortunately. Last night they came though. When the phone rang again with the promise of our new little ones only to bring news that we'd lost them. Again. For the third time. Three times now we've been called and three times now we've opened home and hearts and three times now we've been left without. It hurts friends, I'm not going to lie.
But I know I'll survive; we will survive. And while I may not understand the journey, may be confused by the route, I know that this ride was Divinely appointed. I want it to end that way; it would be such a shame to begin a journey with Divine intervention only to end it with human short-sightedness. And so we'll continue to prepare, continue to pray. We'll continue to open our home and our hearts. We'll continue to wait all the while trying to enjoy the journey.
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