Our Growing Family

I absolutely believe that it takes a village to raise a child.  Or, at least, all parties are better off when it does.  Of course I do – I’m a foster parent. 

Sometimes, though, I get down on myself for the size of my village, or the availability, or something.  I find myself getting jealous of the type of support other people might have. 

This past weekend was exactly the reminder I needed – a weekend away with friends to remind me that I do have an incredible village. 

I got the chance to get together with some of my village and it was lovely.  We chatted, laughed, enjoyed sunshine, and chased after toddlers.  If Sprout ran ahead, I didn’t have to worry, because J was there and I knew she’d handle it if anything came up.  There was always an extra eye and reminder from one of the moms to ‘stay close’ if Rosebud strayed too far.  At one point Sprout was off with one mom and Rosebud was off with another, and for those few blissful moments the only child I was responsible for was Daisy.  That never happens!  It was such a strange (wonderful!) feeling to let go a little.  To have full trust in any of those women – to share in the parenting, even if only for a moment or two. 

See how relaxed I looked??

I was reminded just how lucky I am.  I have a group of like-minded women who support me in my parenting, cheer me on through whatever life holds, challenge me in a way that grows my thinking, and are there to listen on the bad days.  It doesn’t matter that these woman aren’t down the street from me.  What matters is that I am a stronger woman and better mother because of them.

Thank YOU for being a part of my village.

Our story has been featured on a new glbt parenting/family-building website:

Check it out here!

Hello Summer!

Well, tomorrow it will be anyway. 

And just as with all transitions, the behaviors are back. So I’ve been up to my arms in temper tantrums (and not from my toddlers…), whining, and talking back.  Its joyful, really.

But on a brighter note, I came across two fantastic end-of-the-school-year ideas recently. 

The first idea, stolen from a brilliant FB friend, was to have your child’s teachers write a note in a book at the end of every year.  Then, when they graduate, you’ll have an awesome gift to present to them with notes from all the teachers who helped them along the way.  Sprout’s kindergarten note is so sweet – I’m really excited to see the book fill as the years go on.

The second was this post about what gifts teachers really want…and what they don’t.  So, instead of spending my time combing the internet for cutesy end of the year teacher gifts, I wrote a letter about exactly what Sprout’s teacher meant to us this year and how grateful we were for her support, knowledge, and dedication.  I sent it to the superintendent of schools with a copy to her and the principal.  She immediately wrote back saying how much the letter meant to her.  I didn’t spend a dime, and yet, she said it was one of the best gifts she has ever gotten.  She made me get all misty when she included how much she enjoys Sprout and genuinely loves him.

And that gave me my best idea of all:  Sprout could be my end of the year teacher gift! Here ya go Mrs. M – the fun doesn’t have to end! Keep him all summer!

Kidding, kidding! (mostly…)

So, I always thought Rosebud was a bad sleeper…until I met Daisy.  Lets just say that girlfriend required frequent night feedings to keep up her, um, healthy physique.

We tried a lot of the usual techniques to get her to sleep through the night but nothing quite panned out and we landed on: she will sleep when she’s ready.

Turns, out we were right.

I’ve been hesitant to say anything, except to a handful of you, thinking it may have been a fluke or phase or something, but its been over a month now and I’m going to call it: Daisy sleeps through the night!

Here’s the cute part…Do you know when my angel baby discovered this wonderful new skill?  April 16th.  Her adoption day.  Slept like a rock that night and, aside from a small glitch or two here and there, has continued every night since. 

Babes just needed to be adopted to rest easy 🙂

Strange how the universe answers my random blogging calls. 

As I alluded to in my other post, we haven’t heard from bio mom in quite a while.  Sprout has been handling it surprisingly well (I expected him to lose it on our recent vacation since distance has historically been a bigger trigger than time), but it’s clearly on his mind – as it is on mine.

I recently sent another email on a whim and was happy to get a quick response! Such a nice gift for Sprout, whose birthday is in a few days.  She was even open to planning a visit – and you know how much I’ve been hoping for that!

But then there was the other part.  The ‘oh by the way not sure if you’ve heard but I had another baby and am doing great and am getting her back soon’ part.

Hmmm.

Lots to feel about that. 

Happy for her? (I mean, it was once my prayer) 

Scared for Blossom’s current parents? (it all seemed so meant to be)

I don’t even know.  But what I do know is that it’s added confirmation of what my heart has been starting to accept: Blossom was not meant to be my daughter. 

I’m so very grateful, for myself and my children, that we are not the family on the other end of mom’s reunification attempts and are able to have this perspective instead.

Before the carnival comes to town…

Kinda blah, huh?  Tell me fellow party lovers, what would you do with this space?

[fair warning: I may steal some or all of your ideas 🙂 ]

“Mama, look, that person is smoking over there.”

“Oh, I’m sorry for them. That is a sad choice.”

“Why? Do you smoke?”

“No, I’m glad I don’t.  Smoking can make you very sick and even die.”

“Mommy T has the smokes. Is that the same as smoking?”

“Yes.”

“Is she going to die? Is she dead already? Is that why she hasn’t called me??”

Oh man.

Yesterday I was doing something I often do…enjoying the sunshine of a beautiful day at the playground.  A smaller one than we usually go to and we happened to have the place to ourselves.  That felt like a sweet bonus at the time. 

Rosebud asked to go on the swings so I threw the baby on my hip and we headed down the hill to the swing set.  In the same moment that I looked back to make sure Sprout was following, my foot landed in a hole and I fell.  So did Daisy.  Let me assure you that falling while holding a baby (and consequently dropping her) is the Worst.Feeling.Ever.

Thankfully at 18 months old she’s quite sturdy and the fall to the soft grass did nothing more than startle her.

My ankle on the other hand?  No bueno. 

So here I am: alone with three kids, one of whom is hysterical, with a badly sprained ankle.  Sure, I’ve encountered worse situations, but lets just say this one wasn’t fun.

But, as I hobbled back to the car, something really cool happened.  For the first time, I got to see my kids kick into ‘problem solving mode’ without any guidance from me.  First, I was impressed that they didn’t get upset when I said we had to go despite just having arrived – they probably saw it in my eyes.

Then, Rosebud looked up at me and said sternly, “I need the phone. I call Papa to bring shovel and fix that hole!”  

When we arrived home, Sprout and Rosebud sprung out of the car and seamlessly executed their emergency plan as if they had practiced for “mommy sprains her ankle at the playground” a thousand times.  Sprout took a sippy cup and filled it with milk; that, along with the handful of toys he grabbed, worked instantly to calm the crying Daisy.

Meanwhile, Rosebud was on ice duty and stuffed her arms with as many ice packs from the freezer as she could.  The little sweetness even thought to take a towel so the ice “wouldn’t be too cold on the boo boo.”  After I took up the position she designated on the floor, she buried my foot in ice packs as she would sand at the beach.  She inspected her work and declared, “Okay mommy, jus a little longer and you will feel all better.”

That is about the time A arrived home.  Sprout saw the worry on her face and assured her, “Mama, don’t worry.  Mommy is going to be okay.  We got this.”