There is no Such Thing as a Vacation for Mom... not even from judgmental people!

Last week we were on our annual after Christmas trip to the beach with my parents.  Winter weather is unpredictable, but no matter – the kids will swim in the outdoor pool and hot tub even when it is 17 degrees outside. But when the water is 68 degrees and air temperatures range between 17 and 60 degrees, I contend that the conditions are more appropriate for polar bears than people. 

It is important to clarify that by most accounts this would be deemed an incredible free vacation.  And it is… for the children.  I endure this trip year after year with so many little ones because I understand the importance of tradition and routine and stability and memories in lives that might otherwise be chaotic.  The beach guarantees 24-hour playtime with no food police, few chores, lots of movies, few bedtime rules, and lots of sandy wet quality time with the family. 

But for this mom, it just means I move all my usual jobs to a beautiful new location with all the supplies I can carry with me.  Once I park the van, I don’t get in it again until we leave. 

Anyway, almost every year I have to make this trip without my husband, who is home working to meet all of his year-end deadlines.  This year, I pack up seven children under the age of 6, four more under age 14, food for 7 days, our own linens so that we won’t destroy the one’s at the condo, 7 life jackets, enough water toys to fill the pool, 1 scooter, 1 X-box and all the parts, diapers, baby beds, strollers, swim diapers, bathing suits, 30 beach towels, and enough clothes to survive, all crammed into a 15-passenger van with 11 people. Ten more adult children and their kids will arrive in separate vehicles throughout the week.  We have to remove the last seat to fit all the stuff and with 5 car seats and a 6’2” 14-year-old there is not one centimeter of space for movement. 

When you travel like this you have two choices.  The first, which was my father’s preferred method, requires you to get in the driver’s seat, accelerate, travel at least 15 miles over the speed limit and completely ignore the cries of your children, “I’m hungry!  I have to go to the bathroom!  NOW!  I want some candy!  When are we gonna be there? He’s hitting me.  When are we gonna be there?  Mom, tell her to stop looking at me.  How much longer do we have?  I’m hungry. Really, Nanna.  I have to go the potty now.  When is the next exit?  Why did you just pass the bathroom Nanna?  Can I go on the side of the road? I promise I won’t get it on the car.  I can aim.  Can I pee out the window?  I’m starving. The baby needs a diaper change.  He’s poopy and he’s putting his hand in his pants.  YUUUCK! Tell him to stop. ….. I’m hungry and I’m gonna die if I don’t eat. ….”  Need I go on? Unfortunately, these incessant needs are in addition to the normal whines, complaints, and questions of a car full of kids.

The benefit of this method of travel is that you arrive far more quickly than the second method, which, in theory, shortens your period of torture and decreases the odds that you will leave a kid in the gas station bathroom or running down the side of the road trying to catch up with the van.

But it has downsides.  Like frequent calls to the suicide hotline during the four-hour journey.  And the stench of a urine and poop filled car.

The second method has no fewer downsides, but is my preferred method of travel.  In this method the adult driver determines that it is in her best interest to ignore the travel time of normal people and the biting comments from those who choose the first method of travel.  This option is a little more flexible and involves frequent stops - usually within 10 minutes of leaving the house.  Of course, under-developed bladder controls means that it doesn’t matter that you ask the kids if they need to go potty 3 minutes before -- as you were pulling out of the 6^th potty stop.  When you gotta go, you gotta go.

Don’t get me wrong, I do all in my power to shorten the trip and decrease the number of stops.  I test their bladder size and control limits regularly.  With periodic checks, “Can you still hold it buddy?”  If the answer is yes, and sometimes when I think the answer should be yes, I whisk past the upcoming exit while trying to distract the kids.  I have made it as far as 50 miles before the panic button was hit and I was forced to pull over.

I refuse to allow them to use the side of the road. Not because I’m opposed to pee on the shoulder, but because if I do, my little boys will ALWAYS need to go potty – attempting to manipulate and test my patience on every car ride. 

I’ve also been known to use the radio tactic.  When a child won’t stop screaming or nagging or whining and I want to jump out of the moving vehicle, I turn up the radio loud enough for the car to rattle and the passengers two cars behind us to hold a dance party at the red light.  I HATE loud music.  Even my teens cringe, but that may because they are forced to listen to MY music at a decibel level that they prefer to listen to THEIR music.  The truth is, I hate whining crying nagging children’s voices even more than deafening music.

The big kids have their own list of complaints, usually related to the whines, cries and demands of their younger siblings, but these are just as disconcerting to mom. In the car, they will gladly help to the extent that it makes their trip more peaceful.  When we arrive, they are very good at making sure the little ones don’t escape and drown or run into the street, but that’s about it.  You can’t ask young teens to take on that kind of responsibility on their vacation, especially when the pool is literally outside our door with no barriers to prevent the little ones from running amuck.

Each Christmas my wonderful parents give my kids gift cards in their stockings.  Eating out is a tremendous treat in a super-size family, so the idea that each child can order whatever they want from the menu and pay for it with a gift card is fairly amazing.  Even if it only happens about 4-times a year.  So we decide to stop on the way to the beach and actually get out of the car to eat at Chick-Fil-A with an indoor playground.  We pass the first two Chick-Fil-A stores trying to make it at least an hour down the interstate before stopping for food. 

If you aren’t from the South or a place where Chick-Fil-A is as popular as football, then you may not understand the significance of stopping there at lunchtime with 10 kids on a travel route near Christmas.  Even an Olympian would have a little trouble dodging the pedestrian/vehicle obstacle course that presents itself in the path to the front counter.  But people endure it because Chick-Fil-A employees are typically pleasant, courteous and extremely quick.  And the food is almost always excellent.  A comparable trip to another fast food restaurant almost always requires more time, effort and brainpower than I can muster.

Anyway, after crawling in over and around all the stuff in the car, finding shoes, and assigning everyone a buddy, we unload and dodge the cars exiting through the double lane drive through to reach the door.  Only to find the line extending all the way to the door. 

We find 3 empty tables, but they aren’t together and we allow the little ones to go play on the indoor playground, which requires the removal of 16 shoes.  I wait in line.  Even with 20 or more people in front of me, I was at the front in 5 minutes.

Then came the challenge of calling the older children up to 

the counter to make their own order -- a very big deal that I 

don’t normally allow for the sake of sanity. 

After placing 9 orders and allowing my 9-year-old to hold her own tray, we manage to spill only one super-size sticky coke all over the floor.  A very nice young boy about the same age as my daughter jumps up to help her clean the mess.  He was sitting with his father who also jumped in to help.  I complimented both on being such gentlemen as I stood holding the two babies and 8 people’s food.

We managed to eat, most of them barefoot, and play, and clean up our mess.  When it was time to leave, my four and five year-old boys ran for the door, which was literally touching the table they were eating at.  I shouted in a whispered voice from my table for them to stop at the door, but they opened it anyway. 

An older woman was sitting at a nearby table with what appeared to be her young granddaughter.  As I jumped up to make sure the kids didn't go into the street, I heard her say to her grandchild, “A lot of good that did.” 

Realizing that there were two sets of doors and they were safe, I made eye contact with her and smiled, “I think I have too many kids.”

Without missing a beat, she replied, “Well that is pretty obvious.” 

I meet people like her frequently, but they don’t bother me too much.  What I wanted to say was short and sweet, “If some other people would get off their pedestal and adopt some of the 100,000 plus children that are available, I wouldn’t have so dang many kids.” 

But I didn’t. I wasn't sure I would want her to parent any kids.  I just smiled and gathered my kids and navigated them safely to the car to continue on our vacation journey. 

If only she knew….

A Snapshot of My Life in Words... I Challenge You to Create Your Own Life Snapshot

NOTE:  I found this on my computer.  I’m guessing I did this about 5 years ago, but not much has changed.  I must have been on vacation when I did this because I never get to read or shop aimlessly unless I’m away from home.

I challenge you to take five minutes and list everything you can remember doing in the past 5 days - big and mundane.  It is an interesting snapshot of our lives.  I want to see what others do with their days.  Post it as a comment here.

A Snapshot Of My Life In Word

What I have done in the past 5 days 
(that I can list in five minutes):

• Changed a really disgusting diaper on the couch
• Condensed our life story of adoption and fostering into a single page
• Learned to use Microsoft Publisher
• Collected and read all of the important things I had written over the years
• Re-read a letter to my children written in 2000
• Learned to burn a CD
• Organized and arranged furniture
• Watched the last half of “You’ve Got Mail”
• Played with a 7 month old baby – talking in a baby voice
• Picked up a high school student
• Observed 12 Auburn students in their first professional architecture class
• Put on make-up
• Unstopped a clogged toilet
• Unstopped a clogged sink
• Wiped the water off a shower door
• Answered thousands of questions
• Signed a check
• Tried to catch a renegade rat
• Yelled at fighting children
• Had at least one nightmare
• Learned that vasoline and socks make soft skin
• Tried a new recipe and only cooked it for myself
• Watched the dryer repair man take apart the dryer drum and asked him questions
• Watched someone repair the bricks around a window
• Painted new drywall
• Bought fake flowers and a cleaning solution
• Watched small birds eating off the floor in a restaurant
• Read Mere Christianity
• Listened to the first 8 books of the New Testament straight through as a story
• Read Red Badge of Courage
• Read and learned the dialect, then read  Uncle Remus stories to my kids
• Cooked Lunch, Dinner and Breakfast for as many as 20 and as few as one
• Ate at a fast food restaurant
• Went through a drive through of a fast food restaurant
• Tried to learn the chemical abbreviation for cestium
• Argued with a 10-year-old
• Shopped at a thrift store for nothing in particular
• Shopped at an antique store for nothing in particular
• Taught 15 high school students American History through Literature
• Talked on the phone
• Used a shredder
• Tried to get rid of a virus on my computer
• Helped block a Duo Interpretation, including sign language with 2 thirteen-year-olds
• Showed a child how to read a word problem
• Went to the beach and studied a hammerhead shark
• Spent an hour on the phone (while driving) with my sister talking about life
• Went to Sax Fifth Avenue for the first time to see what was there
• Talked to a stranger about life (he ran a small grocery) for almost an hour between customers

Teaching and Learning Together: Nurturing Your Newborn

Today, I’m teaching a young mom and dad what it means to nurture their 9-week-old infant.  I realized that this does not come naturally to parents who probably were not adequately nurtured themselves.  After years and years of raising kids, I learned something new.

Our sweet boy is 9-weeks-old now.  He’s no longer the limp little rag doll who his new parents handled like a precious china doll.  He can smile now. He’s weighs twice what he did when he was born.  He can hold his head up and kick his feet non-stop.  He will bear weight on his feet when held up.  He eats much more and sleeps a little less. His proud parents feel like he is smarter than most babies his age. 

During the newborn stage both mom and dad found it easy to handle their little baby.   His needs were fairly simple and straightforward. As long as they fed him, burbed him, cuddled him, and allowed him to sleep  – in between diaper changes – all were happy.  By all definitions he was a “good baby.

They treasure their baby and are committed to raising him with love and care and making him feel secure, putting his needs first.  Unlike what they remember of their upbringing. 

But today it occurred to me that wanting this and knowing how to do it are different beasts. Oddly, in an unrelated conversation the same day, one of my young adult kids -- who was institutionalized for most of his teen years -- told me that he didn’t know how to ask for a hug.  When he needed attention, he would hit or punch or kick the staff and it would take 4-5 staff to restrain him. That was the only way he knew to get the physical touch he craved from his caregivers.

He wasn’t angry.  But it sure looked that way to everyone around him. The problem was that he lacked the skill set to know how to get what he needed from the only people he had around him.  And he didn’t even have the words to explain what he was really thinking until he was much older.

That was an eye-opening moment for me.  I intuitively know that some of my kids act out for attention, but this was my first child to verbalize it so clearly.  I think Heather tried to tell me this many times, but never as clearly as I heard it today.
 

So, now that the baby is awake much more often, the young parents aren’t quite sure what to do. Perhaps they still expect him to fall asleep while he’s eating, and when he doesn’t, they think they are doing something wrong or he is being stubborn. 

I know that they fear “spoiling” him and ending up with a bratty child that is demanding and attention seeking.  I get that.  I hate being around those kind of kids.  Especially my own.

Anyway, I hear them saying, “We fed him, burped him and changed him.  He’s fine.  Don’t pick him up.  You are just spoiling him.” Just let him cry it out. “  And I know that they are mimicking what I have said about our older babies and young children, who are developmentally able to pitch a certified fit and are also able to self-soothe.  So they innocently apply the same strategy to their 9-week-old.  And I try to differentiate.

I describe why they can’t really “spoil” their child at this age because their baby is not intentionally crying.  It’s instinctive and involuntary.  It’s the only way he has to express a need and a cry guarantees him attention.  He has not yet developed what we think of as a “will.”  

For the record, I don’t suggest that they run every time he cries either.  I explain that it is fine to let him cry for a few minutes to see if he will calm down on his own. But I also suggest that after 3 or 4 minutes, one of them go to him and talk in a soothing tone or pick him up and comfort him just for a moment or two to break the crying cycle. Because babies this age have a very short memory and a break in the crying cycle can cause them to forget that they were crying in the first place. 

Of course, I also emphasize that when they are frustrated and irritated with the baby, it is far better to let him cry than to deal with him while they are frustrated.  That is a safety warning for any parent, but is an especially important reminder for parents that have been abused themselves.  It is easy to revert to what you knew grewing up, even if you hated it.

I try to get them to understand that he is not crying just for the sake of getting what he wants like a bratty 4-year-old.  He cries instinctively out of some need he can’t express. I know.  Four-year-olds cry in frustration too.  But they have more ability to control their emotions and outbursts at that age so our strategies are different.

So, even though they can intellectually understand what I’m saying, they can’t yet recognize the difference.  I listen to them, waiting to see if they can figure it out without me.  After about 10 minutes, I ask them to bring the baby to me so I can see if I can tell what is wrong.  As soon as mom picks up her baby, he stops crying and starts smiling.  Mom and dad see evidence of spoiling.  I see evidence that the baby was crying because he needed to be held and nurtured.

I tell them how our brains are making connections at this age.  We begin to understand concepts of trust and depending on others to meet our needs.  We are growing attachments based on this trust.  And without these connections, things literally go haywire and kids grow up not trusting.  Not depending.  Not social.  At the most extreme level, this is the beginning of attachment disorder.

I say that to explain, not to scare. 

Their child needs to feel safe and secure and loved.  But these are concepts and concepts are felt, not seen.  


Ironically, infants develop this sense of safety and security and love based on other peoples’ actions. For a new baby, that would be actions like holding him, and gazing into his eyes, and talking to him, and feeding him cradling him rather than propping the bottle (or better yet nursing – at least as it relates to that physical feeling of comfort and safety), and stroking him (if he likes that).  That is how he learns to feel trust and security and safety.  And that is the most important building block for his future.

Propping the bottle all the time.  Repeatedly leaving him in a dirty diaper that creates open sores on his skin and results in pain.  Not feeding him as his needs require.  (FYI:  I’m not referring to choosing a set schedule versus feeding on demand.  Either can work as long as he gets sufficient food to sustain a healthy life.)  Not holding him.  Leaving him alone for long periods without human interaction.  These are just some of the things that can cause a baby to mistrust.  To feel insecure and unsafe.

I also talk about the new parents about developmental changes.  He is awake more and that means he needs more challenges and interactions.  His needs will continue to change as he grows.  He needs to hear his parents’ voice talking to him.  He needs to hear new words.  He needs to see new colors and shapes.  Feel new textures.  Explore his body.  This doesn’t require a mass of toys and objects from Wal-mart.  The world around us is perfectly fine and has worked for thousands of years.  God was good that way. 

  

Eventually, their baby will develop what we think of as a “will” and he will likely be stubborn and demanding and frustrated and frustrating.  But for now, he is still an infant and he needs to feel the safety and security of his mom and dad so that he can learn to trust the big world around him.

As for me, I learned a few new things today... or at least understood them more clearly.  That's the interesting part about parenting - the need to acquire new skills never ends!

When I'm Exhausted... My Frustration Level is a 30 on a Scale of 1-10

Note:  I wondered how long it had been since I was so frustrated I simply couldn’t cope in any rational way.  It turns out that I wrote about it on May 29, 2012 – almost 2 months ago.  Apparently, I write to calm myself!  What struck me was that I wrote then that I was exhausted and missing sleep.  Will I ever learn that without enough sleep I don’t cope well?  This week, I’m committed to being in bed by 10:30 p.m. no matter what….

When I’m Exhausted… 

My Frustration Level is a 30 on a Scale of 1-10

My current frustration level is a 30 on a scale of 1-10.  If I hear another child whine or scream or bitch (I use that word in context) or moan or complain, I don’t know what I will do.  On the way to church this morning, I literally couldn’t stand it another second.  Particularly the shrill screams of a 4-year-old who couldn’t get exactly what he wanted when he wanted it – in this case a sippy cup.  And the 6-year-old who was still crying because she couldn’t find her favorite shoes –  once again - because she didn’t put them where they belong.  Big surprise.  So I asked my husband to pull over and I grabbed my bag and started toward home. 

We were rushing to get ready because my husband was too busy cleaning to remember to wake up the kids.  And the middle kids were too busy sleeping to hear the knock on their door at 9:05 am.  And the little kids were too busy watching television and playing to get dressed.  And I was too busy trying to keep the 1-year-old from tearing apart the house while hunting down cloths and shoes to get everyone else – and myself - ready. 

So, for all those who wonder – it is insanity when we try to gather up everyone at the same time to go anywhere – especially if we have to wear things like cloths and shoes. And getting ready for church is the worst – especially on the day we have to be there early because we have to volunteer in the nursery!  I think I say more curse words before church on these Sundays than most any other time.  And yes, I get the irony.

Maybe it’s an attempt to make getting ready so miserable that we decide not to go. Perhaps it is a conspiracy.  Or maybe just the devil having a good laugh.  I don’t know, but today – it worked.  I’m not at church and I wanted to be.  Crap.

For the record, we have tried the buddy system.  It only works until the big buddy gets frustrated because the little buddy won’t cooperate or the big buddy forgets his or her chore until its too late and mom has to help or we will be late again.  Besides, the big to little ratio is out of whack right now. 

We have also tried having everything laid out in advance.  While that is certainly helpful, that simply shifts my frustration from morning to evening.  


I spent 9 hours in the kitchen yesterday processing all the fresh fruits and veggies I got at the farmer’s market.  As a result, I didn’t put away the 4 triple size loads of laundry that I washed while I was cooking and watching the kids.  So all the decent clean clothes are in baskets in a pile getting permanently wrinkled. 

And because I have been standing all day, I’m exhausted and I don’t want to sort and fold and hang laundry at 10 p.m.  I want to read and write.  I manage a little, but mostly I spend time talking to one of my older kids who needs advice. And then I must put away all the food that I processed that has now cooled and must be frozen before I go to bed -- lest all my work be for naught.

In addition to cooking all day, I had picked up the toys in the living room multiple times -- including the darn legos that we all love to play with and all hate to clean up.  And cleaned the kitchen multiple times.  And cooked dinner.  And wiped loads of melted chocolate off of two young boys, the couch, and the floor after discovering them eating the melted kisses – wrappers and all – that my teen bought with his own money and promptly left in the car to melt.  

So I’m tired and ornery and my shoulders hurt and I just want to sleep.  I go to bed two-hours earlier than usual – hoping that I will actually sleep this time.  


Because stupid me - who knows better -  thought that caffeine wouldn’t really bother me.  


On two nights this week -- after long hard days, I had an ice-cold Diet Dr. Pepper about 8 p.m. because I wanted to relax and I’m not a drinking woman.

Mistake.  Big mistake.  Because I can go to sleep anywhere at any time.  But staying asleep is another matter. One night, the cat was using my daughter’s chair as a scratching post at 2:30 a.m.  That would be the chair that I’m holding onto for safekeeping until she moves into her first house.  Adrenalin pumping, sleep was nowhere in sight for the next two hours.

 

Of course, it wouldn’t have mattered about the cat, because within 15 minutes of the cat episode, my 4-year-old made his way from his room to my bed in pitch black darkness without trouble, but when I suggested that he change his sagging wet pull-up before crawling into my bed because he was “scaaareeed,” he screamed and claimed he needed me to go with him to get the pull-up.

 

Trying not to wake my husband and the rest of the household, I relent and go with him. An hour later, still hoping sleep would return, I get up and do another load of laundry and write.  It was very quiet and pleasant, but for the fact it was 3:30 a.m.!

The second night was also unsuccessful. This time I had to go to the bathroom - the other obvious downside of drinking before bed – duh!  I returned to a semi-state of sleep.  The kind when you are just awake enough to realize you are having weird dreams and you actively try to make sense of them – while the dream is occurring.  Definitely not conducive to good sleep.

Those two nights were totally my fault.  The other nights of not enough sleep – I can blame on my life and an 8-week old baby.  Without enough sleep –defined as at least 6 hours to function, 8 to function without being in a bad mood - it was simply too much to handle the chaos of getting ready for anything. So, for the first time in a long-time, I simply walked away from the chaos with hopes that writing could reclaim my sanity.

Thirty minutes later, I can say that it works.  I’m much calmer.  I’m much happier.

And I’m grateful that I could walk away.  I think most of my family was in shock – including my husband.  Wondering if I would turn around and get back in the car.  I’m sure he was immediately calculating how he was going to handle everyone alone.  


But I didn’t look back.  I went straight to a park bench, promptly spilled my ice-cold Diet Dr. Pepper all over the rocks, cursed some more and then sat down to flesh out my anger.

So folks.  There it is.  You ask me all the time, “How do you do it all?”  My stock answer is, “Not Very Well!”  Mostly this just makes people laugh.  I think they imagine that somehow I must be more patient or tolerant or have more energy or something.  But now you have the moment-by-moment truth. I don’t. 

Of course, I’m not always frustrated.  I can handle a lot -- as evidenced by the fact that most of my kids are in pretty good shape -- but when I am mad, you better run the other way…. far far away. 

Sometimes, I’m a whining, screaming, bitching, moaning, complaining mamma who just wants someone to take me away. 

Today, it was a park bench and a computer.

I have such First World Problems.  So I am getting a grip and am ready to pick up and start again, this time without being so frustrated.

Thanks God.

"3LB Chocolate Door Prize."

Note:  I'm not in a humorous mood lately - so I feel the need to bring out another story I wrote several years ago.

The 3lb Chocolate Door Prize

January 16, 2007

We educate some of our kids at home. I am their primary teacher. Every semester I am required to attend a school faculty meeting with other home schooling families from across the state led by Group Leaders who try to keep us organized, compliant and entertained.

At the beginning of our last meeting they had a contest to give away a 3 pound Chocolate Bar as a door prize.  The bar was awarded based on the answers to questions that the leaders thought a few, but not many home school moms could attest to. 

First question, “Who mopped their kitchen floor BEFORE arriving at this 9:00 a.m. meeting?” 

Two hands go up? I look around disgusted with myself. I can’t remember the last time I mopped my kitchen floor. But I’m not alone. There are 50 other people in that room sitting on their hands.

It’s a tie requiring a follow-up question, “What time did you have to leave to get here this morning?”

One of the top two moms answers, "7:00 a.m."

The other mom looks sheepishly embarrassed and said, “This seems unbelievable, but I left at 7:00 a.m. too.” 

Wait - they BOTH mopped their floors before 7:00 a.m.?!?
Only in my dreams.

The two aforementioned questions require a third and final tie-breaking question, “Did you make a homemade breakfast from scratch for your family BEFORE leaving for this meeting? 

I can’t bear to look. These are questions from the Twilight Zone.

The first mom looks down sadly, as if she had just committed a mortal sin. “No. We had whole grain cereal with milk from our cow and fruit that I canned this summer.”

Everyone looks in anticipation at the second mom who says, “Does baking homemade bread count?” She was serious.

I couldn’t help but laugh hysterically, but wasn’t that the point?

Don’t get me wrong. I’m absolutely thrilled that these moms have a servant’s heart and have organized their lives in such a way that they are able to lovingly feed their families and clean up after them before 7 a.m. on a Saturday morning. I truly imagine the same life for myself all the time. I really do. But that isn’t in my cards and I’ve come to accept that.

No. I laughed because a 3-pound Chocolate Bar was chosen as a door prize by a woman who obviously loves chocolate and won by a mom who bakes homemade bread at 4:30 a.m. and then mops her floor. They say you buy for others the gift you want for yourself.

I laughed even harder as I recalled the events of that morning in my house. I don’t know what the other 50 moms were doing with their time before our faculty meeting, but I’m almost positive none of them were watching a soap opera and eating bon bons. That’s not in the mom job description.

When we got home from the meeting, I received a follow-up email from the group leader about the meeting. I couldn’t resist the urge, so I responded:

“I was so disappointed that you didn’t ask, 'Who had to physically restrain a wildly angry and aggressive 12-year-old foster child (so that he wouldn’t hurt himself or someone else), try to get him understand what it means to deceive, and demonstrate to him that he is under the authority of parents who take actions to help him -- BEFORE COMING TO THIS MEETING!”

Welcome to my life.

I really needed that 3 lb chocolate bar. And to think, I could have just made bread or mopped my floor.”

Just for the record, I have baked bread and mopped my floor at few times in my life. But never before 7:00 am. And I wouldn’t have it any other way. 

Happy 20th Birthday Heather! I'm So Proud of Your Legacy.

NOTE:  I posted this same entry on my other blog, DialogOfTheHeart.blogspot.com.  It assumes that you know our story, which you can find on the other site.  It's Heather's Birthday and I took the opportunity to write her another letter in memory of our journey together. 

Happy Birthday Heather.  I'm Proud of Your Legacy

July 17, 2012

Dear Heather,

Today you would have been 20-years-old.  But I guess you know that! I don’t know if you have any need to celebrate birthdays in heaven, but we still celebrate you here. We are releasing balloons and eating cotton candy.  Your life and your death have impacted my life and so many others more than I thought possible. 

I have been thinking about what you would be like right now.

I wonder where you would be in your journey to healing.  I wonder how much deeper you would feel the love of God.  I wonder what our relationship would be like and whether you would be in college or have your own apartment.  I wonder how many more times you would have cheated death to experience the thrill of life.  I wonder if you would still be impacting so many lives by your mere presence and I especially wonder what you would have painted or written or videoed.  Your art is displayed in the dining room.  Your videos and much of your writing is on the internet.  It serves as a reminder and an encouragement.

A few of your siblings are in the stage I would hope that you would be in now.  The other day, one of your older sisters told me that even though she has had security and stability for more than 12 years, she is only now able to start coping with her past.  You started thinking and processing your life much earlier than most, but you hadn’t yet finished… at least not in worldly terms. I imagine that you would still struggle, but also experience hope. 

I have been sharing your letters with the world.  Or at least anyone who wants to read our story.  I knew that from your position in heaven you wouldn’t mind me sharing.  Especially if they can help someone else.  You would have done anything for anyone, even a stranger.  To this day, I cannot pass a homeless man on a street corner without hearing you demand that we pull over and give him something.  So I do.

That’s why so many people were impacted by you.  Because your unconditional love showed through.  People who knew you. People who had only met you once.  And even people who heard about you through others.  They were all impacted by you.  That’s why your letters attract a lot of attention.  They are so honest. 

Of course, you never imagined me reading them.  At least not this way.  But I did.  They helped me understand you so much better than I ever did while you were living.  I wanted to understand.  I tried to understand.  And I did understand a lot.  But I didn’t really know the depth of your thoughts.  They often got absorbed into your silliness.  And you often shut me out.  Believing I didn’t want to be bothered, when really, I just didn’t know what else to do for you. 

For me, finding, reading and responding to your letters after you died has been the single most valuable thing I have done to grieve my loss.  I got to tell you calmly all that I tried to convey to you in our long talks.  And your letters answered many of my questions.  I read your criticisms of me, but I also read that you loved for me.  I realized that you were listening to me when I was speaking – even though I often felt ignored. I was able to fill in the pieces of your story – the things my mommy-heart knew, but I had never fully confirmed.

I wrote my letters to you over the course of 6 months.  What I wrote just came pouring out.  I didn’t have to think very much.  And the entire time I was writing, I was learning about you and about myself and about others.  To this day, I still re-read your letters and my responses.  Each time I do, I learn something new. 

Lots and lots of people have written me to tell me that our letters have impacted them more than they could express.  Parents, teens and even young adults.  Male and female.  Believers and non-believers.   They are all saying the same thing.  They feel understood and/or they are learning to understand in a way that is hard to achieve. 

I love that God not only uses our thoughts and words to help others, he uses them to help me. Countless times since you died, I have been talking to one of your brothers or sisters and I start to say something, and it turns out to be exactly what I had written to you.  So I pull out your letters and I read them so that they can see that my advice is the same no matter the circumstance because Truth is Truth.  It also helps for them to not feel so alone.

Your death has given me words for the desires of our heart - to find Every Child a Home and a family that will love and cherish them forever.  My vision has expanded.  I feel compelled to talk and to use our story to help others understand what it means to feel abandoned.

I have been grieving a lot for all the hurting children lately.  As I’m reading and writing and posting, I keep seeing exactly how similar the themes are for hurting children.  Loss, abandonment, entitlement, trust, fear, and so much more.

This weekend, I read a book by a man who was raised in the Russian orphanage system.  He tells a compelling story of his life in multiple orphanages and one abusive adoptive home.  He was a throw-away in Russian society and eventually aged-out in a system where about 10 percent of orphans commit suicide. Even in a foreign country, the emotions and feelings prove to be universal. (Infinitely More by Alex Krutov.) Ultimately, he dedicated his entire life to helping others.

Last night, I listened to a video by a young man who was raised in, and aged-out of foster care in Alabama. (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ee2YV4bwMjU&feature=plcp). He was in 46 homes.  He never found anyone who was willing to allow him to be a part of their family. He never felt like he belonged. 

At one point he said, “I never stayed any place long enough to call it home.”  I felt like I heard your voice in the “There is No Place Like Home” video when you said, “I never stayed in any place long enough to get familiar with it and be able to say, ‘This is home.’”     (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WEouWIM-UZk&feature=share)

When he finally graduated from high school, he was given $500 and an empty independent living  apartment.  That’s all he had.  No family.  No real support.  No love.  Just $500 and an apartment.  No one should be that alone.

But like Alex, the Russian orphan, he is not dwelling on his past. Instead, he is trying to make a difference. He is now in college studying social work. 

The one thing all three of you had in common was Jesus.  When the world let you down, you relied on the only real Savior.  And that makes all the difference.

Alex has already impacted the lives of many Russian orphans who aged-out of the system.

I feel certain that the young man raised in foster care will affect the lives of those he encounters because he truly understands.

I have chosen to devote my life to helping the children God brings to our family. Thankfully, your father and the rest of our family have joined that vision wholeheartedly. Hopefully, our story will allow other people to see what we see.  That it is challenging and sad and frustrating and exhausting, but it is worth it.  Alone, none of us can solve the entire problem, but we can help just one person outside of our normal circle of family and friends to feel included and not so alone.

You have taught me that we are worth it.  

I love you honey.  I’m proud of the legacy that you have left behind.

Mom

http://fundly.com/everychildahome

JUST THE FACTS.... raising 20 children

• 8 bedrooms
• 3 1/2 baths
• 23 beds
• 4 refrigerators
• 4 freezers
• 2 dishwashers
• 2 ovens
• 4 cars
• 30 + Birthdays
• 21 Home-cooked meals per week
• 8-10 loads of laundry per day
• 3 55-gallon trash cans per week (plus overflow) 
• 1 trash compactor
• 1 semi-truck to deliver a 3 month supply of frozen meats and veggies
• 2 trips per month to Sam's Club
• 1 trip to the farmer's market every week
• daily trips to the grocery store
• no sugary soft drinks
• 5 dozen eggs a week
• 3-4 gallons of milk per day
• 1 case of formula per month
• 300+ diapers per month
• 2 cases of diaper wipes per month
• 160 pull-ups/goodnights per month
• 1 loaf of bread per meal
• 2 boxes of cereal per meal
• 3 cats (no dogs)
• 1 fish
• Who knows how many frogs and lizards the kids can catch each day
• 3 televisions
• 2 babies under 2
• 4 kids under 5
• 5 kids under 6
• 6 kids under 9
• 1 mom almost 50
• 1 dad over 60
• 5 couches
• 4 swings
• 1 treehouse
• no garage
• 3 baby beds
• 60 color coded towels
• 100's of dishclothes (few paper towels)
• Hand Sanitizer by the gallon
• 2-4 pounds of protein per meal
• cheese in 5 lb blocks
• 14 special blankets (for comfort and sleeping)