My last post was Dec 2013... plenty to update.
So first of all my last post was that I wouldn't be in the same place by this time 2014. And that's true - and not. Let's back up.
Before last week:
Todd and I have basically spent the past two years fighting for what we want: a family of our own and a space to put them in. We have at time been on more infertility drugs than I would've thought possible, and been pre-qualified for a home loan, and have begged for my job to move me to Bentonville and suffered through IVF and loss and loss and loss. It's felt like we are spinning our wheels and just digging deeper. Little to no progress to be shown.
In March, we started the process to become foster parents. In parallel, we kept talking to the Corporate power-holders about the (hopefully) pending move to Bentonville. We finished our foster parent training by June, and then things really slowed. I had travel planned for work and we had so many things that we had to get done before we could really make too much progress on the process.
In so many ways, going through the process taught us things that made us more prepared than the average new parent, and in others, I felt like we were more and more unprepared. I went through phases of this is going to be great and this is never going to work. Phases of feeling like we were plenty and other times when it seemed like what could we possibly offer?
After last week:
Boy, do I have a delightful mess to clean up!
Last Week, Wednesday, 9:00pm:
We got our first phone call to provide care to a foster child. Actually two children. 13-year old boys. I had let the strange phone number go to voicemail and then listening to the voicemail, my heart was pounding. We hadn't received our temporary license yet. In fact we had another home inspection planned in a couple of weeks. Plus, 13! Todd and I agreed that I should email our case worker and ask her what was up.... how could they place us with kids, without an official license? As I was typing out the email, the phone rang again. This time they asked us if we would be interested in helping out a 5-year old boy, Ryder. I told them Foster agent that we wanted to help but weren't sure if we were actually allowed or not, without a license. She told me we have a license number, so we could help. Ryder was dropped off, wide awake, by 9:30pm. An hour later, I felt like I had been through the ringer, I was exhausted, the dogs were freaking out, and Ryder wasn't tired in the least. In fact, he was hungry, or thirsty, or wanted to go home, or sleep in our room, or on the dogs' beds or needed another story, or to brush his teeth again.... you get the idea?
At this point, I started to panic. Here was this nearly year-long goal being accomplished, and I can't hack it. I can't calm him; I can't calm myself.
Todd was the hero that night. He saw me panicking and went to the Kid Room and laid down on an extra mattress until Ryder was asleep. I was grateful, but not exactly kind to Cassie for her freak-out. I emailed my boss that I wouldn't be in tomorrow morning, our case worker to find out any details we could and silently berated myself for this failure. I also told Todd that he couldn't go to work tomorrow either, in case I had another attack.
Last Week, Thursday, 5:00am:
After little to no sleep, it was finally a reasonable time to start doing things. Off to the store for a booster seat ("What if something happens?? I can't legally drive the kid to the hospital!"), sausage (the night before when asked what he was hungry for, the answer was pancakes and sausages), and toilet paper (Really, Cassie? You let the house run out of toilet paper??!) Then home to wait. We waited for Ryder to wake up. We waited for calls from the case workers. We waited to see if Cassie was going to panic again. At about 9am, we started calling case workers to find out Ryder's routine. His pre-school started at noon. A few minutes later, Ryder woke up, happy and ready to play. Todd entertained him, while I made the pancakes and sausage. Sure enough, that was a good choice - he ate like a champ. By 10:30am, I called my stress-level a 7 and sent Todd to work. I could do this, I could do this, just keep swimming... It went fine. He was picked up at noon, I ran to work for a few hours to catch up at work then home by 4 to meet with DCF, Ryder and his case worker. He was interviewed about his situation, and then the DCF interviewer again left me alone with this kid. It was slightly unnerving the amount of trust they have in us. Anyway, for this evening I had A Plan. And it went off without a hitch. HE WAS ASLEEP BY 8:45PM. Several hours alone with this great kid, dinner, bathtime AND a reasonable bedtime? I wasn't a complete failure and one night's freak-out does not equal I can't do this, I don't get to have a family.
Last Week, Friday 4:15pm:
Friday's routine was pretty much the same except that afternoon, we got a call - the investigation was over, Ryder gets to go home. A short way-station is what we were. This is the good news you are mostly hoping for. It's hard, you hope home is the right place for Ryder. And if it is, then it's really best he's there. And we knew we were temporary place-holders for him. But he was a good kid. He fake sneezes and says "I got a bad cold." Or "a bad cough." Or "Oh my goodness, you are a silly goose." Very polite, kind and generous. He loved the dogs - called them "his buddies." He also loved his room, dragging the DCF interviewer up to show her how "cool" it was. He was a good kid, a great first foster case. I hope he is in a good place.
Todd and I went and celebrated and re-hashed the week, what we wish, what we would do differently, how great that we survived and the dogs survived and the kid seemed happy and okay.
We can do this after all.
So, you see - I'm in the same place, but I'm not in the same place at all.
