Clothes

I love baby clothes.  I always have.  Buying and then picking out what Tiernen was going to wear on a daily basis was one of my favorite parenting perks.  When I had my adopted granddaughter Aisha, I used to buy her 2-3 new outfits a week.  Aisha's mom once commented that every single 6 month outfit that Aisha owned was purchased by me.

It is no different with my foster children.  

At one point, I had bins with every size, every gender, and every season baby clothes from newborn to 4T in my attic, folded and labeled, in bins.  

Then I got so overwhelmed, that even knowing they were in the attic gave me an anxiety attack.  I put them all on my porch, posted on all the online garage sale pages, and told people to take what they wanted or needed.  There were at least 40 people who pawed through my bins, leaving very, very few items left.  I donated them to Thrifty Shopper and called it good.

One of my favorite weekly activities is planning the kids' outfits for the week.  I have labeled hanging organizers in their closets, and it is empowering for them to "pick" their clothes (even though I kinda did that for them).

I think my baby clothes obsession has a very logical root:  I didn't have a lot of clothes growing up.  I remember being made fun of in sixth grade because I only had a few pairs of pants (it was right after our house burned down).  As an adult, I have more clothes than I can wear.  Even when I was a young and poor single parent, all of Tiernen's baby clothes came from LL Bean and Baby Gap (all sales!)  

My kids have at least 25 different outfits for any given season.  Because they are kids, they grow out of them quickly, so maybe then get 4-5 wears.  When they grow out of them, I donate them.  If they get stained and can't be salvaged, I throw them away.

There are worse addictions to have, right?

 

Benched...

 The first thing you need to know is this:  I love my house.

The second thing you need to know is this:  if I'm home longer than 16 consecutive hours, I get cabin fever.  

I've always been this way.  When Tiernen was little and I had no money, I would drive to the beach, take her to a movie, hang out in the park all day, check out a museum...  

I don't think twice about getting in my car and just going away for the weekend.  Because I've lived all over the damn place, I have friends and family in New Jersey, Maine, Florida, California, Pennsylvania, New Hampshire, Washington DC... Sure, having dogs can put a crimp in my "just go" lifestyle, but it still really never stopped me.

You know what does though:  being a foster parent.

It isn't that I wouldn't happily take a foster or two (or three or four) on my weekend adventures; it's that I can't.  In order to take a foster child out of the state, you need permission.  And sometimes that takes a long time!

Example:  last August, I put in a request to take the three kids (Rhys, Waverly, and Baby Chicken) to New Jersey to spend Thanksgiving with my brother and his family.  For weeks, my (future) sister-in-law was asking if I'd heard anything because she needed to make sure she had enough food for six more of us.  

I wasn't able to give her an answer until the Tuesday BEFORE Thanksgiving.  I wish I were exaggerating about this.

In the four and a half years that we've been taking placements, we have never been told that we couldn't take kids out of the state, even if it took a long ass time to get permission.  I don't know how I got so lucky with Bram, but the Agency AND Bram's parents let me take him out of the state to Pennsylvania to see my nephew whenever I wanted.  I would go every three weeks or so.  That freedom has not been the case since.

In the summer, I work for Upward Bound, where I have worked for the past 11 years.  On weekends, Darryl and I pack as much vacation into them as possible.  New Jersey, Pennsylvania, Maine... as much as possible! We had (HAD) three out-of-state trips planned (including hotels reserved and kennels paid for) for June and July to see friends and family in Maine and New Jersey.

Except last week in court, Baby Chicken's mom said we can no longer take her out of state because, and I quote, "The baby doesn't need to get to know my family."  Ummm.  I took the baby out of state at least five times with permission over the past ten months, and now suddenly its an issue.  

Not cool.

I have no legal recourse.

I spoke to the mother and asked, begged, and she said sorry, but no.  I explained that I would have to put the baby in respite with a stranger (another foster parent), and mom did not budge.

So, like any good mom (foster or otherwise), I canceled our trips.  I am sad.  The people we were visiting are sad.  I'm angry.  I'm disappointed.  I feel like it was out of spite.  And still, there is nothing I can do.

So, the Nix family is benched for the summer.  

It won't stop our adventures though.  They will just have to be in New York State since I can legally go anywhere in the state without penalty.

Feel free to leave suggestions of MUST see places in New York for kids under 5.

Birthday Dilemma with a Side of Guilt

 

In my family, first birthdays were always sort of a big deal.  I don't know if it is a New Jersey thing or an Italian American thing or a little bit of both, but everyone I know always had big bashes for their baby's first birthday.  Yes, I know, I know, the baby won't remember it, even if you took twenty thousand pictures.  It's mostly for the family.

I had a huge first birthday for Tiernen.  My brother had a huge first birthday for Miles.  My cousin had huge first birthdays for her two kids. It's just what we do.

When it comes to fosters, though, it's different.

We got Rhys when he was 13 months old, so we obviously didn't have a party for him.  When he turned two though, we went all out and rented the Children's Museum.  It was awesome!  When Waverly turned one, it was two months into COVID and we were super quarantined.  Her first birthday was still a big deal though, with tons of mermaid decorations and cakes and cupcakes made by my baker friend Jenn.  When she turned two, we had a huge party here with all our friends, and her third birthday a few weeks ago was at Rockin' Jump because I start to get anxious when I have to host in my home (this is a recent thing... I've had tons of large events in my house before... weird).

Here is the dilemma part:

Baby Chicken turns one next week. I didn't plan before now (and if you know me, you know that I am indeed a planner... I already have Halloween costumes planned and purchased by August every year).  My reason was not procrastination but rather practicality:  we didn't know if she would be sent home before her birthday.  

Since the courts seem to be taking this on a month-by-month basis, we know we will have her until at least after her birthday, so I will indeed get to celebrate with her.  This is not the issue.  

The issue is that I don't know how big I should go.  Do I plan this huge party with all my friends and family (my brother and his family cannot attend as it conflicts with other plans they have)?  Do I do something small with just us?  If I do something small with just us, I fear that I'm skimping out because it may be the only birthday we have with her.  And then the other part of me thinks that I should indeed go overboard for just that reason:  this may be our only one before she goes home.

I feel guilty giving her a big party because neither Rhys nor Waverly had a big first birthday with us.  Our big parties with them started at two.  I cannot assume we will have a second birthday with Baby Chicken.  

But then I feel guilty not giving it to her.

A friend suggested just having a few friends over, but my friends have a lot of kids, so it won't be a small party.

It's too late (three weeks) to plan something outside of my home.

I feel like whatever decision I make is the wrong one.

Baby Chicken, Part 2

 

    The Agency called exactly three days before we were scheduled to go to New Jersey to celebrate my brother Bobby's wedding.  Bobby had gotten married the month before in Oregon, but to save his New Jersey family the hassle and expense of flying out to Oregon for the wedding and reception, he had an east coast reception in addition.  Considering how difficult it was to get the Agency to approve Rhys and Waverly to leave the state (and just for New Jersey for a weekend), I cannot imagine how difficult it would have been to get them to approve a week on the west coast.

When I got the call, I explained that we were leaving and since I didn't have the permission to take the baby out of state (not to mention the difficulty of taking a baby on a five-hour car ride one way), the Agency agreed that I would take the baby on Monday after we returned.  I was assured there was no rush, since the foster family that had the baby was fine keeping her until Monday.

I figured we would have our weekend and then pick up the baby.  No big deal.

Two hours after I agreed, the Agency called me back and asked if I could pick her up THAT DAY because the current foster family decided that Monday was indeed too far away.  They were closing their home, which means they would no longer be foster parents effective immediately!  The foster children they did have would have to be placed that day.

"But what about our trip?" I asked.

I was assured that the Agency would find respite for her for Friday until Sunday night.  I agreed.

I called Darryl who was picking up the other two kids.  Meet me at the house, I told him.  I had to put the infant car seat in the van, pull out the pack n play from the attic and a million other things.  I hadn't even made room for the new baby!

Because of COVID, we weren't allowed in the Agency, and instead, the case planner met us out in the parking lot.  They had a bag of her things and were carrying her out in her infant car seat.  

We were completely unprepared for "a little on the small side."

Now, remember, we'd seen small babies.  My nephew was under six pounds, and the two Burmese babies we had were both under six pounds when we got them. 

I was not prepared for the tiny, tiny baby that was presented to us.

She was so small, the pacifier in her mouth took up half her face.  Even at the smallest setting, she barely took up a quarter of the car seat.  She looked... uncooked, fetal.  The carseat weighed nothing.  I sat in the back with her, unsure of whether the carseat alone was enough to protect her from the world. I know that sounds dramatic.  She was just TINY, like four pounds tiny.

Darryl drove home under the speed limit.  When I took her out of the carseat once we were home, it was like holding nothing.  Her cry was less than a kitten's mew.  The bottle was too big for her face.  When I changed her diaper, she had so little body fat, that there was no differentiation between her back and her legs.  She was... assless... 

I couldn't help but wonder why she wasn't still in the NICU!

As I held her, Rhys and Waverly moved in close, eager to see this little baby not much bigger than a doll.  

I looked at the kids and said, "what's this?"

Waverly, very maternal even at that age, gasped. 

"Oh Mommy," she said, "it's a baby chicken!"

I didn't think she looked like a baby chicken, but I guess the tiny, tiny baby with limbs like pencils must have looked very different from the baby dolls she was used to.  We all giggled about it, baby chicken, and yet... that's the only thing we called her...

And that is how she got her nickname.

Baby Chicken, Part I

When the girls left in August 2020, it was just the four of us - me and Darryl, Rhys, and Waverly.  Life was good. 

In early June 2021, we were at a dinosaur theme park in Lake George  (which I highly recommend if you have kids under eight), when I saw a mom with two little infant twin babies. 

"I want those!" I told Darryl.

"Bite your tongue," he answered.  (This from the man who, when I would mention any older-than-30-year-old who became a dad for the first time would answer, "good for him," essentially telling me to shut up, we weren't having kids.  I've since made him eat his words.

I like babies. This is no secret.  It isn't that I don't love my now 26, 4, and 3 year old children.  I do.  I just really, really like babies.  

And I wanted one.

Waverly had grown out of her chubby infant cuteness and now was in her gangly but still cute toddler/preschooler phase.  I figured the Agency would call... someday.

In mid-July, I was working at Upward Bound, my regular summer teaching/mentoring gig, when my friend Karen texted me, "we just got a call for a baby."  Whenever a foster friend tells me about a new baby, I am simultaneously happy for them and jealous.  Why didn't they call me???  I get it when it's a newly born sibling to kids they already have in care, but I knew that Karen and her wife Heather didn't have a child in care who had a pregnant mom.  

I always feel like the Agency has its favorites.  It seems that the same people get called for newborns.  Are they somehow considered better foster parents than we are?  Am I not maternal enough?  What's wrong with MEEEE?  

"Are you taking it?"  (I didn't know if it was a boy or a girl... I know, IT sounds like "congratulations, it's
Pennywise!"

"Oh goodness no," she said, "too much baggage."

She then filled me in.  Friends of theirs (also fosters) had her (it was a her) but the bio mom was a LOT.  She was so much, in fact, that they were closing their home and not fostering anymore.  Damn.  

"She's like ours 2.0," she said, referring to her foster son's bio mom who has harassed them repeatedly for the four years they've had him.  "Should I tell the Agency to call you?"

I would like to tell you that I called Darryl and discussed it with him... but I would be lying.  

Twenty minutes later, the Agency called.  

She was "a little on the small side," three weeks old, and would be a short-term placement because the bio mom was doing everything she was supposed to and the baby would be home soon.

How could Darryl object to that?