Remission

Good News. Very Good News. We know that it's not a forever sort of thing, but for now, for today and tomorrow and the next 6 months I will breathe a little easier.

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My Miss Tiny has learned to shake her head vehemently while giggling in her baby form of a chronic rebellion. "No! NOOOOOO" insert head shake. She means nothing by it except it gets her copious amounts of attention. This from a baby who already gets copious amounts of attention. We are in TROUBLE with this princess!

My boys walk in the door from school with a quick nod to me they immediately make the rounds of the babies. Miss Precious is now part of that routine. If 13 years from now there are 3 incredibly self centered, certain they are perfect, male attention demanding teenage girls in the neighbourhood, just blame my boys. I am not sure they will ever find a husband who thinks they are quite as amazing in every way as my boys think they are.


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Annie has quit howling. This is NOT because I personally cut out her voice box at 3 am one sleepless barking filled night. It is NOT. I promise.


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Swine Boy, aka the kid who loves his mask, is FINE. TOTALLY FINE. As in so fine that I would have sent him to school today except for that little issue of being quarantined. Apparently our town has been hit hard. At hockey practice tonight there were 8 kids on the ice. EIGHT. For my American friends that is way less than an entire hockey team.

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I have three half written actually interesting posts about adoption, disruption, racism and special needs. Do you think I have the time or inclination to do anything about them? Nope. The babies keep me mind numbingly busy. And when they all nap in the afternoon, I collapse on the couch in a pile of wipes and laundry and ignore blogging.

This Little Piggy Stayed Home

That there is Tanner. Tanner with H1N1. Tanner with H1N1 in the ER.

Remember how I said last week it was NOT swine flu? Yeah that was me being wrong.

Seven kids. The flu. This could be a long week.

Actually, he is feeling not too bad. He gets a whole week off of school and is laying around in bed watching tv. He is VERY proud of his mask and he should be just fine by Halloween, which is second only to Christmas on the Most Important Calendar Days of the Year for 12 year old boys.

Anyone want to come help me disinfect?

Small Town Fostering

When we decided to supervise visits with the girls' parents in our home many people online thought this was strange. Scary even. It was neither bravery or stupidity that brought on that decision - it was reality. Being a foster family, and a visible, well known multiracial adoptive family at that in a small city where we are well established means that any thoughts of being anonymous were completely pointless. We know way too many people, and with 4 kids in various schools and sporting events? The paths in a small community are tightly woven.

Fostering in a small community brings unique challenges and rewards. Through no effort of my own I realize that I know several professionals involved with the kids before they entered my life. I have run into the girls extended family members multiple times at my grocery store, at my mall, at my park. And those are just the relatives I have met and recognise. Their family friends attend our church. Their sibling plays lacrosse with my son. I am absolutely certain I have also been seen by people who know the girls but don't know me and are watching my every move when I am out and about with the babies. Having a good relationship, being honest, going above and beyond is alot less stressful than trying to stay hidden.

This was brought home to me yesterday when I happened to be involved in what resulted in a "police incident" when a foster parent and a foster child and a biological parent all turned up at the same location when they weren't supposed to have contact. Emergency calls to social workers, the police circling the building, nervous foster moms, angry parents, confused kids and a grateful me that I have a good relationship with my girls' mother.

Small town fostering is different.

PS. Miss Precious is TOOOOOOOO adorable for words and I love every minute with her but I have decided that mothers of triplets are saints. SAINTS. Do you know how many diapers three pooping machines generate in a day? All I do is change bums and make bottles, cuddle, play and repeat.

Jen .... Plus SEVEN?

Well, here I was yesterday comforting my little sickie when the phone rang.

It was the social worker, on speaker phone. In my experience THOSE sorts of phone calls are always dangerous.

So. Yeah. I think we will call this one Miss Precious. She is not OUR foster baby, but she has recently come into care with one of the most horrific stories you can imagine. Her foster mom needs daycare so she will come and spend the days with me.

So now, that makes 7.

Greg, 14, hockey player extraordinaire. Mr. Serious.

Eric, 13, limit tester, hockey player. Mr. Smiley.

Tanner, 12, smartie pants, goalie. Mr. Sweetie.

Caden, 8. cuddler, swimmer. Mr. Teaser.

Miss Curious, 17 months. Dare Devil. Stunt Master. Miss Silly.

Miss Tiny, 7 months. Chub-A-Lub. Giggler. Miss Adorable.

And now Miss Precious. 9 months and desperately in need of love and support.

Please, if you pray, PRAY for this baby. She needs it. She has lived through hell.

The Plague

Sorry for disappearing ... I got sick.

Then boy #1.

Now boy #2.

That only leaves boys 3 through 4, and Girls #1 and #2.

And no, it's not Swine. Although as a result of the illness my house looks like a pig sty, so maybe I will just call it the swine flu and be done with it.

Promise to be back soon with something more well thought out and written.

My Sister's Eye

If you have read here for long, you know how much I adore my sister, Jess. We are about as different as sisters can be, and spent many a teenage year annoying each other to death. Thankfully she eventually forgave me. Today, I am proud and honored to call her my sister and my friend. We need each other deeply and I cannot imagine life without her in my corner, or me in hers.

She finally has the space and the time to pursue some of the things she loves best. Taking pictures is her passion and we were honored that she spent some time with our crew playing around.

This is Miss Tiny (also known as Chub-A-Lub) smiling at Mama until her cheeks look like they will explode with joy. I wish I could share the others, because you would most certainly agree with me that quite possibly I have two of the cutest and most adorable baby girls on the planet. Take my word for it!
My Eric. Serious and silly. Jess managed to capture both the boy and the man he is becoming in a great series of shots.

And my baby boy, Caden. Dirty face, black eye, shaggy haircut. Could anything be better about being eight years old?

Crawling Backwards

This is the reason my house was so clean. My really, truly wonderful mother in law. Isn't she pretty?

I am thankful for a wonderful Thanksgiving weekend with family. Along with my inlaws, my sister, her family and her camera came for a visit and we had a wonderful time. Today, it's snowing and cold and I miss my company already.

The house is still clean, sort of, which is a good thing because this afternoon we meet another new social worker. There are many complaints about being a foster parent in BC, one of the ones I hear the most is the ever revolving door of social workers. We are VERY sad that our old social worker has moved on to a different job, and know we would have never, ever agreed to foster again if it wasn't for the level of trust we had in her as a person, and as a worker.

It's a huge leap of faith for us to move on to a new worker. HUGE. But, for the girls we would do anything, so making coffee and dusting shelves and pasting a smile on my face to make New Worker feel welcome in our home. And trying to juggle naps so that my perfect angels are sleeping through the visit. As I said to her, photos are a much quieter way to meet them!

Miss Tiny graduated today. Yes, I know she is only 6 months old but she is officially no longer delayed and has graduated from physio! IN FACT she is now ahead of most babies her age. The baby that was described as "fragile" is now anything but! Is it bad of me to admit that we laugh hysterically at her as she tries to crawl now but only manages to go backwards? Sort of like life, isn't it?

Annie, the insane, got her stitches out today. The Valium? PLEASE let me use it. If only to stuff in my ears to drown her out. The cone of shame is relegated to the top shelf in the closet and hopefully she will begin to cope better with her confinement now that she doesn't have to wear it. Dr. M's office found my blog. They snickered as Annie, the insane, came into the office today, pulling at the end of her leash. At least they know we don't exaggerate. And maybe if Trippy, the insaner, ever gets that brain transplant, they will give us a cheaper rate! I have a feeling I won't be asked to be in any promotional material for the adoption of Jack Russell Terriers anytime soon.

Dozen Years

It was freezing. There was a faint light of morning dawn and the first snow of the season was falling quickly and thickly onto the roads.

The baby was enormous, this we knew, and I knew the day would be long and hard. I had no idea how hard as they slipped the IV into my vein to tell my body that today would be the day my baby would arrive. The day is a blur of pain and memories of screaming and vacuums and the amazing sight of my bruised and beautiful son.

A son! My very own perfect, precious beautiful baby boy.

And they left me alone with him. He was MINE. His name, as a separate person, added to the bassinet. I had made a BABY. Someone thought I would know how to take care of him and my terrified husband and I were left alone with a baby. Our son, Tanner.

Soon I was surrounded by the women I needed the most. Travelling 12 hours across snow covered and icy highways came my grandmother, my aunt, my mother, my sister, my cousin. To support, hug, encourage me. To welcome this little creature into the folds of our family. The first born son. The first born son in 3 generations. The perfect, amazing, incredible baby boy. For the first time I felt part of a larger process. The generations of women there to welcome my entry into motherhood. To warm me to the idea that this was a good and amazing thing. That I could DO motherhood, like they had done motherhood. I was part of them, and my baby a part of us.

Today as I celebrate the birth of my then first son, now my third son, I ache for those women. I miss what was. We are changed, some gone, some older. That moment of first love and that tight circle of love and support is cracked.

Before my son was two, and before she could meet his brothers, my aunt was taken cruelly from us. Today I miss her. I miss her wisdom and humor and love. I miss sharing stories of her two baby grandsons with her and reminiscing about when my sons were that age. I remember the gift of encouragement and love and support she gave me when I was so young and scared.

The ache from the absence of my grandma, my Nan, is enormous. My sister is coming today to help us celebrate Thanksgiving and Birthday, once again making a drive on an icy highway. Together we are feeling the raw edges of a too recent loss. We will hide the tears under smiles

for my son on the brink of adolescence.

My amazing, beautiful, first born son who brought me into the world of Motherhood. I remember the mothers who helped welcome him into our world. A dozen years later I mother half a dozen kids. I can do this motherhood thing, I just wish they were still here along the journey with me.

Happy Birthday Tanner, I miss you Nan, Happy Thanksgiving my fellow Canadians.