Change of Seasons

I look forward to this weekend each year. O plays in the club tournament at his golf course, and I get my boxes of fall decorations out of the closet and go to town. Never mind that it's usually 90+ degrees outside. And that autumn is still a ways away. Today I splashed fall from one end of my house to the other. It is officially overly-decorated. (Frankly, it looks like autumn threw up in here.) I love it.

The last few years I’ve marked the passing of time in our quest to become parents by these little bits of fall color I reach for each August.

I remember getting all this stuff out about four years ago and wondering if the next time I opened those boxes, we’d have a little one in our home or if I’d at least be pregnant.

I remember putting away the fall leaves and pumpkins and bittersweet vines two years ago, thinking, “We just finished our foster/adopt classes! Surely we’ll have a little one by this time next year.” Talk about anticipation!

Last year, I suspect I was flinging pumpkins hither and yon, just trying not to think about how much I loathed our worker, her supervisor, and the entire foster/adoption process.

But this year was different. As I hauled the banker’s boxes into the front room and began to unpack my treasures, a couple of things crossed my mind.

I wondered if we might not have a child in our home by the time these fall colors were packed away in about three months. We have a couple of irons in the fire – nothing concrete of course, but maybe . . . just maybe.

I also thought that if we didn’t have a child come next August when the boxes came out of hiding again, that we probably never would, and believe it or not I’m good with that.

So I guess it remains to be seen.

This time next year will most of my decorations remain safely in boxes, away from little toddler fingers?

Will an older child dip into my box of fall goodies and scurry off with an armful of color to decorate his/her room?

Or will I spend the afternoon as I did today . . . with a scary movie running in the background (“Signs” was today’s choice), thoughtfully trying to decide where each and every wreath and pumpkin and vine would look best, waiting for O to come home and tell me how pretty it looks?

I really don’t know, but I suspect that these coming 365 days will tell the tale. And Heaven knows I’m more than ready for this tale to be told, one way or another. But the nicest part?

All three options make me happy.

Amen

One completed home study, in need of a few easy corrections, in my hot little hand.

As I said just a moment ago on Face*book, this is proof that there are still miracles. And no, I'm not being facetious. To me, after all we've been through, this is an absolute miracle.

Amen.

Winding Down

It was just about 3 ½ years ago that O and I started “trying” to have a baby. After several unsuccessful months, we sought help from a reproductive endocrinologist and when that didn’t feel right for us, we moved on to trying to adopt through the state.

3 1/2 years

In the grand scheme of things that isn’t a long time until you factor in that we’ve been “doing this” for well over half of our marriage, that when we started I was in my late 30’s and am now firmly entrenched in my 40’s, and that my dear sweet husband who was in his mid-40’s is now fast approaching 49.

I’ve begun to wonder recently if we’re not soon coming to the end of this “in pursuit of a child” chapter of our lives.

If you read back through this blog, I’m sure you’ll see twenty places where I am “DONE!” “almost DONE!” or “fed up and this close to being DONE!”

This feels different.

It’s not about yet another screw-up with our home study. (Although oy vey people.)

It’s not a self-protection thing, where I feel the need to bail out before I get hurt again.

It’s not even that this is such a painful situation I can no longer be immersed in it any longer.

In part, it’s about how long I want to continue to live in this limbo. How long do I continue to put pieces of my life on hold waiting for something that truly may never happen?

If I was 25, or even 30, the answer would probably be “a long time yet”. I’d probably have a standing appointment with the RE every week.

But I’m not. We’re not.

We got a call today for a foster placement. Two babies. Lots of legal complications but ultimately, probably no chance of being able to adopt them. Normally I’d fret and stew about it, not wanting to upset our SW or leave the impression that we’re uncooperative or unhelpful by saying “no”. But this time, when O walked out on the porch and explained the situation, my answer was an easy and unqualified “no”.

Part of that is my desire for the out-of-state babies I’ve told you about. I've fallen hard and would love nothing more than to drive to that state, scoop them up, and bring them home tonight. So I guess in a funny way, I’m “saving myself” for them for the next couple of months to see how things play out.

But the other reason why I so readily said “no” to today's foster situation, and why I wonder if we're not approaching the end of this journey is this:

I often find myself asking if it’s still worth it to me to invite the potential chaos and heartache of the foster system into our mostly-peaceful, mostly-lovely little lives.

Two years ago, it was definitely worth it. Heck yes! Sign me up! I was hell bent on it.

One year ago, it was still worth it but my enthusiasm had waned significantly after months of being jerked around about our home study.

Now, I just don’t know. I really don’t. (What I do know is that I am always going to say “no” to a situation where we are told going in that we’ll definitely come out the other side without a child permanently in our home.)

The ironic part is that I think D*C*F*S may have given me too much time to educate myself – to read books and articles and blogs written by people who have chosen the path I was once willing to race blindly down. I remember thinking during our foster/adopt classes how they really laid things on the line and shared some really hard truths with us.

And they did.

But damn. I had NO idea. I once couldn’t even have conceived of things I see adoptive parents write about every day.

A foster/adoptive mommy blogger I respect recently wrote that genetics trump environment 99.9% of the time. Now, is she a scientist studying the lives and behaviors of foster children over time? No. Does she have pages of statistics on foster and adoptive children at her fingertips? I doubt it. Her knowledge comes from A LOT of old-fashioned, homegrown experience – experience you can only get from raising and loving children you didn’t give birth to. Her words were definitely food for thought for me.

Is the risk one I’m still willing to take? My answer is no longer the resounding “yes” is once was, but it’s still “yes”. I don’t know for how much longer, though. I really don’t. It just feels like it’s all winding down for me.

That being said, I reserve the right to change my mind and get completely excited, enthusiastic, and wound back up again at a moment's notice . . . . . . . even before hitting the “publish” button on this post.

Naughty, Naughty Word - Now with P.S.

There is a possibility that we will be considered for two out-of-state babies this fall. Alabam*a has a policy that they won't release our home study to another state for six months after its' approval. For us that would be September 30th. We are concerned that the babies' SW may need to make a decision about their placement around that time and after all we've been through, we don't want to be tripped up by something like timing, for Heaven's sake.


So about three weeks ago, I contacted our SW Jackie in New, Good County and she was going to send us an unofficial copy of our study to get to the babies' SW. That way she'd know what the study said before the official copy was released.


Except that all Jackie had was the incomplete copy of our home study that the Old, Bad County had done, which did not reflect either our second or our third home study visit. Jackie figured that Old, Bad County must have completed it and sent it to the state at some point SINCE WE'D BEEN APPROVED AS ADOPTIVE PARENTS, and she'd just contact Mo*ntgo*mery to get a copy.

(It was at that point that every one of my sirens, bells, and whistles went off simultaneously.)

I e-mailed her every week to see if she'd received it and she hadn't.

On Wednesday, I contacted her again and said, "Jackie, I'm a little bit confused. We transferred from Bad, Old County because our home study was incomplete. I know they didn't finish it, and if you didn't finish it, it is still incomplete."

Guess what?

Our damned home study is still incomplete.

Let me repeat for those of you who simply cannot believe your eyes . . .

OUR DAMNED HOME STUDY IS STILL INCOMPLETE.

The state SW was waiting for A**B**I and F**B**I Clearances, C*A*N Clearances (a child abuse/neglect background check), and documentation of our two final home study visits. Apparently when she received the clearances, she approved us.

J didn't mention anything about us being temporarily un-approved (dis-approved?) and I didn't dare ask the question, so I'm assuming we're still fine. She said she'd simply type up the missing portions and send them to the state.

Uh huh . . . Mmmmkay.

Often when I'm in the midst of a particularly challenging situation, I'll sit back and try to understand the lesson that God's trying to teach me. As you can imagine in the 20 months since we completed our foster/adopt classes and have been trying to get our home study completed (20 freaking MONTHS!!!) I've done a lot of "trying to get the lesson". And this morning I got it . . .

God is trying to teach me patience in the face of total and complete INSANITY.

Okay God, I've got it. Can we move on now? Please?

P.S. If you know me and/or O in real life and hear about this most recent development, one little piece of advice. If you say something even remotely along the lines of "maybe (we) should talk to a supervisor or something", I will wring your neck.


Wring! Your! Neck!


So be warned.