Little Mark is going home.

Letter to a Caseworker

This is the e-mail sent from my home to our caseworker this afternoon.

Dear __________________ ,

Please for the love of all that is good and decent, find my owners a child so they'll stop doing things like this to me.

The sooner the better.

Love, Jackson

I was thinking this morning about the number of times we’ve heard someone in the foster/adoption world say the following to us.

“This is the craziest thing I’ve ever seen.”

Or “I’ve never seen this happen before.”

Or “I didn’t even know this COULD happen!”

Of course every “thing” they were talking about involved US and the foster/adopt process.

* 18 months to get our home study completed, with screw-up after screw-up after screw-up

* approved by a staffing of workers to adopt a little boy only to have a person who’d known about and not wanted him for three years swoop in at the very last moment to claim him

* other state refusing to consider us for Chris’ placement because we’re out of state, despite an existing relationship with him (Our caseworker said that they always, ALWAYS want to place a child with someone he/she knows over a stranger, no matter where they live.)

*a judge who always makes termination rulings within 14 days now going on one month of silence

There have been several other situations/occasions but if I think too much about it, it will spoil a beautiful sunny Saturday, and there’s certainly no reason for that. I just find it odd that in all these crazy-never-before-heard-of situations, WE are the common denominator.

Sometimes it’s hard to ignore the fact that it seems like someone has been trying to tell us something. For three years. Or so.

And yet we’re hanging in there. For now.

Time Keeps Tickin'

I was in the tub last night thinking about just how hard this journey has been for us, particularly in the last year. Before that, we had the frustrations of 18 months of trying to just get our home study completed – its’ own particular brand of hell, to be sure. After that, the children we inquired or were contacted about were just faces on a computer screen. We didn’t know them. Meet them. Hug them. Sing them bedtime songs.

Ugh – what a brutal year.

One of the most difficult aspects has simply been the waiting. We’ve lived our lives in blocks of time this year, for sure. If only we could hang on for two more months or three more weeks or four more days or six more hours, the meeting/phone call/court date we’d been waiting for would happen and we’d finally, finally know more and maybe even have an ANSWER. Through those chunks of time, we’re just left hanging, wondering if our dreams will be answered or shattered.

Most of the time, those meeting/phone calls/court dates come and go and there is very little to report. It’s a let down almost every time, but at least we hear something. We’re able to process it and then put yet another “x” on the calendar and start the countdown to the next date.

And then there are the times that we countdown and wait and think, “All we have to do is make it through a few more days”, and that date marked on the calendar comes and goes and we hear absolutely nothing. It prolongs the agony and make no mistake, it is agony.

Amy’s court hearing on Monday? No idea.

The judge’s ruling on Mark’s case? I was told he would rule in two weeks, yet two weeks came and went with no news. Come to find out, he USUALLY rules in two weeks but doesn’t have to, and apparently he hasn’t yet – that or the ruling is sitting on his overworked secretary’s desk waiting to be typed up.

And so we wait some more. And that makes me want to cry.

Amy and her son Chris have been on our radar screens for well over a year.

We’ve known about Amy’s soon-to-be-born child for around seven months.

Little Mark has been in our hearts for eight or nine months.

At one time, it seemed possible that we might be raising all three of these children and I can tell you, we had quite a few semi-panicked “How in the world are we going to do that?” conversations. Silly us.

It appears that all of these situations will finally, finally resolve themselves this week.

We should hear about the judge’s decision re: Mark any time. (Please God.) (And while we’re at it, please let my mom stop calling me over and over and over again – just for today. I jump like I’m shot every time the phone rings.)

Amy’s court hearing to determine whether Chris will be going home or whether her rights will be terminated is this week.

It remains to be seen whether she’ll attend, though, because she is expected to give birth at any moment. We've heard nothing from her about raising this child, as she'd once mentioned, so I guess she's going it alone. Three children under the age of three. Heaven help that girl.

I suspect that as Chris and Mark’s situations reach their resolutions, our dreams of having them in our family will come to an end once and for all, but there is a part of me that will be so happy for them – that maybe, just maybe they will get the stability they deserve. It’s been such a long time coming for them both.

I swear to you, if I make it through this week without an ulcer, it will be a miracle.

Blah and Ugh

Okay, so the child we’re waiting for the judge’s ruling on? It’s Mark. And I don’t mind telling you, my stomach has been in knots for eight days now. Eight days of waiting for the phone to ring. Eight days of obsessively checking e-mails. Eight days of soaring hope. Eight days of just waiting for the bad news to arrive. I can’t concentrate. I don’t want to eat. I don’t want to chat with any of my girlfriends. I just want to WILL the judge to make the ruling. To WILL the caseworker to let us know. To WILL this child into our home and into our lives for the rest of our lives.

I can’t help but think of his bio family. If O and I are feeling this wait so strongly, I cannot imagine how it must be for them. Yes, it was their actions or lack of actions that brought them to this place, but I wouldn’t be human if I didn’t have some compassion for what they must be going through.

I wrote a letter to his caseworker and the caseworker’s supervisor, telling them how much we love him. How much we think of him. How much we’d love to be his parents. The caseworker told us on the morning we decided not to have him move in that if they hadn’t found another adoptive home for him by the time TPR was done (if TPR was done) we would be the first people they came back to. I guess we’ll see if that happens.

In the meantime, I’ve been staying close to home. Enjoying fall. Well, imagining that it’s fall (80 degrees here today – yucko). I made a candy corn wreath yesterday and have the hot glue burns to prove it. I’ve been doing a little bit of Christmas shopping online. Planning a 50th birthday party for O. Today I have been cleaning the house. Except that when you have to stop to check e-mails every 10 minutes, it slows the process down. Speaking of – back to it.

Happy weekend everybody!!!

Fall-ish-ness

Today was one of those nearly-perfect days. Pretty blue sky. Temps too warm for October and too warm for my taste, but at least not scorchingly hot like it's been. O home with me. A nice lunch with my mom and dad. Playing with kitties and a cute one-eyed pup. Leaves crunching under our feet. Huge yellow mums planted on the porch. Pumpkins placed - well -EVERYWHERE. O's grandmother's old green wheelbarrow filled with pumpkins and mums rolled into our front yard. Football on the TV. An autumn spice candle burning in the front room. BBQ in the crockpot and a homemade apple pie bubbling away in the oven. Good friends over to help cheer our team to victory. Boy oh boy do I love fall.

2WW

Since I don't really seem to ovulate, and since we decided not to pursue either IUI or IVF, I never thought I'd have my very own two week wait, but guess what - I do. I am. We are.

There is a foster child we know of who we'd love to adopt (at least based on the information we currently have). The trial to terminate the parents' rights was held recently. The judge has two weeks to rule.

There is certainly no guarantee that we'd be considered for this child if TPR is done. We're simply very hopeful that we would be.

So now we wait.

All those road-tripping days on vacation spent NOT thinking about adopting? I am MORE than making up for them now.

Please oh please oh please let this work out. Oh please.

#'s

20 days since I last posted on this blog
12 days we spent on a road-trip vacation
4202.2 miles (yep 4202.2)
13 states
1 black rental car
1 transmission problem
1 white rental car
2 people who fell in love with Vermont, New Hampshire, and Maine
1 moose
1 round barn
1 round church
2,775,482 times we said the word “pretty!” or some variation of it
1 pesky cow messing up my idyllic Vermont farm picture
1 loving husband trying to shoo the pesky cow (Cows will not be shooed, by the way. They will look at you like you are an idiot.)
1 drive-thru worker who had trouble understanding my husband’s accent
2 old mills
4 lighthouses
8 covered bridges
1 cider mill
2 warm cider donuts (Yum!)
1 sugar house
1 jug of the best apple cider you’ve ever tasted
3 nights in a harbor-front room with a to-die-for view
1 happy man eating seafood to his heart’s content
50 (or so) antiques stores and malls
1 trunk filled with wonderful antiques
1 surprise drive straight through the Bronx (do not blindly trust your Garmin, people)
1 stolen afternoon in PA Amish country
countless country roads and beautiful leaves of yellow, red, and orange
1 jaw-dropping sunset
2 tired travelers who made a lifetime of memories and were happy to be home

And the most surprising . . .

1 – the number of times I thought of fostering, adopting, Mark, or Chris and Amy

One time. Pretty strange. And very welcomed.

Bittersweet

^^^^^^^^ Isn't my pup cute??? ^^^^^^^

Since I last wrote, I’ve had not one but two yard sales. The one at my mom’s house was very successful (to the tune of about $1000), but when we were done, I still had some really nice items left – a lot of brand new kids' clothes and toys. My yard sale rule is that one box of leftovers can come back into the house. The rest goes to the Salvation Army. I just couldn’t send all of that brand new stuff to the SA without at least trying to sell it one more time, so I had another sale at my house last weekend. We only had probably thirty people attend, but I made a bit more money and O and I had a good time. I gave a lot of stuff away. There were two couples come through who had new babies and didn’t appear to have much else. Very shabby clothes and cars that looked like they were held together with bond-o and twine. I gave them armloads of stuff. They seemed baffled as I kept raking things into their arms, but were very appreciative. It felt good to see those things going to homes where they were truly needed. Our neighbor’s daughter has a little boy a couple of years younger than Mark, so I folded a lot of the clothes we’d bought for him into plastic bags, threw in two pairs of shoes and some DVD’s, and sent them to her. A few things I couldn’t part with, though – a couple of shirts Mark wore, and a blue and white outfit I fell in love with and bought for him. Those came back into the house and went directly back into his closet. “His” closet. Isn’t that funny? We still call it “Mark’s room”.

O and I took my mom to brunch on Sunday at her very favorite place – the Cracker Barrel. I think she likes shopping there as much as she enjoys the food. As we were seated, I noticed a family of four at the table directly in front of me. Their little boy had his back to me but from behind, it could have been Mark. Same age, same hair, same build and strangely enough, wearing the same blue and white outfit I’d “rescued” from the donate box the day before. If I was someone who believed in signs, I’d have had a field day with that little situation, let me tell you.

Our caseworker came to meet with us yesterday. I know I’ve said it before, but I really do think she’s great. We had a good long talk and she rekindled our hope that we might, MIGHT be able to adopt Mark. Now, don’t get too excited. We’d thought there might be a 1% chance. I’d say that now there might be a 5% chance. LOTS of things have to happen before that would even be a remote possibility, but our talk was enough to send up spinning – thinking and talking about Mark all afternoon and into the evening. As I told her, we would do just about anything to be able to adopt that little guy.

So it’s pretty much been “All Mark All the Time” around here which has made for a few bittersweet days, but I try to focus on the “sweet” part of the bittersweet, and just keep on hoping.

I Thought It Would Have Been Me

I have always wanted to be a mom. One of my first memories was holding my newborn cousin when I was about three years old. I had no idea what he was, but I knew he was magic and that I wanted one.

O, not so much. He likes kids and is fantastic with them, but he just never thought about being a dad. It’s like it never occurred to him. Of course, this is the guy who never wanted to get married until he had a change of heart in his early 40’s.

So, I always thought that in this whole foster/adopt process, I would be the one who would be devastated if we fell in love with a child and had to say goodbye. Don’t get me wrong. I knew O would be affected. He’s a loving, caring person. But I thought I would have the more difficult time if things didn’t work out.

We said yes to Mark knowing he was a legal risk placement – that his birth family was working to get him back. I kept that in mind as we met him, spent time with him, and pretty quickly fell head over heels for him. I knew that there was probably heartache just around the corner but didn’t care. O? Well, I think it was over for him the moment the car door first opened and we saw Mark. His heart was set on him being ours forever. Logically, he knew that probably wouldn't be the case, but his heart was having none of it.

It’s been really hard for O to shake off what happened with Mark – much harder than either one of us had realized. While I still miss Mark and wish things could have turned out differently, it's my husband who is still actively mourning the loss of that little boy.

It’s so strange . . . I thought it would have been me.

Update

The hearing for Amy/ Chris has come and gone. O and I did not go, but according to Amy, not much happened. The G*A*L seems to be the only one involved in the legal process who is concerned by the fact that Chris has been in foster care his entire life. He was also vocal in asking why we had not been seriously looked at for Chris. The judge’s response was something along the lines of “That will be discussed at the next hearing”. It seems that during the next court hearing a decision will be made as to whether this case will move to reunification or to TPR. If the plan is reunification, of course we’re out of the process. If it’s TPR, I guess theoretically we have a chance. But again, D*C*F*S makes that decision – not the judge – and last we heard, we were not going to be considered. So forgive us if we’re not turning handsprings at this latest development.

(Note to D*C*F*S worker in other state– IF YOU’RE NOT GOING TO CONSIDER US, SEND US BACK OUR DAMNED SCRAPBOOK, OR THE $40 TO REPLACE IT. I SENT YOU A SASE. HOW DIFFICULT IS IT????)

I did hear from Amy in response to my letter asking if she still wanted us to adopt Chris. The message she left was very sweet – that she hadn’t forgotten about us, that D*C*F*S was giving her the runaround about where her case was going, but that if Chris could not/would not be returned to her, she definitely wanted us to raise him. Again, no handsprings as D*C*F*S doesn’t care what Amy wants for her son, but it’s nice to know where she stands. She didn’t bring up the soon-to-be-born baby, but I didn’t expect her to. At least she knows we’re willing to adopt him/her. That’s good enough for me.

Did I mention that O and I went to the Gulf Coast for a few days? Oh my, if ever two people needed to get away, it was us. O had to work down there, so we went a couple of days early, got an oceanfront room with a balcony, and had a wonderful time. We arrived in the middle of a steady rain and couldn’t have cared less. We bought O his first pair of flip flops (how does a man make it to age 49 without having owned flip flops, may I ask?), marched out to the beach, took pictures and got soaking wet. The waves were really crashing, the sand was its’ usual beautiful white, and all was right with the world. In between beach/balcony time, O did his part to support local fisherman, eating seafood for every lunch and dinner. I researched the area locations that had been featured on “Diners, Drive-Ins and Dives” and we visited two or three of those. Yummmmm. We did a little bit of antiquing, walked on the pier to watch the sunset one evening, and generally relaxed.

We were on the Mississippi Gulf Coast for a couple of days for his work projects and we were shocked at all of the destruction that still remains from Katrina (5 years to the day, in fact). Mile after mile right on the beach where homes and businesses used to stand were still sitting vacant and overgrown.

This week I’m gearing up for a garage sale at my mom’s house to make some "mad money" for our upcoming New England trip. Why do those things sound like such great ideas until it’s time to actually HAVE THEM??? So, I’m off to find my masking tape and get back to pricing. I’m selling three boxes full of Mark’s clothes and toys. It was hard to pull them out one at a time and remember how excited we were when we bought all those things, and remember him playing with and wearing some of the them, but it’s even harder having them in the closet and seeing them every time I open the doors for something. I dread having to explain why we have so many brand new clothes and toys for sale. I know someone will ask. Boy oh boy, do I have a story for them.

Worth It? * Now With Clarification * Kind Of *

I have quite a few “real life” friends, bloggy friends, and family members who have made their way through infertility and have come out the other side with beautiful children of their own. And I’ve noticed that, at one point or another (and usually within their first year of parenthood) almost every one of them has said something along these lines:

Everything we went through – all the pain and the heartache and the frustration – it was all absolutely worth it.
 Quite often the context is a “hang-in-there-and-keep-fighting – you’ll-be-so-glad-you-did” kind of way – either directed towards me or towards their readers in the blogosphere. And while I appreciate the sentiment, I often want to look at them (or write to them) and say,

“Are you sure? Are you sure I’ll be so glad I did? Are you sure it will have been worth it for me? Of course it was worth it for you. You ultimately got exactly what you wanted. You got a child. But what if you hadn’t? What if you went through IF treatments and/or tried to have a biological child through a surrogate and/or adopt and you came to the end of the road and it simply didn’t work out for you? What then? Would you still be able to confidently and passionately proclaim that it was all “absolutely worth it”?
 We are much closer to the end of this journey than we are to the beginning. We will not do this for another four years. Guaranteed. If I’m being honest, I can’t imagine still being in this limbo even a year from now. And I have to wonder, if we do reach the end of this road with no child to love, will it have been worth it? The pain, the heartache, the frustration, not to mention the wasted time, the wasted money, the relationships that are changed forever (not mine and O’s thankfully, but with others)? Will it all have been worth it?

What started me thinking about this is a talk I had with O the other morning. He admitted that he’s been in a funk. He’s not depressed, but O is someone who generally rolls with the punches and goes on with his life - much better than I do. It’s not that he’s Little Mary Sunshine all the time, but he’s much better at accepting things for what they are and moving on. But what is currently happening with Chris, and more so what happened with Mark back in the spring has really gotten to him. And that makes me sad. And it makes me think that we should call this whole thing off sooner rather than later so we can just mourn and be done. Because if this is negatively impacting my husband, who I love more than anything or anyone in the world, then I can raise my hand and say that this is absolutely, positively no longer worth it.

Not even close to worth it.

*Thanks for the comments and e-mails in response to this post. I guess what I wrote wasn't clear, maybe because my thoughts on the subject aren't quite clear to me yet.

I will never regret giving foster/adoption my all once we decided to dive into it. As I wrote on a previous post, I'm an "In for a penny - in for a pound" kind of girl and want to know that if things don't work out the way we want them to, I did everything I could.

What I was talking about was more the choice to get into it in the first place. When/if we reach the end of the road without a child, will I be able to look back and say "I'm glad we did this - it was worth all we went through."? I can't imagine that my answer would ever be "yes".

In fact, in one of the e-mails I received yesterday, someone (hi someone!!!) asked me if I'd known then what I know now, would I do it all again. Right now, the answer is a resounding "no way", so maybe there's my answer.

No Regrets

I have been emotionally neck-deep in the Amy/Chris saga for six months. That's a long time, particularly when you're an "all in" kind of girl like me. I can prattle on about protecting my heart and not getting my hopes up so I won't get hurt, but it's all talk. I'm not protecting anything. To give you some idea of how badly we wanted to be Chris' parents, when it became clear that only in-state families would be considered for Chris, O and I actually sat down and discussed the logistics of getting an apartment in Chris' county for the long haul. THAT'S how badly we wanted to adopt this child. O and I don't even like to be apart for one night. Cannot stand it. And yet we were actually discussing being in two different states indefinitely.

So, since we got the e-mail from Chris' worker 13 days ago letting us know that we would not be considered for him, I have been trying to make peace with the fact that unless some sort of miracle occurs, we really aren't going to get the opportunity to be Chris' parents. I know that I will eventually be fine and that the pain will fade away, but before I could truly start to let it go, I knew I had to do one final thing.

I wrote the judge a letter. It read as follows:


My name is ___________. My husband O and I are the couple that Amy _______ contacted about adopting her son Chris.

I’ve been friends with Chris’ foster mother for years and my husband and I visit her home and her family often. As such, we’ve known Chris since he was an infant and have been fortunate enough to watch him grow into the darling toddler he’s become.

As you may recall, we are approved foster and adoptive parents in the state of Alabama. When Amy approached us about adopting Chris last winter, we were surprised but did not have a moment’s hesitation – it was an immediate “yes”. At that point, we suspended our adoption search to be available for anything that Chris' County's D*C*F*S might need from us. Being a resource for Chris was and is our very top priority.

On July 14, 2010, I sent Chris' caseworker, ____________, our approved home study and a scrapbook that illustrates our life. Almost a month later, I e-mailed Ms. _________ to confirm that she had, in fact, received the things we’d sent.

I received a reply on August 13, 2010 wherein Ms. _______ informed me that regardless of our existing relationship with him and the fact that we are an approved adoptive home, we will not be considered for Chris. Ms. __________ said that if he is not reunified with Amy, he will be placed on the waiting list for the state of ___________. She went on to say that if no one in-state wants to adopt him, then we might be considered.

This, of course, has broken our hearts. It has also confused us because it’s our understanding that D*C*F*S had, on more than one occasion, begged Amy to find a suitable placement for her son and in choosing us, that is exactly what she did.

It had been our intention to attend the next hearing on Chris' case, and to be present to answer any questions you may have for us. But given the fact that D*C*F*S has said they will not even consider us as a potential placement for Chris, we have elected not to come.

However, we did not want you to mistake our absence for apathy. My husband O and I still care very much for Chris and would be absolutely honored to be his parents. If he were placed with us, we would do everything within our power to make sure he has the opportunity to live a joyful and successful life.

We are more than happy to answer any questions you may have for us, either now or in the future. Our contact information is as follows: _________________________.

Thanks so much for your time and consideration Judge _________ . We truly appreciate it.

Do I believe that this letter will make a difference? No, I don't. This judge has already said he has no jurisdiction to make D*CF*S do anything, and D*C*F*S doesn't want us to have Chris, even if Amy does. Even if the judge does. But I wanted the judge to know that we would have loved and cherished Chris for the rest of our lives. Even if it doesn't make a difference.

Above all, though, I wanted to be able to look back on this situation with no regrets. None. I wanted to be confident that I'd done everything I knew how to do. And now I have.

However, there is one thing that, after lots of soul searching, I can't do. I have a new number for Amy, but I can't bring myself to call her, for several reasons.

First of all, as I've mentioned before, Amy is really shy and awkward and I don't want to catch her off guard with such a question and have her feel backed into a corner.

Secondly, Amy has a history of telling people what they want to hear - whatever gets her out of an uncomfortable situation in the moment. I simply can't trust what she says.

Thirdly, I'm just starting to heal. If I hear Amy say, "Of course I want you to adopt Chris", I will be back in it up to my neck, setting myself up for more heartache because again, D*C*F*S does not care what Amy wants. It would be like ripping open a wound that's just starting to heal.

Finally, I am someone who is pretty focused on doing the things I have to do to reach my goals. Maybe it's the only child in me - the "I want it when I want it how I want it and I'm going to MAKE it happen" syndrome. As such, it is very easy for me to lose perspective and continue trying to push forward to get what I want (in this case, to be able to nurture and spoil that little man for the next 20 years or so) when it might just be over. I have to get better at that - at knowing when it's time to congratulate myself for fighting the good fight and get on with my life.

(I also get caught up in the principle of things - I should continue to fight Chris' state's D*F*C*S because what they are doing is flat out wrong. It is. And on principle , I should battle it out with them. But I have learned one thing very clearly in the last 3 years. The foster care system is fraught with injustice. With outrageous situations. With abuse of power. With heartache. And truly, there is nothing I can do about it. I can fight D*C*F*S with every cent I have and with every breath in my body and I will lose, because as a hopeful foster/adoptive parent I have absolutely no power in this situation. Whatsoever.)

Am I open to a miracle? You bet I am. I believe that miracles happen every day. My marriage is evidence of that. If I get even a slight indication that there is any hope whatsoever, I am back on board. 100%. But right now, I simply don't see any hope. None at all.

Amy is going to have a new baby one of these months. She mentioned maybe doing a placement plan with us when the child is born. I did write her a letter telling her we'd be honored to raise her baby. I wanted her to know. I wanted her to remember. I wanted there to be no confusion about where we stand on the subject. Again, do I think that letter will make a difference? No, I guess I don't. Not really. But it's all about having no regrets.

So tonight I'm going to hit the "publish post" button, go take a nice long bath, climb into bed with my husband, and instead of thinking about Chris' beautiful eyes and his boat paddle feet, I am going to instead try and congratulate myself on a fight well fought, and try . . . try . . . try to move on with my life with no regrets. I guess that's all I can do . . . try.

?!?!?!?!?!?!?!??!?

It’s amazing how just getting away from the house and spending some time with my husband fills up my soul’s depleted reserves.

This weekend we went to a nearby state, visiting a beautiful old (still open) country store and a mill set high on a bluff with water cascading down to the river below. I think it was one of the prettiest mill sites we’ve ever been to. On the way home, we stopped to see the new addition to our college team's football stadium and had a picnic across the street.

When we are off together driving whatever highways and byways we happen to find ourselves on, I am never sad or frustrated about our foster/adoption journey. Ever. In fact, I rarely even think about it during those times. Occasionally one or the other of us might bring up a particular child or situation we are involved with at the time, but for the most part we just enjoy being together. So much.

Something kind of startling has happened to me twice in the past month when we are off on our adventures. Both times I’ve been riding along with O, listening to the radio with nothing in particular on my mind, and the very clear thought has popped into my head:

“There is nothing missing from our lives. Not one thing. I’m so glad it’s just the two of us.”

?!?!?!?!?!?!??!?!?!??!?!?!?

Let me tell you, that’s a pretty shocking thought for a girl who has chosen to put her and her husband through hell for 4 years trying to add a child to their family.

Looks like I have some thinking to do, huh???

Autumnal

I love the fall. I love everything about it. Sometimes during the long summer months I crave fall deep down in my soul. Sweaters and leaves swirling and apple cider and acorns hitting the roof. Just writing those words makes me smile.

So imagine how big my grin was when earlier this week, my darling husband came home with the prettiest, orangest pumpkin you'd ever want to lay eyes on. Yes, it's 90+ degrees with 90+ percent humidity outside, but in my house it's beginning to look a lot like autumn. And that's a good thing. Our cute kitty cat thinks so too.

Brain Dump

Emotionally depleted. That best describes how I’m feeling this afternoon. This has been such a long, brutal journey trying to add to our family, and I’m definitely feeling the effects at the moment.

For the first time in ages, I’ve been scanning through heart galleries and state’s “waiting children” websites. I’ve even inquired on several, knowing that if the kids made it onto those websites, they most likely have issues greater than O and I feel equipped to take on.

I’ve gotten quick responses to most to the inquiries and some interest, which is heartening. Our information has been plugged into the state website for 16 months and we’ve never received a call from them. We’ve inquired on probably 10 separate in-state kids’ cases and have received a response only one time. No “thank you for your interest but you’re not a match”. Nothing. So to talk to the out-of-state workers (actually TALK to them), and to have them seem interested in us being a possible match for one of their kids – it’s what’s keeping us moving forward at this point.

We’ve mostly hit dead ends with our inquiries thus far. The kids need to be adopted in-state, are too troubled, are already matched with another family, or are no longer available for one reason or another. That’s okay. I expect that. It’s like sending out resumes. For every 50 you send out, 2 or 3 of them might turn into “something”. Most go nowhere.

As for the Amy/Chris situation . . . . ugh . . . . I’m not even sure I want to think about it at the moment. We are in limbo, trying to gather information to see if we should even go to the court hearing.

If Amy still wants us to raise Chris, and if the judge has any questions for us, we should be there. BUT, the judge has already said that he ultimately can’t order D@F@C@S to place Chris anywhere. He can only order them to investigate us, and it’s been made clear that they have no interest in even considering us for him.

Unless every waiting family in their state doesn’t want him.

Then we “might” be considered.

Every time I even THINK about those words, well, I can’t even explain how angry it makes me. Who the hell do they think they are? (All powerful – that’s who they think they are. Know why? 'Cause they ARE!) We have put our lives on hold for six months because THEY begged Amy to find a family for her son. She did. We would walk through fire for him. And they don’t give a shit. Unless they can’t place him as easily as they anticipate and THEN we MIGHT be considered. Do you know how badly I’d love to call and tell them exactly where to go? Oh my. It would not be pretty.

So the point of that rambling was to say that I don’t think being in the court would make a difference. Even if the judge loves and adores us and would like to deliver Chris to our doorstep with a big bow tied around his neck, he can’t give him to us. D@FC@S decides, and they don’t want us to have him. Period.

There is a slight possibility that if it’s presented to the judge that D@FCS begged Amy to find a placement and told her that Chris could and would be placed there if it was appropriate, he might be able to intervene – or to at least make the workers very uncomfortable as they have to answer why Amy was either mislead, lied to, or given incorrect information. He just might MAKE THEM go forward because that’s what they told Amy they would do. But that would require an attorney who 1. had any idea whatsoever about the case and 2. gave a shit. Hers does not.

The other “if” in this equation is if Amy even still wants us to adopt Chris, or if we were contacted as a desperation measure when she was in the midst of crisis and thought D@FC@S was about to file for TPR at any moment. I truly don’t know. It was suggested that we call her and simply find out, particularly since the next court date is right around the corner. But I just don’t want to call her out of the blue. (She has no voicemail so I can’t leave her a message.)

Amy is very shy and nervous and I don’t want to catch her off guard with such a question. (It's not like I'm calling to find out if she'll sell us her car, for heaven's sake!!!) I’m afraid that if she is having second thoughts, or if she has changed her mind, she will feel pressured to tell me what she thinks I want to hear and not necessarily what’s in her heart.

So I am hopeful that I can get a note to her asking her to get in touch with us if it’s still her wish for us to raise Chris. That way, she can call if she’s still on board and if not, she has an easy, graceful way to deliver that message without causing her any fear or discomfort. I really do like her and don’t want to make life any harder for her than it already is, or to appear like I'm intimidating her in any way.

Today I want to walk away. I want to call our caseworker and tell her to shred our file, and then invite her out for lunch. I think we could really be good friends if we hadn’t met under these insane circumstances. I want to gather the contents of the entire filing cabinet drawer devoted to adoption and take it out to our burn pile and watch it go up in flames. I want to get rid of every single thing that we joyfully bought in anticipation of the child we’d soon call our own. I want to repaint our “kid’s room” and put up my farm table and my antique paintings and use it for a crafting/sewing/computer room. I want to call the adoption worker in Other State and let her know just how much agony her flippant “Oh Chris is still considered an infant and has no problems – he’ll be simple to place so we’ll keep him in-state” decision has caused – a decision that was made without knowing one single thing about us. I want to find Mark’s mother and tell her just what I think of her – of the things she exposed her child to – of the lie she told. I want to remind her that karma is a bitch.

In this moment, I want to be done. So very badly. I truly truly do.

Family

Today would have been my grandad’s 98th birthday. (And yes, I know it’s spelled “granddad”, but I always spelled it the other way when it came to him.) He was a tall, skinny, wonderful, loving man who would have smiled while giving you the shirt off his back. He worked so hard to care for his family. When my grandmother’s kidneys failed, he got trained to do kidney dialysis and they got a machine and she had treatments at home for years. He also put up with a lot from her. Though I loved her dearly, she was extremely overbearing and he took everything she dished out with grace and dignity. He passed away in 2000 and one of my greatest regrets is that he and O never met. They would have gotten a kick out of each other.

I got a call this morning from my grandfather’s niece who I hadn’t talked to in 10 years. She’d done some family history research and wanted to send me a copy. She didn’t remember that it was Grandad’s b-day, and I think that her getting in touch today of all days was his way of letting me know that he's still around. Sounds silly, but that’s what I think.

Happy birthday Grandad ~ I was so very blessed to be your granddaughter and miss you every day.

On the polar opposite extreme, last night our 20-year-old nephew (think pot-smoking hippie wannabe who fancies himself to be much smarter than he actually is) posted a video on his FB page which purports to show that it was a missile that hit the second Worl*d Trade Cent#er tower – not an airplane. I didn’t think it was physically possible to actually “see red”, but I did. I was and am livid. My response was that my dear friends who lost their only son on that very flight would be ecstatic to learn that he was, indeed alive and did not die in a fireball over NYC, because there was no plane and therefore, there were no passengers. I told him that I thought posting that video was shameful.

He is nothing if not predictable, and responded by saying that the shameful thing was the li*es our government told its’ people about what happened on 9/#11.

I attended the memorial service for our family friend. I heard his mother’s wails and watched as they nearly had to carry her from the chapel after the service was over. I saw his father’s eyes go from sparkling blue and full of life to sad and blank and wounded. I cannot imagine the horror they live with every day of their lives as they imagine their son’s final moments. And for our spoiled, smug, clueless nephew to post something like that feels like an attack on two of the best people I’ve ever known. It’s all I can do not to get in my car and drive to his parents’ house and tell him exactly what I think of him. But I won’t. He’d love the attention. And nothing would change.

Aaaaah family – ya gotta love ‘em.

...blah...blah...blah...

Do you remember the episode of "Friends" where Joey was reading "The Shining" for the first time, and when he'd get really scared he'd put the book in the freezer? (That makes perfect sense to me, by the way.) So as I was reading the e-mail from Chris' caseworker on Friday afternoon, I reached over, plucked the photo I had of Chris from the bulletin board beside my desk and ripped it into 100 pieces. It wasn't a fit of anger or anything. I just knew that I could not look at that photo and keep it together. So I put the pieces in the garbage. And then I took them out of the garbage, put them inside an empty wet wipes container, and put it back into the garbage. Buried at the bottom under a week's worth of paperwork. Because you can never be too careful.

O and I are not *quite* done with the Chris/Amy situation. Our confusion comes from the fact that the judge explicitly told social services to investigate us as a possible placement for Chris, but it was very clear in the caseworker's e-mail that we were never under consideration - that they are "saving him" for an in-state family. I am interested to see how the CW reconciles those two things, so it is possible that O and I and our bright shiny faces will be in the courtroom for the next hearing, in case the judge has any questions for us. That's provided that Amy still wants us to raise her son, of course. Hoping to get some clarification about all that soon.

This was such a blow for us. We were both just so hopeful that finally, FINALLY things were going to go our way. But one of the things I respect so much about O is that he when he gets hurt or upset, he picks himself up and keeps on going pretty quickly. I am more of a "sit and stew for a while" kinda girl.

Overall I think I'm doing pretty well, though. O and I took to the highway Saturday and visited an old mill a couple of hours from home. He has this thing for mills. I have this thing for photographing mills. We had a fun lunch, listened to hours of '70's music on XM, drove through darling little country towns, and enjoyed the beautiful afternoon sunshine (in air conditioned comfort). Sunday O played golf and I straightened up the house and spent some time quilting. Then yesterday I looked at state adoption photo listings and heart galleries for half the morning. And I wasn't so very sad.

Of course, it is POSSIBLE that I could have a teensy tiny bit of underlying anger. Like at Friday evening's dinner when I was standing in line at the salad bar behind a man who was choosing each leaf of lettuce one at a time. Literally. It was ridiculous and pronounced enough that I wondered if I was on a hidden camera show. And just for a fleeting moment, I considered grabbing the salad tongs from his hand and thunking him on the head with them. I figured that would get the line moving again. So, there MAY just be a bit of residual anger and pain to work through yet. Just guessing. Ha.

I did contact Faraway State regarding a sibling group on their heart gallery website. I'm not sure if they've contracted out their adoption placement services to a private company or what, but I was floored by the speed of the responses I received. Within two hours of my inquiry, I had spoken to two people, received two e-mails, been given three peoples' office and cell numbers, and had, at the caseworker's request, forwarded our home study to the kids' adoption worker. And my favorite part? The messages on their voicemails that say the following: "You have reached the office of Case Worker. I am unable to take your call but if you will leave a message, I'll contact you within 48 business hours. If I do not contact you within 48 business hours, please call my supervisor Head CaseWorker at 555-555-5555." Are you KIDDING ME????? It was joyful! Anyway, I am now waiting for the adoption worker to get back in touch. I have no idea if we are a fit for these little ones or not, but my goodness it was refreshing to actually get e-mails and phone calls returned in such a timely manner. Who knew?

Not Bad

How can you have a bad weekend when you go beautiful places like this . . .

and spend your Sunday afternoon quilting with the likes of this little monkey?

Gaviscon Take Me Away

I decided that taking up drinking at my age would be a foolish response to my current mini-breakdown. I'd still be devastated, with added drunkenness, weeping, and vomiting.

I was planning instead to dive headfirst into a vat of chocolate peanut buttery frozen goodness and eat my way out, but turned the car around on our way to the ice cream shop. I knew my heart would be all kinds of fluttery with the introduction of that much sugar that quickly, cause honey, I was going to inhale that ice cream.

So what rebellious act did I choose as my big "SCREW YOU" to this hellacious day?

I got french fries with my blackened chicken at dinner tonight, instead of my traditional baked potato with a dab of butter on the side. And I washed it down with actual SPRITE, instead of the healthful water with lemon.

That's right people.

I threw caution to the wind.

I lived dangerously.

I ate every bite of those fries.

I didn't count one single calorie. SCREW YOU TOO WEIGHT WATCHERS, while we're at it.

And you know what?

I'm still heartbroken - now with added reflux.

Dammit.

Boom

Earlier this week I sent the following e-mail to Chris' worker:

Hi Miss Caseworker,

I found your e-mail address online and wanted to quickly touch base with you. O and I hope that you can help us with a couple of questions we have.

First of all, we wanted to make sure that you got our scrapbook and home study and see if you had any questions that we could answer for you.

Secondly, we wanted to see if you would share with us what Your County is thinking in regards to us being a possible placement for Chris.

While we understand that he isn't available for adoption at this point, our concern is this:

We've placed our adoption search on hold for about seven months, since Amy first approached us about raising her son. We were and are happy to do that. We adore Chris and are willing to wait almost forever for the chance to be his parents, if there is a realistic possibility that Your County will consider us for him. However, if we will not be considered for him - because we are out-of-state, or there is another family in mind for him, or for any other reason, we'd like to know that so we can contact our caseworker and restart our adoption search.

We absolutely understand that you can't predict what will ultimately happen with Amy's case, or make us any promises or guarantees of what the future holds. All we're really looking for is some assurance that if TPR is done, we will be seriously considered as an adoptive resource for Chris.

O and I would be so grateful for any light you may be able to shed on this situation or for any advice you may have for us. We look forward to hearing from you.

Thank so much.


Her response arrived just a few minutes ago. The dagger to the heart part???

If Chris does go up for adoption I have been told that we would have to first go to our non-special needs waiting list in our state for any possible families to adopt Chris. If there are none found, then we may be able to consider you as a possibility. This is part of policy that we have to follow.

Seven months of hopes and dreams blown apart with three sentences. I don't know how much more of this I can take. Truly.

Is 42 too late to take up drinking?

Three Years Ago Today

Poor foolish girl. She had no idea.

August 13, 2007

Waiting For the Stars to Fall

Since last we “met” my fingers have been burning up the keyboard as I’ve scoured the Internet looking for everything I can find on the foster-to-adopt process. There’s certainly a lot of information out there which makes a overly-researching, overly-organized girl like me very happy. But I’m sure you can guess the first thing I went in search of . . . foster-to-adopt blogs. There are plenty to be found. In fact, I plan to spend this sweltering afternoon digging in to read some of them from the beginning, following these women from where I am now to that elusive and magical place called “motherhood”.

The main thing I learned this weekend is that we have A LOT to learn, but I already feel more knowledgeable on the topic and am eager to find out more.

Yes, I definitely read some horror stories but there were so many more that had happy endings. I truly believe that we are finally on the right path to our own “happy ending”.

O and I have had several conversations over the weekend about what types of children we feel would fit best into our family. He’s having a hard time with the concept of narrowing it down. He said it feels cold – like deciding what features you want on your new car. I agree, but ultimately we have to make the call. There are definitely certain situations we would be unwilling/unable to accept, so we’re thinking and talking and trying to work it out in our own minds.

I’ve already received our introductory paperwork from the state and have it filled out. The next orientation for the 10-week GPS (Group Preparation and Selection) classes in our county is mid-September. I called the county next to ours and theirs start next Monday, so I left a message hoping that it’s not too late to join that class. I am so ready to get started. As I’ve said in previous posts, I have felt that my life has been on hold for the past year. I am ready, ready, ready to get on with it.

We had such a lovely weekend. My FIL is having his hip replaced tomorrow so I thought it would be fun to get the extended family together for a barbecue on Saturday, since he won’t feel up to a big gathering like that for a while. I turned up the radio in my kitchen and cooked all day, making all sorts of fun things. (Triple Decker Strawberry Cake with Strawberry Buttercream Frosting anyone?!?! Mmmmmm!) We had a great time. I just love when our cute little house is packed to the gills with family and friends, people wandering around visiting, kids racing in and out the back door, and me taking care of all of them.

Then last night, O and I threw a bunch of pillows and blankets into the back of his pickup and drove into one of the pastures behind our house to watch the Perseid meteor shower. It’s so beautiful back there with the heavens spread out above us and the crickets and frogs singing up a storm. As we laid there holding hands, searching the skies and talking, I couldn’t help wondering if next year when the Perseids return, we’ll have a little one tucked safely between us, waiting for the stars to fall.

For the first time in years, I can honestly say that I believe the answer to that question is “yes”, and that makes me smile.

Dreams Come to Life

When I was 15, my father took a promotion with his job and we moved to a suburb of Chicago. For this girl who’d lived her whole life in her hometown, Chicago was a BIG change. Translated: I HATED it! Even though I soon made friends and came to really like my new life, I always hoped that I’d one day walk in the front door to the news that we were moving back home. We did eventually move – to Utah. Sigh. Of course I could have chosen a home-state university and high-tailed it out of there, but my parents were there and I didn’t want to live across the country from them. So I lived in Utah for college and a decade beyond. I had great friends and a career, but I still always longed for home. For seventeen years. That dream came true for me in 2002. I’m here. I can go out into my backyard and listen to the cicadas anytime I want to. I can walk barefoot in the grass and catch lightning bugs. I can eat real barbecue. I can see dogwoods bloom in the spring and fields of white cotton in the fall. I can go anywhere and be surrounded by beautiful accents that remind me I’ve made it home.

My grandmother loved to grow things. She loved to TALK ABOUT growing things. When she had to give up her home and move into an apartment, she had windowsills filled with violets that would take your breath away. And when she no longer had those, I’d load her into the car and we’d drive through neighborhoods to see what other people were growing. My dad is the same. So many of my childhood memories are of my dad’s beautiful yards, and the time and love he put into them. And that green thumb rubbed off on me in a big way. When I moved out after college, I must have spent thousands of dollars on flowers, trying to keep them alive in less-than-ideal environments in one apartment or another. I remember so many times wandering around at the nursery and drooling over all the bloomin’ things, wishing so badly that I had a place to plant them. Even a tiny little garden spot. Now I do. I can’t look out a single window in our home without seeing the flowers and trees and bushes we’ve planted, and we have acres of room for more.

From the time I was about fifteen years old, I want to fall in love with a big ole Southern boy. I dated guys in Chicago. I dated guys in Utah. I dated guys during the couple of years I was in Atlanta. But there was a part of me that always hoped and prayed that someday the Southern man of my dreams would come and sweep me off my feet. I guess I never really thought it would happen, though. I had a great career, wonderful friends and family, and always enjoyed living in the homes I created for myself, but at night when I’d crawl into bed, I ached for him. For his love. For the life we could have together. It was a physical ache. And then one day he was there, walking into my apartment, so beautiful to me that I could only glance at him for a moment at a time. It was like looking at the sun. We’ve never looked back since that day. Engaged four months later. Married four months after that. For seven years this coming December. The only thing is, O has so far surpassed every dream I ever had about that big ole Southern boy I’d kept in my heart. I did not know that such a man existed.

There is a quote that I run across from time to time, on Facebook or in a forwarded e-mail. Of course, I can’t find it at the moment so I am about to massacre it, but it’s something along these lines:

Don’t spend your time mourning what you don’t have, because the things you DO have were once your heart’s greatest desires.

I am struck by the sentiment every time I see it.

It reminds me that child or no child, every minute of my life is beautifully touched by my dreams come to life. And I don’t want to ever, ever forget it.

Magic

Proof that at "The World's Largest Yard Sale", there can always be a magical treasure hiding amongst the junk.

And speaking of magic, tonight O and I are loading the pickup truck with blankets and pillows and driving far out into our pasture to watch the Perseid meteor shower. One guess as to what I'll be wishing for on all those "shooting stars".

Seven on Sunday

1. What a wonderful few days I’ve had. O took off work and we drove into Tennessee and Kentucky to attend ******wait for it******** “The World’s Longest Yard Sale”. I’d been once before we were married and had gone alone. Never never go alone. Just a couple of hours into my solo journey and I was a nervous wreck. People popping out of nowhere running across streets, cars pulling out and backing up and slamming on brakes with absolutely no notice, trying to drive slowly by sales to see if you want to stop. Chaos! Then last year O & I went together and it was so much better. He watched the road and I watched the sales and we had a good time. So this year, despite scorching temps we decided to hit the road once more. I am proud to say that there were no heat strokes, no fender benders, no trips or falls, and no use of the porta potties scattered along the route. 100 degree temps + 85 % humidity + thousands of people = NO PORTA POTTIES for this girl. No sirree Robert. I bought one treasure – a 1940’s cast iron painted Santa doorstop. The rest of the time, O and I rode and talked and laughed and were amazed by the sheer amount of crap that people actually thought other people would buy.

2. On Friday morning when we were leaving our hotel in scenic Cave City KY, I happened to see a brochure for Santa Claus Indiana. We were unsure as to our plan for the day until that moment, when I got my heart set on a visit to Santa Claus. Loved it, though we weren’t able to stay long. I did get a good shot of my sainted husband in front of the Christmas store in town, though. I love him so.

3. Yesterday morning by half-brother, sister-in-law and their kids were driving through the area on their way to the beach, so we had brunch with them and my parents. It made me happy to see my beautiful growing nieces. I wish they lived closer.

4. Tomorrow morning, my mommy is having some outpatient surgery to remove a spot on her jawline. There is only a 5% chance that it’s cancer, but this is literally the first time she’s ever been “sick”, so the thought of her being under anesthesia for any length of time has me nervous. She struggles with severe anxiety on a pretty regular basis, too, so this has been really hard on her. O and I are going over to Big City in the morning to meet her and Dad. O will be taking my beloved (but not necessarily doting) father to "guy around" while I take care of the mama. Please keep a good thought for her.

5. I might have made a crack on my last blog post about Mark’s SW - something along the lines of “Mark’s caseworker might just go crazy and actually respond to an e-mail or return a phone call”. Within minutes of hitting the “post” button, I checked my inbox and there was an e-mail from her. No news, of course, except that the next court date is set for mid-September, but she responded – she actually responded.

6. Blog reader (and now friend) Teresa e-mailed and asked if I’d ever made a decision on being a CA*SA volunteer. I asked our SW and she asked her supervisor and the answer was basically this: I am welcomed to do that, but we could not be considered as a foster or adoptive resource for a child whose case I had ever worked on. This is not a huge county, so the “pool” of available children isn’t that large. Since our top priority is adopting, we can’t risk that my involvement with a child’s case could work against us somewhere down the road. So for now, being a CAS*A volunteer has to go onto the back burner.

7. Let me preface this by saying that I am an uncaring ass*ole, but I have zero patience for a family member who has recently started bemoaning what she anticipates will be her secondary infertility. Why don’t you go chase your cherubic toothless toddling bundle of love and get away from me while you’re at it? Mmmkay?!?!

Monday Monday

It wasn’t too long ago that I’d looked forward to Monday morning. Its’ arrival meant a brand new work week where anything could happen. We might hear of a positive development in the Amy/Chris saga. Mark’s caseworker might just go crazy and actually respond to an e-mail or return a phone call. Or we might hear about an entirely new child who is available for adoption somewhere in the state. The new workweek held all kinds of possibility.

Except that most weeks, if there are any developments in the Amy/Chris saga, they aren’t good. And Mark’s caseworker can’t seem to communicate with us to save her life. And we haven’t received a phone call about a child available for adoption since Smiley back in January.

Which makes for a might long week. And month. And year, for that matter.

Ghost In This House

Since I was a little girl, I’ve always loved anything to do with ghosts.

I soaked up every word of the scary stories told around the campfire at Girl Scout camp. I read every one of Kathryn Tucker Wyndham’s books of spooky tales. I saw “Poltergeist” with my mom and cousins at the theater when I was fourteen - scared the crap out of me. I’ve been on ghost walk tours in Gettysburg and Savannah, and have stayed in purportedly haunted inns in several states. If I flip by a ghost-themed “reality” program on TV, I’m probably going to watch it.

Do I truly believe in ghosts? Well, yes I guess I do. But you shouldn’t ever expect to find me prowling through cemeteries or old abandoned buildings looking for things that go bump in the night. Some things are better left alone – by me at least.

But I realized last week that we have a ghost of our own.

Even all these months later, I still get occasional “glimpses” of Mark.

I clean out a closet in our guest room and find never-opened box of learning CDs that arrived after we last saw him.

I pull out one of my cutting boards to chop up some veggies for a salad and his Sesame Street placemat tucked in behind it falls onto the floor.

I go out into the backyard and the empty sandbox I usually don’t see jumps right out at me.

I walk past his room and my eyes go to the chair still sitting beside his bed, waiting for me to tuck him in, read him stories, and sing him to sleep. Oh how I loved singing him to sleep.

I go to change my tablecloth and underneath, the plastic liner protecting the table is stained by paint and markers from our daily art projects.

I drive past the billboard advertising the huge kids’ clothing consignment sale coming up and remember the last one, where I nearly filled the trunk of my car with clothes for him, and how cute he looked in them.

I look at my car’s passenger side window and if the light is just right, I can still see his little grimy fingerprints. I can’t bring myself to clean them off.

I open the desk drawer that’s filled with this year’s photos and quickly slam it shut like there’s a rattlesnake waiting to strike.

And this past Friday as I was cleaning my kitchen floor, I found a teeny tiny bit of orange construction paper, cut months ago by Mark and his brand new safety scissors and hiding somewhere all this time, waiting to steal my breath away for just a moment.

I don’t know how to rid our home of this particular ghost - if I can or if I’d even want to. But I do know that these glimpses of his “presence” aren’t getting any easier.

I wish he was here – flesh and blood. I think I always will.

Hook Me Up Orville Redenbacher

Well, the judge now knows about us. He was more enthusiastic when he thought we were an in-state family, but nevertheless has ordered DF%A%CS to investigate us as a possible placement for Chris.

At the very least, if they do what they have been ordered to do, DF%A%CS should be in touch with us or our SW before the next court date. I’m not confident that we’ll hear from them, by the way. They could easily skim through our home study, reject it out of hand, and call that “investigation”. (Cynical much? Why yes I am, thanks!)

But ultimately, the judge has no jurisdiction to ever order Chris placed with us, even if Amy requests it. It is totally and completely up to DF%A%CS. So, they may not choose us, but (theoretically) they’ll have to answer to the judge about why they didn’t.

So now we wait for another month . . . or so.

We’re going to need A LOT more popcorn.

Pop Some Popcorn

“I almost hate to call and give you any kind of good news” said my friend who is Chris’ foster mom when she phoned this weekend. She knows better than anyone how quickly our “good news” has turned into “bad news” when it’s come to this situation. If it COULD go wrong, it HAS gone wrong. I reminded her that we now take everything with a grain of salt the size of a Volkswagen, and she proceeded.

There is a court hearing scheduled for this week. Chris’ gua*rdian ad lite*m (Chris’ voice/representative in court) called my friend to get an update on his case from her perspective. In the midst of sharing everything that had been going on the past month, she mentioned us. He seemed really surprised to hear that we were an approved foster AND adoptive family, that we already had a relationship with Chris (and his mom), that Amy wanted us to raise Chris, that she was willing to sign over her rights provided he was placed with us, AND that we very much wanted him. He, of course, had no idea that we even existed.

He asked a lot of questions, and then requested a copy of the letter of introduction I’d sent Chris’ SW a couple of weeks ago - I’d forwarded my friend a copy of the letter too. He said he will be putting that letter with his report which will, in part, be letting the judge know that we want Chris.

I see about 14 different ways this can go badly, but maybe, just maybe this is our shot. At the very least, perhaps DF%CS will have to explain themselves, and why they seemingly want to keep Chris for an in-state couple when we already know him, adore him, and want to be his parents.

So pop some popcorn, put your feet up, and stay tuned. I’m anxious to see how this one plays out.

Ghosts of Failed Adoptions Past

I was sitting in one of the rocking chairs on our front porch yesterday, enjoying the breeze, reading the “Twilight” series for the second time, and doing some thinking.

It’s very rare that I revisit our past failed adoption experiences. I think that’s the only way I can keep moving forward in this journey. Experience the pain, tuck it away, and go on. But for some reason yesterday, my mind and heart wanted to take a look back.

In the last eight months, we have said “yes” to eight children. Eight opportunities to have a child to love and call our own. Yet we have no child to love and call our own.

There was an adoptive situation back in the winter that I never wrote about.

There was the birth mom who found her way to us through a friend of a friend, who said she wanted us to raise her child, and who changed her mind about giving the child up for adoption days before the baby was born.

There was Smiley who was available for adoption through the foster system. We got a call from the adoption worker the week before the placement meeting telling us that someone with a biological connection had come out of the woodwork and wanted to adopt him. The placement meeting went on and none of the participants had even one concern about placing him with us. They whole-heartedly agreed that he’d be loved and well taken care of in our home. Yet we didn’t get the opportunity to be his parents.

Then there was Mark, who we loved so much. The time we had with him was some of the best of our lives. I decorated his room. D got him a sandbox and put up a swing. I read him bedtime stories and decorated cookies with him. He and D drew chalk pictures on the front sidewalk and watched a ridiculous number of Diego episodes. Mark had us (and our hearts) quite squarely in the palm of his hand and three days before he was to move in, we had to walk away from him because of someone else’s evil choices.

There were also the two babies we said “yes” to fostering. We got the call and I went racing to Wal*mart and spent $300 on things we’d need – things they’d love. I'd barely gotten the car unloaded when the phone rang with our worker telling us that the babies weren’t going to be available.

And finally there is the situation with Amy. At one time or another, she has mentioned us raising all three of her children. It remains to be seen what will happen with the unborn baby, of course, but I have very little confidence that she will follow through on placing him/her with us. The one that is really killing us is Chris. What once looked like a sure thing now seems to be falling apart day by day. Amy wants us to have him, but apparently DF^CS no longer cares what she wants.

There was absolutely nothing we could do to make any of these situations turn out differently. Not one of the outcomes had anything to do with us or our merit as parents (other than our choice to walk away from Mark, and even our SW said there was nothing else we could have done). It just seems that in each case, fate or God intervened and things promptly and spectacularly went off the rails, in ways that have surprised even our very experienced SW. And she doesn’t know the half of it.

I have to ask myself WHY. Why have each of these situations come into our lives, raised our hopes, fallen apart, and left us devastated time after time after time?

We didn’t seek out any of these situations. Not a single one of them. Each one was brought to us. For what reason? ***

If I’m being honest, when I look back at all the pain – all the unnecessary pain we’ve been put through just in the last eight months, it’s very difficult not to be angry. It very much feels like we are simply being toyed with.

IF WE ARE SUPPOSED TO BE PARENTS, THEN PLEASE LET SOMETHING GO OUR WAY. JUST ONCE. IS THAT SO MUCH TO ASK?

IF WE AREN’T SUPPOSED TO BE PARENTS, THEN JUST TELL ME! JUST TELL ME AND WE’LL FORGET ABOUT IT AND GET ON WITH OUR LIVES.

AND IF THERE IS SOME SORT OF LESSON WE ARE SUPPOSED TO DERIVE FROM THIS STRING OF PAINFUL SITUATIONS, THEN TELL ME WHAT IT IS! I DON’T GET IT.

I DON’T.

(See, this is why I tend not to entertain the Ghosts of Failed Adoptions Past. I end up yelling at God on my blog. That can’t be good.)

*** Though the tone of this post is one extreme frustration, we are also grateful that every one of those opportunities came into our lives, because each one represented at least a chance to become parents.

Green Thumb

I love to plant things. I can’t say I love to garden, per se, because I am not a big fan of the post-planting watering and weeding process. I do it. Mostly. I’m just not a big fan. I do, however, take great pleasure and pride in the beautiful flowers blooming in our yard.

One of the things on my bucket list was to plant sunflowers. Seems silly doesn’t it? It’s so simple – cheap and easy and we have the space. I’d just never done it.

But this spring as I raced past the seed display at Wal*mart I grabbed a few packets of sunflower seeds, and one sunny afternoon O and I planted them into rows in our garden.

They are so beautiful. I walk out there every day and just stare.

Those yellow bits of sunshine growing in our garden remind me of how much joy can be found in very simple things, and in pursuing your dreams – no matter how small.

Another one of my dreams was to have our own pumpkin patch. You’d think it was because I wanted to harvest OUR pumpkins with OUR child one of these days but nope – it’s all for me. I love fall and Halloween, and O presenting me with pumpkins to decorate the house and porch with makes me ridiculously happy. We’ve had the pumpkin patch for several years, and it’s time once again to get it planted if we’re going to have a good crop.

Yesterday was an unusually cool day for July in the South – mid-80’s and overcast. Perfect for pumpkin planting!

As we got started, we worked through a small rain shower and kept on going. It wasn’t bad – we were wet, but not terribly so. We tilled up the patch and filled the wheelbarrow with loads of horse poop and leaf mulch. Then I got down “amongst it”. I am not a gardener who stoops to tend to her plants. I get down in the dirt, literally crawling through the mud and grass and enjoying every minute.

The rain started again but it still wasn’t too bad so we kept plugging away. O filled buckets with our punkin’ growing mixture and I formed the mounds.

All was well until I heard a strange noise that sounded like a large machine on the highway or maybe a new, loud piece of equipment at the business across the field from us. O’s response was “uh oh” and I quickly understood that the noise was an absolute downpour hitting the metal roof of the building at said business. And it was headed straight for us.

It was a gully washer to be sure and within 30 seconds, we were soaked. Well, O was soaked. I was soaked and completely covered in mud. And still we kept working. We certainly couldn’t have gotten any wetter, and I couldn’t have gotten much muddier. Another 30 seconds and O could barely stand up in the slippery pumpkin patch so it was time for us to surrender and retreat.

We crossed the yard holding hands and dancing to the tune “Singin’ in the Rain”, as wet as if we’d jumped into one of our ponds. It was one of those perfectly ridiculous, wonderful moments that I will remember for a lifetime.

For all of the frustrations we have about not being parents yet, it’s nice to stop for a minute and remember what a sweet, lovely life we have here together.

A really lovely life. With sunflowers. And a nearly-completed pumpkin patch. And a washing machine full of wet muddy clothes.

Wiped Out

What an absolutely crappy day.

This morning our chances for adopting Chris went from roughly 25% down to about 5%, based on my best guess. It seems that although the state begged Amy to find a placement for Chris and she did just that, they are now saying it’s “too little to late”. We are, of course, welcomed to submit our home study to them for consideration should Chris’ case go to TPR. Mmmmkay. You don’t want to consider us now because we’re out of state. What exactly will change when we are competing with a hundred other home studies what will be submitted for him? We’ll STILL be out of state. Yes, we have the advantage of having an existing relationship with him, and with Amy, but that seems to hold no weight now, so what exactly will be different later????

Speaking of TPR, Amy seems to be racing towards it at lightning speed, due to a series of stupid decisions she’s making. There seems to be no helping her at this point.

So with the advice of a good friend, O and I are going to send Chris’ SW our home study and scrapbook to try and get our foot in the door before the flood gates open and home studies come pouring in. At least the SW will have faces to put with our names and this situation. May not do one freaking bit of good, but we’re not going down without a fight. We'd also still like to go meet with her - not sure if that will happen or not.

But my FAVORITE thing today???? When I pulled the unofficial copy of our home study this afternoon to get it ready to send, I happened to notice that THE HOME STUDY IS INCORRECT. It is, in fact, the one submitted by our completely worthless SW Mia – the one we waited 18 months for her to complete but she never did. The one that was corrected and submitted to the state by our wonderful SW J over a year ago.

Some of the best errors???

I take “Medium” for reflux instead of Nexium.

I graduated from high school 6 years before I actually graduated from high school.

My husband graduated from high school 5 years before he actually graduated from high school.

Apparently I only attended one year of college. Funny that I walked away with a 4-year degree, isn’t it?

We seem to have a dog who will bark like crazy when someone arrives, only to lick the person to death when they get close. We didn’t even have a dog when this home study was written.

Oh, and my favorite is that my name is Mrs. Wells, and I’ve been using a totally incorrect social security number all these years.

Can I just say, I CAN NOT BELIEVE THAT THIS STATE STILL HAS OUR HOME STUDY SCREWED UP! CAN NOT BELIEVE IT!!!

I called the person from the state office who sent us this incorrect copy of our home study. She promised to pull our file and mark Mia’s copy “VOID” so that it would not be sent out again. You can bet your bippy that I will call on Monday and follow up on that.

Good Lord I hate this. I truly do. I am absolutely exhausted.

S-A-T-U-R-D-A-Y

I love Saturdays.

O used to play golf on both Saturday and Sunday, but for the past three months or so (since everything has been going on with Chris and Amy) he has taken Saturday off and we’ll leave the house in the morning in search of adventure. We go antiquing, stroll down memory lane in my hometown, have lunch at our favorite restaurants, go for long drives out in the country, or treasure hunt at auctions in the area.

My former friend E and I used to have a saying – “Out of my head – out of my house.” Basically it meant that if we spent too much time alone in our homes thinking thinking thinking about whatever was troubling us, it was very easy to forget that there was a whole big bright world out there that has absolutely nothing to do with us or our concerns. Therefore, it was important for us to get out into the world on a regular basis, even if it was as simple as going to the bookstore or sitting in the park reading in the sunshine for awhile. It helped improve attitude and perspective and overall mental health

So Saturday has become a big “out of my head – out of my house” day for me recently.

Yesterday was a beautiful sunny day. O and I hit a couple of garage sales, had some lunch, and then drove to shop at the Unclaimed Bagg*age Center. You may have heard of it – it was on Oprah once years ago. Basically this company purchases all the unclaimed luggage/contents from the airlines and resells it. (Yes, THAT’S where the lost suitcase full of your very favorite clothes ended up when the airline lost it! There’s a housewife in Boaz Alabama who loves your favorite yellow skirt – the one that magically takes 5 pounds off your hips.) Man alive, it was like shopping on Black Friday. People were blocking aisles, crowding counters, running into each other with buggies and completely oblivious to everything but the bargains they were looking for. I don’t have a lot of tolerance for that, but O and I did spend about an hour wandering around and looking at all the stuff. It was just so nice to be able to turn off the “I-want-to-be-Chris’-mother-so-badly-that-I-can-hardly-stand-it-but-I-can’t-do-anything-about-it” thoughts for a while. Turned off until we found ourselves in the kids’ section, that is.

It was simply instinct to go over and see if they had any shoes that would fit Chris’ feet, which resemble quickly-growing boat paddles. I wasn’t looking in anticipation of him coming to live with us, but rather I wanted to get them for his foster mom who is bankrupting herself trying to keep the kid in shoes – or for Amy, should she be able to get him back. I didn’t find anything, but left feeling the deflated, unsettled hopefulness that has been my constant companion for the past few months.

Truth be told, I wish I could just fall asleep for about 3 weeks and wake up to find out what was going to happen. Of course, given our luck on this foster/adopt journey, I would wake up to find that everything was continued for another month or 4.

And yes, I realize that I don’t REALLY want to miss the next three weeks of my life. I’d miss a lot of opportunities to smooch my husband, a lot of cute monkey moments (we call our dog and cats “monkeys”), and some wonderful time spent with friends and family. Oh, and I’d miss the 2-hour episode of “Deadliest Catch” which will be a tribute to Captain Phil Harris. I plan to cry my way through the entire 120 minutes.

Hey . . . I'd also miss the next episode of the "Real Housewives of New Jersey" where Jacqueline's daughter gets arrested for assaulting Danielle.

Maybe that 3-week nap isn't such a bad idea after all.

Sweet Dreams

Isn’t it funny how you can think you have something under control? Handled? That you’re calm and breeeezy about it - going through your day hardly thinking about it at all?

And then night comes. And you remember just how NON-BREEZY you are.

I had a couple of girlfriends visit for several days over the July 4th weekend. It was exactly what I needed – day after day of good conversation and a ridiculous amount of laughter. I rarely even thought about the situation with Amy and Chris and when I did, my stomach didn’t immediately clench. I was feeling pretty good about that.

Until Tuesday night.

Tuesday night I dreamed that we were in the state where Chris lives, visiting with him, and a man who was clearly a social worker or someone with DF&ACS told us that within a week, there would be a court hearing where Chris would be placed permanently with us. Then he handed him over to me and I took him in my arms. I felt the warmth and weight of his little body. I smelled his crazy curly hair. I looked into his gorgeous eyes and could not believe it was happening. I remember thinking, “This must be a dream” and the joke was on me ‘cause it WAS a dream. But it seemed so real. I can still close my eyes all these days later and feel what it was like to hold him in my arms.

I woke up so disappointed – not a good way to start the day, by the way – and I really haven’t been able to shake it ever since.

Because here’s the truth . . . I really really want this to happen. Really badly. And I am afraid that it won’t. I'm even afraid of TELLING YOU how much I want this to happen for fear of jinxing any chance we might have. And I don't think that chance is great.
There’s that clench in my stomach again.

There isn’t much we can do at this point – one of the most frustrating aspects of this situation. But O and I may have come up with something. We think it might help for us to road trip to Chris and Amy’s state to meet with Chris’ social worker and the adoption worker who doesn’t want him to be placed out of state.

We’d like for them to meet us, and to see that we’re not flaky people.

We’d like to hand them our home study, scrapbook, and approval letter.

We’d like to look them in the eye and have a conversation.

We’d also like to see if we can get some answers.

They seem to want Amy to see the process through to the end, which I can understand, but that end will most likely be TPR – and most likely sooner rather than later. TPR could be granted any time she steps into court, and *poof*, she’ll walk out with absolutely no say regarding what happens to her son. So I think it’s important for DF#ACS to really understand Amy’s wishes and agree now to place him with us even if the case does go to TPR.

We’ll find out today if Amy wants to set up that meeting and be a part of it. Let’s hope she thinks it's a good idea and that we can get something scheduled soon. The next court date is looming.

Life is Good

There is nothing better to take your mind off of your seemingly-stalled quest to adopt than a wonderful July 4th spent with some of the people you love most in the world. Life is good.

Worth the Risk

The one thing we've found to be absolutely certain in this foster/adopt journey is that absolutely nothing is certain. Including our stance on some issues.

Not too long ago, O and I came to the conclusion that we could no longer put our lives on hold to wait for Amy to decide if she wanted us to raise her son Chris. We adored him but didn't have a good feeling that Amy was going to follow through with what she'd said she wanted to do.

That situation has changed, of course. Amy told social services about us. It now remains to be seen if they'll follow through on her wishes. Or if the judge will ever find out about Amy's wishes and rule on them. Or whether Chris is adopted in-state and never seen by any of us again.

But there is a wrinkle to all this - one that I haven't shared on this blog. Along with beautiful little Chris, there is another baby - one to be born in the coming months - one that Amy has said she wants us to raise. With that situation come the same basic concerns, of course. Will she follow through? Or will she change her mind? We just have no idea.

So we're at another crossroads.

Do we wait and see what the state has to say about us raising Chris? And do we wait and see what happens with the baby?

Or do we accept foster placements and resume actively looking for a child to adopt, both in our state and around the country? It really is an either/or proposition.

If we accept a foster placement of one child and we are chosen for Chris, we will not be able to travel back and forth across state lines to do the necessary visits with him that will be required by social services. Not without a judge's order for every single trip.

If we accept a foster placement of two children, our home is full. If we are chosen for Chris, either we will have to have foster kids moved from our home (which we don't ever want to do) or we will have to tell the other state "no", walking away from a child who has already stolen our hearts.

If we decide to look outside of our state for a child to adopt and have our home study sent to another state, our state will not release our home study to any other state for three months (or until the first state decides whether we are a fit for their particular child). So if we are interested in a child in Minnesota, request our home study be sent, and then hear from Chris' state that we can adopt him, we could not have our home study sent to Chris' state until Minnesota "releases it" - up to three months. If that were the case, we would lose out on our opportunity to be Chris' mom and dad.

So the crossroads we are at is simply this:

Do we walk away from the possibility, however slight it may be, of being Chris' or his infant siblings' parents and throw ourselves totally into our search elsewhere?

Do we accept a foster placement, knowing that it's likely the child will either be returned to his family or that we'll be in for literally years of waiting and wondering if they will be able to join our family permanently?

Or do we sit tight and see what these long, hot summer months hold in store for us?

That was a decision we were faced with yesterday when we were offered two separate foster placements. Neither seemed like it would end in adoption, but of course, who knows?? So before O called the SW back, we sat at the kitchen table and asked, "Are we in or are we out?" re: the situation(s) with Amy.

And the answer is that we're in.

We are going to hold off on foster placements and on searching for kids who are available for adoption until we return from our annual trip in October. We will know by then how things have played out both with Chris and the baby. Yes, it might be foolish to put our lives on hold for another 3.5 months and in the end we may be left heartbroken. But you know what?

Chris is worth that risk - so is his sibling - and so is Amy, for that matter.