You are finally done with all the training, inspections, questions, paperwork and you have your license proudly displayed for all to see. Now, you wait. In training, you heard about the families that got a placement the day they were approved. You hope you will be, too.
As a PRIDE trainer, I will remind you that it takes 9 months to have a baby, even if you get pregnant the first time you try. Foster and adoption are often the same way. As a foster and adoptive parent of 20 odd years, I will tell you that I still carry the phone to the bathroom with me so I don't miss a call. I still call my worker and remind her that I am anxiously awaiting a call. Oops! I forgot to call her today.
Since our second placement in 1992 and through 2007, we were never completely empty. In fact, we have stayed full....at capacity...no more room in the Inn....most of the last 20 something years. Except I have no placement now. I am going crazy!
My own five kids are not enough. I kissed my last placement good-bye as he went into adoption on April 16. I am lost. I am a fixer. I NEED a placement. I WANT a broken baby. Don't misunderstand, I don't want someone to break a baby for me. I know there are those already broken that need a mommy like me.
I don't want the placement worker to leave her computer screen or her phone till I get that call. I want her to eat at her desk and check her e-mail every 3 minutes. I want her to keep her on-call phone with her at all times. I prefer she not shower till I get a placement. A bath is acceptable as she can answer the phone during a bath. I promise you she wants a placement for me as bad as I do. She will be very glad when I no longer call her daily to whine about needing a placement.
I'm thinking of printing business cards with my name and number on it so I can go to the hospital neonatal units and the PICU's and pass them out in hopes that a CPS case workers will put my name on one of those babies.
I am not patient. I don't want to be patient. I WANT A BABY!
Can I get an Amen?
Judy
Still loving life as a Foster and Adoptive Parent for over 20 years and 58 children.
Tuesday, May 8, 2012
Thursday, May 3, 2012
Should classrooms have video cameras?
I have often wondered if putting video cameras in the classroom would aid in convincing little Johnny's parents that he is, in fact, making obscene gestures at his teacher and classmates. There are, in my opinion, way too many parents who make excuses for their students behavior, refuse to believe their little angel did anything wrong or blame the school. If the behavior is on video, parent's can't deny what their eyes see.
I wonder if, like football coaches, teachers can view their classes and fine tune their teaching skills as coaches fine tune their coaching. Imagine students having access to repeat instruction via recorded classes. Wouldn't video recording cut down on student misbehavior in general? The have cameras on school buses for that very reason.
In all of my wondering, I never considered a hidden camera or audio recorder attached to a student. I have never considered the possibility that our special population teachers and other school professionals are anything less than the dedicated educators they signed up to be. Stuart Chaifetz wasn't thinking any negative about his son's teacher either, but he felt he needed to find out why his ten year old son, diagnosed with Autism, was becoming violent in the classroom but never at home. He placed a "wire" on his son prior to sending him to school, as his son is unable to communicate adequately to explain his day. When Mr. Chaifetz listened to the six hours of audio, he was sick.
Instead of hearing other students bullying Akain, the audio revealed it was the teacher, the teacher's aides, and the occupational therapist who behaved inappropriately and unprofessionally, if not criminally. On the recording, you can hear an adult call Akain a "Bastard". You hear adults belittling the children off and on all day. You can hear adults discussing their dislike of parents, specifically, Mr. Chaifetz in front of Akain. You hear the teacher and the OT literally conspiring to sabotage an ARD meeting. You hear, "SHUT UP!" screamed by an adult to special needs children.
Mr. Chaifetz took his audio to the school administration in order for them to handle the personnel issues within the district. However, after only one aide being fired and the teacher being reassigned to another campus, Mr. Chaifetz went public.
Oh my gosh!!! Everyone involved should have been fired. They sure would have been fired in my school district. The teacher claimed she was not in her classroom the first hour of the day. Okay, what about the rest of the day? Her voice is clearly on that recording speaking inappropriately to students, speaking ill of parents, discussing how to lie to a parent and planning a coup during an ARD meeting.
What is this school district thinking? They have grounds for termination on so many levels. Why would any school district in any state want a teacher who is so obviously inappropriate and one so detrimental to the well being of the children in her class? Get her out of there. She is not the norm. She is the exception; a bad exception. She should not be in any classroom in any district.
One teacher's aide was fired. What about the other one? Even if she was not clearly heard being inappropriate, she was privy to what others said and reported this to no one. Where is she now? I wouldn't want her in my child's classroom, on the playground, in the library or in the lunchroom.
I am happy to report that Akain is no longer attending the school in question and is having no violent outbursts.
To address my original thought, I think maybe there are more reasons than I originally thought for having video cameras in the classroom. Whether it is one student's incorrigible behavior caught on video or one teacher out of thousands openly traumatizing her students, maybe it is worth it. If it helps educate students by watching their class over and over, maybe it's worth the time and money to get it done. If it helps our teachers become better teachers, it's a win-win situation.
Think about it.
Blessing,
Judy
I wonder if, like football coaches, teachers can view their classes and fine tune their teaching skills as coaches fine tune their coaching. Imagine students having access to repeat instruction via recorded classes. Wouldn't video recording cut down on student misbehavior in general? The have cameras on school buses for that very reason.
In all of my wondering, I never considered a hidden camera or audio recorder attached to a student. I have never considered the possibility that our special population teachers and other school professionals are anything less than the dedicated educators they signed up to be. Stuart Chaifetz wasn't thinking any negative about his son's teacher either, but he felt he needed to find out why his ten year old son, diagnosed with Autism, was becoming violent in the classroom but never at home. He placed a "wire" on his son prior to sending him to school, as his son is unable to communicate adequately to explain his day. When Mr. Chaifetz listened to the six hours of audio, he was sick.
Instead of hearing other students bullying Akain, the audio revealed it was the teacher, the teacher's aides, and the occupational therapist who behaved inappropriately and unprofessionally, if not criminally. On the recording, you can hear an adult call Akain a "Bastard". You hear adults belittling the children off and on all day. You can hear adults discussing their dislike of parents, specifically, Mr. Chaifetz in front of Akain. You hear the teacher and the OT literally conspiring to sabotage an ARD meeting. You hear, "SHUT UP!" screamed by an adult to special needs children.
Mr. Chaifetz took his audio to the school administration in order for them to handle the personnel issues within the district. However, after only one aide being fired and the teacher being reassigned to another campus, Mr. Chaifetz went public.
Oh my gosh!!! Everyone involved should have been fired. They sure would have been fired in my school district. The teacher claimed she was not in her classroom the first hour of the day. Okay, what about the rest of the day? Her voice is clearly on that recording speaking inappropriately to students, speaking ill of parents, discussing how to lie to a parent and planning a coup during an ARD meeting.
What is this school district thinking? They have grounds for termination on so many levels. Why would any school district in any state want a teacher who is so obviously inappropriate and one so detrimental to the well being of the children in her class? Get her out of there. She is not the norm. She is the exception; a bad exception. She should not be in any classroom in any district.
One teacher's aide was fired. What about the other one? Even if she was not clearly heard being inappropriate, she was privy to what others said and reported this to no one. Where is she now? I wouldn't want her in my child's classroom, on the playground, in the library or in the lunchroom.
I am happy to report that Akain is no longer attending the school in question and is having no violent outbursts.
To address my original thought, I think maybe there are more reasons than I originally thought for having video cameras in the classroom. Whether it is one student's incorrigible behavior caught on video or one teacher out of thousands openly traumatizing her students, maybe it is worth it. If it helps educate students by watching their class over and over, maybe it's worth the time and money to get it done. If it helps our teachers become better teachers, it's a win-win situation.
Think about it.
Blessing,
Judy
Tuesday, May 1, 2012
My Perspective in Houston's newborn abduction
National News reports the murder of a young mother and the abduction of her newborn outside of a pediatricians office in Houston, Texas. The dramatic story paints a tragic and gruesome picture in our minds. A beautiful young mother whose dying words included, "My baby! My baby!" as she struggled to get in her murder's car to save her baby. The love of a mother overcame her body's own impending death. Her injuries tell the story of someone who had been shot seven times in the chest and who should be lying unconscious in the street as she bled to death. The story further creates the image of some crazed, if not demonic woman who killed a complete stranger and took her newborn baby. Soon after, we are told, the father races to the scene to see his wife's lifeless body. We imagine this father in his business casual attire as he was called away from work, bending over his wife's still body unable to comprehend what he sees or has been told. Ultimately, it is reported that the baby has been found unharmed and the suspect is in custody.
In later local reports, we learn that Child Protective Services were called in to help with the safety of the baby until he could be reunited with his father. Then pictures are released of the grieving father and his mother-in-law going into the police station to be reunited with their beloved son and grandson. Another photo, taken an hour later shows the same adults leaving the police station without the baby. In our minds, we are outraged!
More information and pictures are released to the media. The father has to pass a drug test before his children can go home...that's right, there are two more young children who, after losing their mother, were swept away by social workers. The father admits that he has felonies in his past. We go back and look at all the pictures again. We quickly form our individual opinions and pass judgement of the shooter/kidnapper, the victim, her family, the police, and CPS based on an article, a few pictures and our own life experiences. I am no different.
Why didn't someone notice a woman sitting her car watching people; seeing her as they went into the clinic and see her again when they went out. Are we so focused on our own priorities that we fail to see the world around us? If just one person had taken the time to notice something not right about her surroundings and report it, would it have prevented a tragedy? Maybe.
Why didn't someone reach out to this obviously disturbed woman? Now, even medication and treatment can never make her forget what she did. According to her ex-husband, she was a kind woman, a good mother and "would never hurt anybody." Something caused the change in her behavior. Something caused her to snap. Didn't anyone around her notice the changes? Most people don't randomly or obsessively think about or talk about adopting a baby with no viable plan, let alone stalk women with young babies and kill one in order to adopt her baby. This woman's tragedy may be much less accepted by the public than the victim and her family, but a tragedy all the same.
Why did this daddy have to be humiliated and be further traumatized because of his past mistakes? CPS was called in for protection of the newborn on an emergency basis. That was a logical option while all the basic details of the shooting were sorted out. CPS has a protocol that must be followed. Back ground checks are at the top of the list for anyone who is a caregiver for any given child under investigation. Even though this was not an abuse report, that same protocol had to be followed and Dad has a criminal record. It was rectified the following morning with a drug test but I still can't help but hurt for that daddy and his kids. I'm thinking they could have taken Dad to the local hospital or clinic for an immediate drug test to ensure this family could be together as they needed to be. However, I was not there and had I been, I may have been privy to additional information that indicated more caution should be taken.
The fact remains that many lives have been changed forever as a result of this tragedy. The murder victim left behind a husband and children who will never be the same. I'm sure she had extended family that will be changed at their loss. The shooter's children will carry the knowledge that their mom murdered another mom. Her extended family will forever be changed, wondering if they should have done something more. Every person in the parking lot, in the clinic, who responded to the 911 call and even the team that cleaned up are forever changed. The memories of that day will remain always.
In later local reports, we learn that Child Protective Services were called in to help with the safety of the baby until he could be reunited with his father. Then pictures are released of the grieving father and his mother-in-law going into the police station to be reunited with their beloved son and grandson. Another photo, taken an hour later shows the same adults leaving the police station without the baby. In our minds, we are outraged!
More information and pictures are released to the media. The father has to pass a drug test before his children can go home...that's right, there are two more young children who, after losing their mother, were swept away by social workers. The father admits that he has felonies in his past. We go back and look at all the pictures again. We quickly form our individual opinions and pass judgement of the shooter/kidnapper, the victim, her family, the police, and CPS based on an article, a few pictures and our own life experiences. I am no different.
Why didn't someone notice a woman sitting her car watching people; seeing her as they went into the clinic and see her again when they went out. Are we so focused on our own priorities that we fail to see the world around us? If just one person had taken the time to notice something not right about her surroundings and report it, would it have prevented a tragedy? Maybe.
Why didn't someone reach out to this obviously disturbed woman? Now, even medication and treatment can never make her forget what she did. According to her ex-husband, she was a kind woman, a good mother and "would never hurt anybody." Something caused the change in her behavior. Something caused her to snap. Didn't anyone around her notice the changes? Most people don't randomly or obsessively think about or talk about adopting a baby with no viable plan, let alone stalk women with young babies and kill one in order to adopt her baby. This woman's tragedy may be much less accepted by the public than the victim and her family, but a tragedy all the same.
Why did this daddy have to be humiliated and be further traumatized because of his past mistakes? CPS was called in for protection of the newborn on an emergency basis. That was a logical option while all the basic details of the shooting were sorted out. CPS has a protocol that must be followed. Back ground checks are at the top of the list for anyone who is a caregiver for any given child under investigation. Even though this was not an abuse report, that same protocol had to be followed and Dad has a criminal record. It was rectified the following morning with a drug test but I still can't help but hurt for that daddy and his kids. I'm thinking they could have taken Dad to the local hospital or clinic for an immediate drug test to ensure this family could be together as they needed to be. However, I was not there and had I been, I may have been privy to additional information that indicated more caution should be taken.
The fact remains that many lives have been changed forever as a result of this tragedy. The murder victim left behind a husband and children who will never be the same. I'm sure she had extended family that will be changed at their loss. The shooter's children will carry the knowledge that their mom murdered another mom. Her extended family will forever be changed, wondering if they should have done something more. Every person in the parking lot, in the clinic, who responded to the 911 call and even the team that cleaned up are forever changed. The memories of that day will remain always.
Wednesday, April 11, 2012
Normal is just a dial on the washing machine
What is normal anyway? Two parents, two and a half kids, a dog and a mini van? A table for 4 or maybe even 6? A kitchen with only one high chair? A dozen or so baby bottles for a newborn baby? Locks on the lower kitchen cabinets so toddlers don't drag out the pots and pans?
Normal at the Bartlett house looks something like this:
Mom who is 54.
Kids ranging from birth to 16.
Kids of various races.
Kids....many kids.
Three tables, one that seats eight and two that seat four each to hold the people who dine here on any given day.
One to three high chairs depending on who is there.
Feeding pumps instead of bottles to feed the babies.
Oxygen in the corner in case it is needed.
Locks on every cabinet within anyone's reach.
All medications are locked up including the Desitin.
Seven car seats but not all being used at the same time.
Five strollers, just in case.
I love our normal. I thrive on being a mommy, but I get tired, too. I wouldn't change being a foster and adoptive mom for anything....not even an air conditioned condo on the beach with servants to tend my every wish and all the Tony Roma ribs I can eat.
Normal to us has been four car seats in the van, having to take two vehicles to church to get everyone there. There have been years that our church nursery was staffed based on our attendance. We haven't ever been able to take a spontaneous family trip. A family trip to us is packing everyone up and going to a ballgame across town or to a local restaurant. It takes no less than 30 minutes to gather and load everyone today. In years past, it could take an hour or more to prepare for dinner out with the kids.
Dinner out with the Bartlett's is always an adventure. I remember the Sunday afternoon we decided to pack up and go to the lake to one of our favorite restaurants. It was a lovely little place with windows all along one side that allowed patrons (and most importantly our children) to see the lake in all its beauty. Water holds some sort of mesmerizing effect on most children. Between the water and the buffet of of every sort of dish imaginable, it was perfect for us. What we didn't foresee was Baby D. While Baby D was fed exclusively by a feeding tube, he needed social time. We are required to expose our children to social situations as much as possible and must document our efforts.
Once seated, we began to take turns filling kids plates and then our own. Baby D lay quietly in his car seat while all of this took place. About the time we all had our plates full and the waitress brought our drinks, Baby D came to the conclusion that he was in an evil place. His eyes got so wide, I thought they would pop out of his head. Just as I thought he would be okay, the waitress spoke to him in Chinese. That was it! He began to shake and cry. He quickly began screaming like an Indian on the war path.
The waitress came to our table with a panic look on her face and said, "Your baby cry. He needs to stop." All the while, we are trying to console him, we are also trying not to laugh at the scene before us. Five young children and two adults were quietly eating at our table as if nothing out of the ordinary was taking place. Lee was standing with Baby D trying to convince him that he would survive to see another day. The waitress was becoming frantic. She said, "Your baby loud. You take him home. Make him stop cry." Lee and I looked at each other and cracked up. Lee took the baby into the parking lot and walked with him until the home health nurse had finished her meal, then they changed positioned. Lee came in to eat and Darlene walked the parking lot with Baby D while he screamed. The waitress continued to watch the front door for fear that someone might bring Baby D back inside. We finished our meal and headed home. The waitress will probably never be the same. For the Bartlett's, this is normal.
May your day be full of laughter.
Judy
Normal at the Bartlett house looks something like this:
Mom who is 54.
Kids ranging from birth to 16.
Kids of various races.
Kids....many kids.
Three tables, one that seats eight and two that seat four each to hold the people who dine here on any given day.
One to three high chairs depending on who is there.
Feeding pumps instead of bottles to feed the babies.
Oxygen in the corner in case it is needed.
Locks on every cabinet within anyone's reach.
All medications are locked up including the Desitin.
Seven car seats but not all being used at the same time.
Five strollers, just in case.
I love our normal. I thrive on being a mommy, but I get tired, too. I wouldn't change being a foster and adoptive mom for anything....not even an air conditioned condo on the beach with servants to tend my every wish and all the Tony Roma ribs I can eat.
Normal to us has been four car seats in the van, having to take two vehicles to church to get everyone there. There have been years that our church nursery was staffed based on our attendance. We haven't ever been able to take a spontaneous family trip. A family trip to us is packing everyone up and going to a ballgame across town or to a local restaurant. It takes no less than 30 minutes to gather and load everyone today. In years past, it could take an hour or more to prepare for dinner out with the kids.
Dinner out with the Bartlett's is always an adventure. I remember the Sunday afternoon we decided to pack up and go to the lake to one of our favorite restaurants. It was a lovely little place with windows all along one side that allowed patrons (and most importantly our children) to see the lake in all its beauty. Water holds some sort of mesmerizing effect on most children. Between the water and the buffet of of every sort of dish imaginable, it was perfect for us. What we didn't foresee was Baby D. While Baby D was fed exclusively by a feeding tube, he needed social time. We are required to expose our children to social situations as much as possible and must document our efforts.
Once seated, we began to take turns filling kids plates and then our own. Baby D lay quietly in his car seat while all of this took place. About the time we all had our plates full and the waitress brought our drinks, Baby D came to the conclusion that he was in an evil place. His eyes got so wide, I thought they would pop out of his head. Just as I thought he would be okay, the waitress spoke to him in Chinese. That was it! He began to shake and cry. He quickly began screaming like an Indian on the war path.
The waitress came to our table with a panic look on her face and said, "Your baby cry. He needs to stop." All the while, we are trying to console him, we are also trying not to laugh at the scene before us. Five young children and two adults were quietly eating at our table as if nothing out of the ordinary was taking place. Lee was standing with Baby D trying to convince him that he would survive to see another day. The waitress was becoming frantic. She said, "Your baby loud. You take him home. Make him stop cry." Lee and I looked at each other and cracked up. Lee took the baby into the parking lot and walked with him until the home health nurse had finished her meal, then they changed positioned. Lee came in to eat and Darlene walked the parking lot with Baby D while he screamed. The waitress continued to watch the front door for fear that someone might bring Baby D back inside. We finished our meal and headed home. The waitress will probably never be the same. For the Bartlett's, this is normal.
May your day be full of laughter.
Judy
Autism is not for sissy's
2:30 a.m.
Silly Bear is awake standing by my bed clapping. I sit up and smile. Silly Bear can read my face and anything but a smile typically elicits tears and wailing. I am now programed for smiles even at 2:30 in the morning.
Inside, I am not smiling. Inside, I am grimacing, wishing there is an easy way to get Silly Bear back to sleep. I roll out of bed and hug Silly Bear. I take him to the kitchen for a drink. He wants juice. There is none in the refrigerator. I try to convince him that water is the best thing to drink in the night. He begins to melt, his face distorting into something resembling an extreme muscle spasm. The sound starts from his toes and works its way up. Before he can stop, drop and scream, I interject another option for a drink. There is juice in the pantry, it's just not cold. He grins and wipes the tears off his face with his sleeve.
I open the pantry door, quickly take out the juice before Silly Bear spies something he might want to eat. I put ice in his cup and fill it halfway with juice. He takes one sip and puts it down. He then begins the question game; each question louder than the one before. "Why do I need to drink juice?" Why do I need to have ice?" "Why is it dark?" "Why do I have to wear pajamas to sleep?" "Why is the refrigerator cold?" What color is juice?" "Is the baby crying?"
3:00 a.m.
Silly Bear's questions disturbed the baby so now there are three of us awake. Now, just for the record, I am extremely proud of Silly Bear's communication skills. If it weren't for Becca, Silly Bear would not be able to ask questions. So, where is Becca anyway? Maybe I should call her and thank her for the hard work she has done with Silly Bear. Oh, it's now 3:00 o'clock in the morning and she is sleeping peacefully in her own home. That, and she refuses to give me her phone number. I digress.
I quickly scoop Silly Bear up and carry him back to his bed. I tuck him in, say prayers just like we did the first time we went to bed and tell him to stay in the bed so I can get him a surprise in the morning. I hurry down the hall to the baby's room. Baby Bear is standing there looking at me with blanket in hand. I gather him into my arms and sit in the big comfy rocker to lull him back to sleep with my sleepy, off key version of the Veggie Tale song.
3:25 a.m.
The toilet flushes and I hear small footsteps in the hall. My mind is alert now, knowing that Silly Bear is headed to my bed and I am not there. I gently toss the baby back into the crib. (He's not asleep anyway.) I begin calling Silly Bear's name, first quietly, then louder. Waking the rest of the children was not my concern at this point, it was waking the neighbors if I didn't get to Silly Bear before he begins his rendition of a human being mauled by an angry Siberian tiger.
Once Silly Bear is assured that I am here and not leaving him, he and I go together back to his bed. We are only there to retrieve his pillow, blanket and the collection of rocks he took to bed with him. Hand in hand we walk down the hall like we're on our way to the park. As we enter the living room, I explain to Silly Bear that the baby is awake and I must get him out of his bed so he will stop crying. Silly Bear plopped on the couch to wait.
3:30 a.m.
With Baby Bear, his blanket and pacifier, I hollow out a place on the couch beside Silly Bear. I thank God for the recliner built into my couch, pull the lever and lean back. The baby snuggles down on one side and Silly Bear on the other, complete with a large comforter, pillow and hand full of rocks.
I reach for the remote, turn on Dora, help Silly Bear get settled and hope they both go back to sleep before I do.
4:45 a.m.
I wake to my arm throbbing from lack of circulation coupled with the odd position it is in. Though I was disoriented from lack of sleep, I knew something wasn't right about the situation. The baby was asleep, thank goodness, but under Silly Bear's comforter was nothing but a pillow. Silly Bear and the rocks were gone.
I listened. Nothing. I quietly called, "Silly Bear." No answer. Maybe not as fast as greased lightening, but fast for an old lady with very little sleep and a baby in her arms, I returned Baby Bear to his bed and went in search of Silly Bear.
4:50 a.m.
I discovered Silly Bear in the hall bathroom with the door closed and locked. Using my skills learned from my grandson's "How to Pick Lock's for Dummies" manual and a small tool, I opened the door. There he stood, like a research scientist deep in thought, on the brink of discovering a cure for the common cold. His test tubes (medicine syringes from the kitchen), flasks (various cups and glass goblets also from the kitchen), tools including spoons, straws, thermometer, sticks rocks and a small sword, and his ingredients: toilet paper, two kinds of toothpaste, water, juice (bet you guessed that one), shampoo and something very blue.
5:00 a.m.
After observing Silly Bear for the better part of ten minutes, searching my mind for words that were appropriate, I said, "Wow! You put in lot of hard work here but now we have to clean it up." That is a lie. Surely you don't think I am that good of a mother. Honestly, I said, "Silly Bear, WHAT ARE YOU DOING?" I wiped him off, threw a towel in the floor to soak up the liquid I would have to clean up in a few hours and helped Silly Bear change into clean pajamas.
5:20 a.m.
Silly Bear and I snuggled down in my bed this time. Power Rangers are on the TV and I doze off hoping to catch another hours sleep before the day starts. My alarm went off at 6:30 a.m. Before I could open my eyes, I hear, "Time to get up Mom. Can I have my prize now?"
Such is the night life of the mommy whose child is affected by autism.
Silly Bear is awake standing by my bed clapping. I sit up and smile. Silly Bear can read my face and anything but a smile typically elicits tears and wailing. I am now programed for smiles even at 2:30 in the morning.
Inside, I am not smiling. Inside, I am grimacing, wishing there is an easy way to get Silly Bear back to sleep. I roll out of bed and hug Silly Bear. I take him to the kitchen for a drink. He wants juice. There is none in the refrigerator. I try to convince him that water is the best thing to drink in the night. He begins to melt, his face distorting into something resembling an extreme muscle spasm. The sound starts from his toes and works its way up. Before he can stop, drop and scream, I interject another option for a drink. There is juice in the pantry, it's just not cold. He grins and wipes the tears off his face with his sleeve.
I open the pantry door, quickly take out the juice before Silly Bear spies something he might want to eat. I put ice in his cup and fill it halfway with juice. He takes one sip and puts it down. He then begins the question game; each question louder than the one before. "Why do I need to drink juice?" Why do I need to have ice?" "Why is it dark?" "Why do I have to wear pajamas to sleep?" "Why is the refrigerator cold?" What color is juice?" "Is the baby crying?"
3:00 a.m.
Silly Bear's questions disturbed the baby so now there are three of us awake. Now, just for the record, I am extremely proud of Silly Bear's communication skills. If it weren't for Becca, Silly Bear would not be able to ask questions. So, where is Becca anyway? Maybe I should call her and thank her for the hard work she has done with Silly Bear. Oh, it's now 3:00 o'clock in the morning and she is sleeping peacefully in her own home. That, and she refuses to give me her phone number. I digress.
I quickly scoop Silly Bear up and carry him back to his bed. I tuck him in, say prayers just like we did the first time we went to bed and tell him to stay in the bed so I can get him a surprise in the morning. I hurry down the hall to the baby's room. Baby Bear is standing there looking at me with blanket in hand. I gather him into my arms and sit in the big comfy rocker to lull him back to sleep with my sleepy, off key version of the Veggie Tale song.
3:25 a.m.
The toilet flushes and I hear small footsteps in the hall. My mind is alert now, knowing that Silly Bear is headed to my bed and I am not there. I gently toss the baby back into the crib. (He's not asleep anyway.) I begin calling Silly Bear's name, first quietly, then louder. Waking the rest of the children was not my concern at this point, it was waking the neighbors if I didn't get to Silly Bear before he begins his rendition of a human being mauled by an angry Siberian tiger.
Once Silly Bear is assured that I am here and not leaving him, he and I go together back to his bed. We are only there to retrieve his pillow, blanket and the collection of rocks he took to bed with him. Hand in hand we walk down the hall like we're on our way to the park. As we enter the living room, I explain to Silly Bear that the baby is awake and I must get him out of his bed so he will stop crying. Silly Bear plopped on the couch to wait.
3:30 a.m.
With Baby Bear, his blanket and pacifier, I hollow out a place on the couch beside Silly Bear. I thank God for the recliner built into my couch, pull the lever and lean back. The baby snuggles down on one side and Silly Bear on the other, complete with a large comforter, pillow and hand full of rocks.
I reach for the remote, turn on Dora, help Silly Bear get settled and hope they both go back to sleep before I do.
4:45 a.m.
I wake to my arm throbbing from lack of circulation coupled with the odd position it is in. Though I was disoriented from lack of sleep, I knew something wasn't right about the situation. The baby was asleep, thank goodness, but under Silly Bear's comforter was nothing but a pillow. Silly Bear and the rocks were gone.
I listened. Nothing. I quietly called, "Silly Bear." No answer. Maybe not as fast as greased lightening, but fast for an old lady with very little sleep and a baby in her arms, I returned Baby Bear to his bed and went in search of Silly Bear.
4:50 a.m.
I discovered Silly Bear in the hall bathroom with the door closed and locked. Using my skills learned from my grandson's "How to Pick Lock's for Dummies" manual and a small tool, I opened the door. There he stood, like a research scientist deep in thought, on the brink of discovering a cure for the common cold. His test tubes (medicine syringes from the kitchen), flasks (various cups and glass goblets also from the kitchen), tools including spoons, straws, thermometer, sticks rocks and a small sword, and his ingredients: toilet paper, two kinds of toothpaste, water, juice (bet you guessed that one), shampoo and something very blue.
5:00 a.m.
After observing Silly Bear for the better part of ten minutes, searching my mind for words that were appropriate, I said, "Wow! You put in lot of hard work here but now we have to clean it up." That is a lie. Surely you don't think I am that good of a mother. Honestly, I said, "Silly Bear, WHAT ARE YOU DOING?" I wiped him off, threw a towel in the floor to soak up the liquid I would have to clean up in a few hours and helped Silly Bear change into clean pajamas.
5:20 a.m.
Silly Bear and I snuggled down in my bed this time. Power Rangers are on the TV and I doze off hoping to catch another hours sleep before the day starts. My alarm went off at 6:30 a.m. Before I could open my eyes, I hear, "Time to get up Mom. Can I have my prize now?"
Such is the night life of the mommy whose child is affected by autism.
Tuesday, April 3, 2012
Autism Awareness Month
As I have heard many say and I join them, "It's Autism awareness at my house everyday."
I always said I would not take a placement with Autism. I didn't think I was equipped with the necessary skills to successfully parent such a child. Some days I still feel that way. I am relieved to say that most parents of children with Autism feel that same way.
Silly Bear came to us at a few weeks old. He had been born a full term, healthy baby. The sad part is his birth mom did not have the skills to parent. She took him home by herself, no support system, no one to turn to. She lacked the ability to bond to her baby or care for even his basic needs. Malnutrition caused Silly Bear lung damage and other problems and almost took his life.
Silly Bear struggled medically, including surviving on donated breast milk for the first two years of his life. His development was delayed with speech totally missing. Papa Bear and I intended to adopt him from the moment we knew he was free. We knew we were up to the challenge of whatever this little guy needed. No one ever said the word Autism in all of the therapy sessions, specialist's appointments, assessments or other visits. When he was four, it was suggested that he was PDD but he was not diagnosed. I did not connect PDD and Autism as I had virtually no training in either. I have now!
Silly Bear talks well. He is in a mainstream second grade class with help. He is not reading but is learning sight words and has a desire to read. He can be very social, which has been to his detriment when being screened for Autism. He hugs and kisses, though not always appropriately. He no longer flaps but has his own stemming. Yet another missing marker in the "diagnosis" process. (Flapping is expected but lying belly down on the floor with his legs stiffly outstretched and crossed, his hands pushing down on the floor pulsing in rhythm to his own inner need is not.) He is gangly and silly. He can read facial expressions on me, one of his teachers, and sometimes one of his siblings. Again, this has counted against him in receiving a diagnosis. Some people stare and some look sympathetically at him. He is oblivious to both. I could go on and on but you get the picture.
There are frustrations and celebrations everyday in the lives of an Autistic family. I believe a family living with Autism survives on a sense of humor and lots of prayers.
There is comfort and validation in sharing a common bond. This is my mini-account of Autism in my family. Tell me yours.
Pray for those affected by Autism.
I always said I would not take a placement with Autism. I didn't think I was equipped with the necessary skills to successfully parent such a child. Some days I still feel that way. I am relieved to say that most parents of children with Autism feel that same way.
Silly Bear came to us at a few weeks old. He had been born a full term, healthy baby. The sad part is his birth mom did not have the skills to parent. She took him home by herself, no support system, no one to turn to. She lacked the ability to bond to her baby or care for even his basic needs. Malnutrition caused Silly Bear lung damage and other problems and almost took his life.
Silly Bear struggled medically, including surviving on donated breast milk for the first two years of his life. His development was delayed with speech totally missing. Papa Bear and I intended to adopt him from the moment we knew he was free. We knew we were up to the challenge of whatever this little guy needed. No one ever said the word Autism in all of the therapy sessions, specialist's appointments, assessments or other visits. When he was four, it was suggested that he was PDD but he was not diagnosed. I did not connect PDD and Autism as I had virtually no training in either. I have now!
Silly Bear talks well. He is in a mainstream second grade class with help. He is not reading but is learning sight words and has a desire to read. He can be very social, which has been to his detriment when being screened for Autism. He hugs and kisses, though not always appropriately. He no longer flaps but has his own stemming. Yet another missing marker in the "diagnosis" process. (Flapping is expected but lying belly down on the floor with his legs stiffly outstretched and crossed, his hands pushing down on the floor pulsing in rhythm to his own inner need is not.) He is gangly and silly. He can read facial expressions on me, one of his teachers, and sometimes one of his siblings. Again, this has counted against him in receiving a diagnosis. Some people stare and some look sympathetically at him. He is oblivious to both. I could go on and on but you get the picture.
There are frustrations and celebrations everyday in the lives of an Autistic family. I believe a family living with Autism survives on a sense of humor and lots of prayers.
There is comfort and validation in sharing a common bond. This is my mini-account of Autism in my family. Tell me yours.
Pray for those affected by Autism.
Wednesday, March 21, 2012
Thank you, God, for Jennifer
I felt the hand of God tonight. He guided me right into the path of a new friend. I honestly think if I had chosen to walk the other way, God would have drug me back. He's done it before.
I met the most wonderful new foster parent. She has her first placement and is doing a great job. I spent an hour and a half with her answering questions, talking about my experience's and snuggling with one of her beautiful twin daughters.
She put my phone number into her own phone to expand her support system...an honor for me.
Jennifer is a breath of fresh air in this sometimes stagnant atmosphere of bureaucracy. She and her husband share a passion for children in need. They also have a heart for the birth families; a rare find these days. They are filled with energy and compassion for the whole child, birth family and all.
What an honor to meet Jennifer and her children. I look forward to meeting her husband. It is families like Jennifer's whose hands and feet are those of Jesus...who welcome the children in his name.
Thank you to all the Jennifer's out there. You are my hero's.
With great respect,
Judy
I met the most wonderful new foster parent. She has her first placement and is doing a great job. I spent an hour and a half with her answering questions, talking about my experience's and snuggling with one of her beautiful twin daughters.
She put my phone number into her own phone to expand her support system...an honor for me.
Jennifer is a breath of fresh air in this sometimes stagnant atmosphere of bureaucracy. She and her husband share a passion for children in need. They also have a heart for the birth families; a rare find these days. They are filled with energy and compassion for the whole child, birth family and all.
What an honor to meet Jennifer and her children. I look forward to meeting her husband. It is families like Jennifer's whose hands and feet are those of Jesus...who welcome the children in his name.
Thank you to all the Jennifer's out there. You are my hero's.
With great respect,
Judy
Say YES to the Dress
Today's the day. I have to gather up all my strength and patience to shop for a dress with the Social Bear. We must travel 45 miles to the Mall as no store between here and there is acceptable. It is mandatory to shop in a store with music blaring so loud the manikins vibrate. The dresses are categorized by "maybe" "I don't think so" and "Hoochie Mama".
Social Bear heads straight for the Hoochie Mama rack. She holds up the first one to which I say nothing. It can't be a dress. It is a strapless shirt in a size 4 toddler. She rolls her eyes and says, "What's wrong with it? I love it!" It's going to be a long afternoon.
After looking at no less than 20 dresses, I agree on four for her to try on. Off to the dressing room with four black dresses in various styles of Hoochie Mama. When she opened the curtain wearing the first one, I said, "Take it off." The second one was so short the skirt cupped under her rear. I took a deep breath and asked, "What exactly are you trying to say with your outfit?" She looked at me like I had three heads and says, "What do you mean?" "Well" I said. "Do you want people, most especially boys, to look at you and think you look pretty or that you look like a hooker on CSI?" Social Bear just rolls her eyes, grins behind my back and puts her own clothes back on.
After much gnashing of teeth and another round of browsing in the "maybe" and "I don't think so" racks, we agreed on a cute little black shirt, skirt and shrug. Whew! Being the oldest mom on the block can be exhausting. Sometimes I wonder what we were thinking adopting at our age. Then I remember how much I love each one of them.
Enjoy the hard times. They're tomorrows precious memories.
In Christ,
Judy
Social Bear heads straight for the Hoochie Mama rack. She holds up the first one to which I say nothing. It can't be a dress. It is a strapless shirt in a size 4 toddler. She rolls her eyes and says, "What's wrong with it? I love it!" It's going to be a long afternoon.
After looking at no less than 20 dresses, I agree on four for her to try on. Off to the dressing room with four black dresses in various styles of Hoochie Mama. When she opened the curtain wearing the first one, I said, "Take it off." The second one was so short the skirt cupped under her rear. I took a deep breath and asked, "What exactly are you trying to say with your outfit?" She looked at me like I had three heads and says, "What do you mean?" "Well" I said. "Do you want people, most especially boys, to look at you and think you look pretty or that you look like a hooker on CSI?" Social Bear just rolls her eyes, grins behind my back and puts her own clothes back on.
After much gnashing of teeth and another round of browsing in the "maybe" and "I don't think so" racks, we agreed on a cute little black shirt, skirt and shrug. Whew! Being the oldest mom on the block can be exhausting. Sometimes I wonder what we were thinking adopting at our age. Then I remember how much I love each one of them.
Enjoy the hard times. They're tomorrows precious memories.
In Christ,
Judy
Monday, March 19, 2012
The Things That Make Me Smile
Hearing these words, "Judy, there's this baby. Can you take him?"
Hearing a judge say, "Adoption granted."
Watching the faces of a new mommy and daddy as they see their child for the first time.
Hearing a child sing.
Seeing a child smile without hesitation.
Watching empty eyes become full of light.
Feeling the touch of a tiny hand on my face.
Hearing a child cry that was never to make a sound.
Watching my children welcome yet another baby into our family.
Seeing Brave Bear's smiling face everyday.
Knowing that God is pleased with our family.
Playing with my grandchildren.
Hearing a praying child.
Funny, it's not really things at all that make me smile. How about you? What makes you smile?
Blessings,
Judy
Hearing a judge say, "Adoption granted."
Watching the faces of a new mommy and daddy as they see their child for the first time.
Hearing a child sing.
Seeing a child smile without hesitation.
Watching empty eyes become full of light.
Feeling the touch of a tiny hand on my face.
Hearing a child cry that was never to make a sound.
Watching my children welcome yet another baby into our family.
Seeing Brave Bear's smiling face everyday.
Knowing that God is pleased with our family.
Playing with my grandchildren.
Hearing a praying child.
Funny, it's not really things at all that make me smile. How about you? What makes you smile?
Blessings,
Judy
Saturday, March 17, 2012
Saying Good-bye
One of the most rewarding and yet one of the most heart wrenching times in a foster parent's life is when a child, a child of their heart, is ready to go into adoption or go back to their birth family. It is that time once again in our family.
J came to us from the NICU (Neonatal Intensive Care Unit). He has been part of our family for fourteen months and twenty-one days. We have watched this little angel grow and change into a toddler with a personality all his own. We have prayed for him and loved him. When it became evident that he needed a forever family, we began preparing ourselves and J for a life change.
Last night was J's first overnight by himself with his new family. He spent the night once before but Brave Bear was with him. J will come home tomorrow and we will continue visits back and forth till the end of the month. I miss him already.
This morning, I awoke early thinking I heard J calling me from his crib. A stab of pain in my heart tells me he is waking with his silly grin to a new mommy and daddy. I remind myself that this is a good thing. I love the family he is becoming a part of. I know this is God's plan. I know he couldn't stay with us forever. I know there are other children who need me.
Yesterday, Darlene and I shopped till we dropped at the outlet mall. I bought 14 new outfits for J to go with the 8 I had already purchased. (A boy can't start a new life without looking good.) Carter's had to restock when we left. As we drove home, I couldn't help dwell for just a moment that this was the last time I would get to shop for J. Another stab of pain.
Last night, my conversation with God went something like this: "Oh, God, please surround J with your love and security tonight. I know he is anxious in his new surroundings and wondering where I am. Please give his new family all the skills they need to make this transition a smooth and wonderful time. Lord, it hurts. No matter how many times I live through this, it hurts my heart. Can you just let me skip this part and go straight to the next stage of grieving? I know. I know. You don't bargain. God, it hurts my kids heart's, too...and the rest of our family. Prepare each of us for our loss as each day passes. More importantly, God, prepare J's heart for this wonderful new chapter in his life. Bless his new family as they are experiencing the miracle of adoption. Thank you for sending them. And God, thank you for entrusting your precious children into my care. Amen"
Blessings my friends,
Judy
J came to us from the NICU (Neonatal Intensive Care Unit). He has been part of our family for fourteen months and twenty-one days. We have watched this little angel grow and change into a toddler with a personality all his own. We have prayed for him and loved him. When it became evident that he needed a forever family, we began preparing ourselves and J for a life change.
Last night was J's first overnight by himself with his new family. He spent the night once before but Brave Bear was with him. J will come home tomorrow and we will continue visits back and forth till the end of the month. I miss him already.
This morning, I awoke early thinking I heard J calling me from his crib. A stab of pain in my heart tells me he is waking with his silly grin to a new mommy and daddy. I remind myself that this is a good thing. I love the family he is becoming a part of. I know this is God's plan. I know he couldn't stay with us forever. I know there are other children who need me.
Yesterday, Darlene and I shopped till we dropped at the outlet mall. I bought 14 new outfits for J to go with the 8 I had already purchased. (A boy can't start a new life without looking good.) Carter's had to restock when we left. As we drove home, I couldn't help dwell for just a moment that this was the last time I would get to shop for J. Another stab of pain.
Last night, my conversation with God went something like this: "Oh, God, please surround J with your love and security tonight. I know he is anxious in his new surroundings and wondering where I am. Please give his new family all the skills they need to make this transition a smooth and wonderful time. Lord, it hurts. No matter how many times I live through this, it hurts my heart. Can you just let me skip this part and go straight to the next stage of grieving? I know. I know. You don't bargain. God, it hurts my kids heart's, too...and the rest of our family. Prepare each of us for our loss as each day passes. More importantly, God, prepare J's heart for this wonderful new chapter in his life. Bless his new family as they are experiencing the miracle of adoption. Thank you for sending them. And God, thank you for entrusting your precious children into my care. Amen"
Blessings my friends,
Judy
Monday, March 12, 2012
In the Beginning
Halloween 1986 is a memory I will never forget. God crossed our paths with such purpose, even an unbeliever would admit it was no coincidence. Fast forward to December 12, 1987, God joined the five of us as a family in a small ceremony in the home of our Sunday School teachers.
Three years into our lives together, God opened the door for us to become foster parents. We were excited and had visions of sweet little kids coming into our home for us to love and nurture. We were going to follow God's calling and make the world a better place. We made the decision not to become adoptive parents as there were too many people waiting for children and we already had three children. It would be selfish of us. It didn't take long to realize that we had a lot to learn, a lot of blessings to receive and many miracles to witness.
First, you never learn everything in pre-service training. One of our early placements had come into our home with smiles and a secret history. I will not go into their secret history as it was revealed to us later. It is not printable. However, I will give you a snip-it of their first night. Bath time brought new meaning to disgusting. When we were bathing these two precious children, my husband noticed something in the water. He thought it must be pieces of dirt but before he could say anything, one of the children started crying. She was hard to understand but it sounded like she said, "My bugs! My bugs!" Actually, that is exactly what she was saying. She was distraught that her head lice were falling out and drowning. After consoling our new daughter at the loss of her bugs, we tucked them both into bed in their perfectly decorated and toy filled room. Two hours after we had tucked them in, they were still quietly lying in bed. I made one more trip into their room and asked if they had any more questions. One angel finally looked at the other and then at me, "Where do we hide when the police kick in the door?" Taking a deep breath to gather my thoughts, I said, "Well, that's never happened here but if it will make you feel better, pick a place." They both looked around the room, turned over and went to sleep. We were dumbfounded. We were exhausted. We were overwhelmed. To top it off, our heads itched...every time we thought about it. My head itches now just remembering.
There is no training to prepare you for these sort of moments. There is no handbook to refer to. You are on your own. You learn as you go. You have to keep a sense of humor or you will lose your sanity. With all sincerity, welcome to my world!
In Christ,
Three years into our lives together, God opened the door for us to become foster parents. We were excited and had visions of sweet little kids coming into our home for us to love and nurture. We were going to follow God's calling and make the world a better place. We made the decision not to become adoptive parents as there were too many people waiting for children and we already had three children. It would be selfish of us. It didn't take long to realize that we had a lot to learn, a lot of blessings to receive and many miracles to witness.
First, you never learn everything in pre-service training. One of our early placements had come into our home with smiles and a secret history. I will not go into their secret history as it was revealed to us later. It is not printable. However, I will give you a snip-it of their first night. Bath time brought new meaning to disgusting. When we were bathing these two precious children, my husband noticed something in the water. He thought it must be pieces of dirt but before he could say anything, one of the children started crying. She was hard to understand but it sounded like she said, "My bugs! My bugs!" Actually, that is exactly what she was saying. She was distraught that her head lice were falling out and drowning. After consoling our new daughter at the loss of her bugs, we tucked them both into bed in their perfectly decorated and toy filled room. Two hours after we had tucked them in, they were still quietly lying in bed. I made one more trip into their room and asked if they had any more questions. One angel finally looked at the other and then at me, "Where do we hide when the police kick in the door?" Taking a deep breath to gather my thoughts, I said, "Well, that's never happened here but if it will make you feel better, pick a place." They both looked around the room, turned over and went to sleep. We were dumbfounded. We were exhausted. We were overwhelmed. To top it off, our heads itched...every time we thought about it. My head itches now just remembering.
There is no training to prepare you for these sort of moments. There is no handbook to refer to. You are on your own. You learn as you go. You have to keep a sense of humor or you will lose your sanity. With all sincerity, welcome to my world!
In Christ,
Judy
As for me and my house, we will serve the Lord. Joshua 24:15
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