We often talk about how hard it is to describe our lives to people who aren’t here. Not because you don’t want to know, but because we don’t know where to start. So many things have become “normal,” that we don’t even think about sharing them with you. Other things we decide are just too bizarre to share and so we stay silent.
Chances are if you’ve asked me about my foster parent life, you’ve gotten a pretty standard answer. “I’m a house parent in the Peace House. I’ve got seven kiddos living with me while they wait for their adoptions to complete.”
And then you either compliment me or call me crazy. ;) There are maybe a couple more questions, and then we move on. Because, quite frankly, I don’t have a better prepackaged answer available for conversations. Sometimes I can’t even wrap my head around what I do and it’s just too challenging to give you a succinct response.
But today, I’m going to try. Allow me to unpack a little of what it means to be a foster parent at COTP…
It means saying yes when you have no idea what you’re getting into, but knowing it’ll be worth it.
It means little feet running up to you the moment you come out of your room or walk into the house. And then little arms reaching up asking to be held.
It means loving these little humans with everything that you are, knowing that one day soon you will let them go.
It means wiping countless tears, noses and bottoms.
It means living full time with nannies who do not share your culture.
It means celebrating each little victory - a feeling expressed, a diaper dry in the night, a pound gained, a prayer said.
It means losing your patience over and over, and learning to apologize to your little people with a sincerity you didn’t know you had.
It means praying for God to use you as he heals traumatized brains and prepares little hearts for their forever families.
It means breaking up endless fights over endless topics. Pinching, hitting, biting and throwing are just some of the techniques that you willingly throw yourself in the middle of.
It means holding sobbing children while they process big emotions.
It means praying every single day for adoption paperwork to complete so your kids can go home, while simultaneously dreading the day that they walk out the door for the last time.
It means being constantly in demand, even when they can’t see you, because seven kids know that you are their person and that they need you.
It means constantly thinking about food - what to make for dinner, if there are snacks left, if you’ve given the kids enough milk that day, if you need to send someone to the market, etc.
It means endless conversation about airplanes, mommies, daddies, new houses and when the paperwork will be finished so that they can experience all of those things.
It means a lot of birthday parties.
It means socialization visits - the unbelievable joy of meeting your kiddos’ forever families but the concrete reminder that one day they will leave your home.
It means putting the littles into their beds over and over again because you know they need to sleep, but just can’t settle yet.
It means bedtime kisses, songs and prayers.
It means being ever so humbled as you lay in bed and realize the number of times you failed that day, but then remember how his grace is sufficient, these children are forgiving and that tomorrow is another chance.
It means endless lotions, essential oils, shampoos and conditioners.
It means planning trips to your home country around what is happening with your kiddos, because you know you can’t miss these big moments.
It means going out for dinner because you need a break from your kids, but realizing half way through dinner that you already miss them.
It means that sleeping in is no longer a thing.
It means reminding children, many times a day, that you are right there and they don’t need to yell when they talk.
It means writing updates for sponsors and adoptive families, because you know if you don’t record these memories, they will never know them.
It means giving medicine at least twice a day, every day, to the kiddos that need it.
It means at least three loads of laundry every single day.
It means reading books and attending conferences on attachment and trauma and then feeling simultaneously inspired and inadequate.
It means approximately a dozen trips from the kitchen to the table at each meal.
It means getting up in the night with littles who are up sick, need to eat, or have just decided that sleep is overrated.
It means taking your kiddos on outings for ice cream or lunch and then hearing them tell the story to their friends for the next several days.
It means feeling incredibly successful when you actually get out of the door with two or so kiddos and make it to church (or anywhere) on time.
It means wracking your brain to figure out why a particular child is on the tenth meltdown of the day.
It means the occasional doctor's visit or hospital stay when one of your kids has something extra going on.
It means juggling a variety of schedules - therapy, school, tutoring, etc.
It means color coding bowls, cups and toothbrushes so that everyone can keep track of whose is whose.
It means dealing with tantruming toddlers in public while a crowd gathers and begins to narrate and/or offer suggestions on how you might do things better.
It means constant chatter at the door when you finally find an opportunity to pee.
It means so much laughter and play.
It means willingly taking on the burden of trauma that these children carry. Hearing their stories, dealing with their behaviors and celebrating their victories.
It means praying each day that your babies would know that they are safe, they are loved and they are treasured.
It means not believing how incredibly blessed you are to be a part of these kids’ stories.
Children of the Promise has given explicit permission for the posting of photos on this site. Photos taken of children in the care of Children of the Promise are not be posted publicly without explicit permission given by Children of the Promise.
