Late Start

Maybe we had them, but I honestly have NO memory of having a late start in all my years of public school in Bayonne, New Jersey.  For those of you not in the loop, a late start day is when the weather is crap and the roads are crap but they aren't crappy enough to call a snow day.  Instead, the superintendent puts faith in the city to plow the roads enough to get the kids to school.

Sometimes late starts mean we come in at 9, sometimes at 10.  Sometimes what starts off as a late start turns into a snow day (the very best day of all!)

It was Tuesday and we had a 10 a.m. late start.  The roads, apparently, were no bueno, but they would apparently be bueno enough for the buses to get the kids to school.

I was up at my usual 5:45 time, relaxing with Joshua because I had a leisurely four hours to get ready.  Bliss.

In retrospect, thank goodness it was a late start, because I was on the phone nonstop from 8 - 10 when classes started.

The first call came at 8. It was the hospital social worker.  She had my number from my student and was calling to see if I was a resource that she could pass on to CPS.  I said I was.  She reiterated the reasons CPS was called and told me that my student TOLD her she wanted the baby to go home with me until she felt she was ready.  O M G.

The next call was at 8:30 a.m.  It was the CPS worker.  He apparently had already been to the hospital to see my student, had gotten my number, and was calling to see if we would take the baby THAT DAY.  He said under no circumstances would the baby be going home with mom, and that they were going to investigate the household further and there was a possibility that neither minor mom NOR her 9-year-old sister would be allowed to live there.  Would I consider taking them ALONG with the baby?

I explained that I was willing to take the baby, but I did not have the space or the beds for two others.

The next call was from The Agency, confirming that I had space (remember, I still had Joshua who was only 17 months old at the time) for the infant.  I said I did.  She also reiterated that CPS might remove mom and sister.  Would I be willing?  I again explained I didn't have beds. She told me she would BUY us beds for the sisters to sleep in.  I couldn't even finish the conversation because CPS called again.

In between calls, I was calling Darryl at work telling him all this.  I was telling Tiernen too (because guess who would have to watch them while I was at work?)  

I don't know how I got dressed and got my makeup on and made it to school by 10.

At 2:45, The Agency told me the baby was in their care and asked what time I could come get her. I explained I was not allowed to leave school until 3 and that it would take me some time to go home, put in the infant car seat, and then drive to The Agency (the roads, by the way, were still crap).

"Okay, well, she's here..."  She did not seem pleased that I still had things to do.

I was there by four.  She was so tiny, she seemed dwarfed by the infant car seat.  She could barely eat an ounce of milk.  Even the newborn clothes were way too big for her.

When Darryl came home from work, I presented him with the baby.

There she was, a tiny Asian girl.

"Behold," I said, "a unicorn!"

"CPS was here..."

On Monday, I went back to school.  I assumed Student and baby would be discharged that day.  I texted her in the morning and told her to text me when she got home and let me know if she needed anything.

I did not hear from her all day, and I assumed she was discharged and settling into at-home mommyhood (which is quite different from in-hospital mommyhood.)  

I finally heard from her around 5 or 6.  The text just said, "hi, Miss."

I texted back, "how is being home with the baby?"

"I'm still in the hospital."

I immediately panicked.  The baby was so little.  Maybe something happened.  Maybe they couldn't keep her temperature up.   Maybe she wasn't eating.  Maybe mom was having a problem.

"Is everything okay?" I asked, expecting the worst.

"CPS was here."  

I immediately contacted Marianna and we both drove to the hospital.  We wanted to know what was going on.

We got there roughly the same time, shocked, confused, nervous.

Here's the story we got:

The NURSES at maternity called CPS because she had fallen asleep with the baby twice in her arms, with the baby dangling precariously over the side of the bed, she would forget the change and feed the baby, etc.  They were nervous about sending her home so they called CPS.  The CPS worker came in, interviewed her, and said she could not leave with the baby.  

I wrote down my information and told her to tell CPS that I was a foster mother and that they could call me if they needed to.

Guess what?

They needed to.

It's a Girl!

I swear I did everything I could for my very pregnant student.  I gave her resources up the wazoo.  I had the crochet club make her a layette set.  I texted her daily to see if she was okay, if she needed anything.  Marianna, a colleague, was going to be her homebound tutor while she was home for maternity leave.  We were going to do everything we could to support that family.

During the entire winter break while I was in Pennsylvania visiting my brother, I was panicked that she would have the baby and wouldn't have anyone to support her.  It was my understanding that baby daddy was in jail, baby daddy's family wanted nothing to do with her, her own daddy was in jail (and possibly deported), her mom was disabled due to multiple strokes, and that she only had friends to help her.

The baby did not come over break, thankfully.  School started back up and she was home waiting for the baby to come.

The weekend after school started again, she texted me to tell me she was in the hospital, her water broke, and that they were keeping her there until she had the baby.  I asked her if anyone was there with her (i.e. her mother) and she said her friends were there.  

All through the night, she texted me about how much it hurt.  

"It hurts, Miss," the texts said, at least once an hour.

I assured her the baby would come soon and she would have her daughter or son in her arms.

I worried all night.

Early that Saturday, she texted me and said the baby had come, a little girl, and that I could come visit if I wanted to.

I immediately went out and bought all sorts of clothes for the baby (newborn sizes because the baby was five pounds).  I even met a woman in Carters who said she would DONATE her daughter's clothes from birth to 2T to my student... I just had to pick them up.

I went to the hospital.  Student and student's mom were there.  Student's mom (age 42 but looking so much older because of the strokes) was tiny and barely spoke, even in her own language.  The baby was tiny and cold and needed to stay in a warming bassinette.  She was naked so her skin could absorb the heat.  Grandma, not understanding, kept putting a blanket on the baby, and the nurse kept coming in and taking it off.

The nurse was very short-tempered with them.  I tried to explain that they had limited English (and in Grandma's case, none) and that they didn't understand.  My student was exhausted and seemed disinterested in the baby.  The nurse yelled at her to feed her, to hold her, to change her.  My student just said, "I'm tired and I hurt."

The nurse said, "you are a mom now.  It isn't about you.  It is about your daughter."  She wasn't wrong, but still... this kid was 15 or 16, a little on the slow side, and clueless...  It was like watching an 8-year-old put in charge of an infant.

At one point, the grandmother's friends came in.  I offered the baby to them to hold, but they laughed at me, "we each have eight children.  Why would we want to hold a baby?"

I said I too had a child of my own and a one-year-old at home (they didn't need to know that Joshua was a foster), and I still loved holding the new life.  They laughed at me and said I must have a lot of time on my hands and nothing to do if I wanted to hold a baby... 

Cultural differences I guess.

Unicorn

(*disclosure:  Since I haven't blogged in a million years, I have no memory of whether I wrote about this or not.  Excuse me if I'm repeating myself...  I swear, it has to do with our next foster baby.  Allow me my divergence...)

Way, way back before I started the foster classes, Darryl and I were in love with Baby Aisha, the daughter of two of my students at MVCC.  Aisha was a very, very good baby, and on top of that, she had a very exotic look.  Her mom is Japanese and her dad is Tanzanian.  The product was this creamy-skinned curly haired angel baby.  We still love her to bits, even though she moved to Japan with her mom.

When I broached the subject of fostering, Darryl said, "Okay, but I have one request."

I really thought he was going to say, "under no circumstances are we adopting... even if the foster is with us for a long time."

(Sidenote:  Darryl made it very clear about ten million times that he did NOT want children ever, ever, ever, even though I begged.)

I was ready for that, even though in my mind, if we had a child in our home for a long time, there was no way he would talk me out of adopting that kid.  I figured time would tell.  For him to bring it up right from the beginning though was a little scary...

I asked him what the caveat was.  

"I want the baby to be just like Aisha," he said.

Now granted Aisha was a VERY good baby.  She was friendly and mellow and all-around an easy baby to be around (aka a wonderful foray starter baby into the world of babies for my husband who had been around zero babies in his life.)  

I explained that there was no guarantee that any baby, even Aisha's siblings, would be as even-tempered as our little angel baby.  

"No," he said, "I want her to LOOK like Aisha."

(Another sidenote:  at the time before I took the fostering classes and was just discussing it with the fam, I wanted girls only... obviously, that didn't happen and we changed our minds...)

"Yes," he said, I explained that it was probably easy enough since there were many biracial children (I assumed) in foster care.

"No, I want an ASIAN baby."

Um.  

First of all, no one looked at Aisha and said, "wow, there's an Asian baby."

Secondly, I thought that asking for an infant and a girl was being restrictive enough.  Limiting it to an ASIAN INFANT FEMALE?  Heck, I figured we would never get a baby.

He relented.

Still, I jokingly mentioned the whole Asian baby thing to one of our trainers in foster class. She said that in her time at The Agency, there were NEVER any Asian children in care. Z E R O.

So basically, Darryl was hoping for us to foster a unicorn.

Who would have thought that eventually we would...

Student...

I'd like to think I'm an observant person, but when it comes to my students, there are times I simply am not.

I mean, I can tell if my student gets a haircut or a new piercing fairly easily. I can read their moods and know, for the most part, when they need an ear or a hug or both.

But I don't exactly look at their bodies.

Some examples:

I saw one of my students out of the corner of my eye and thought he was standing on his desk.  I went to say something and realized he was not standing on his desk; he was just really tall.  I never saw him standing before.

My first student-teacher (shout out to Jenna J!) asked me when a certain senior of mine was due.  "Due for what?" I asked.  "Um, due to have her baby.  She's pregnant."  This student literally sat less than five feet away from my desk and I never once looked at her stomach.  I had no idea she was NINE MONTHS PREGNANT!

This is not the only time. My pregnancy-obliviousness was rampant.  Another time, a colleague called to see if I was in my room because a student of mine didn't want to walk to my room if I wasn't there.  I was confused as to why she didn't want to walk to my room and said as much.  The colleague asked me if I noticed that she was SEVEN MONTHS PREGNANT and that walking had become difficult for her.  Again, no idea.

So yeah, I'm not the most observant when it comes to noticing my students below their heads.  To me, they are brains, and the rest of them are just, well, the vehicle to get them around.  

That being said, sometimes when you are walking through the halls, it is ALMOST IMPOSSIBLE to miss a pregnant student, proudly wearing a skin-tight belly shirt with her baby bulge exposed for all to see.  (Never MY students, of course, OTHER people's students... ;) )

And yet, when you are a teacher, even if a student is practically giving birth in your classroom, you never, under any circumstances, ask if she is pregnant.  God forbid you were wrong!  

So, no, I didn't ask when one of my students in my Regents lab, a tiny Asian girl with a thick accent and long dark brown hair, starting wearing noticeably baggier sweatshirts and seemed to be thickening around the middle.  

But she told me.  Once the student breaks the seal, yeah, then it's ok to talk about it.

"Miss, I have such a hard time walking," she told me, "you know, because of my baby." 

"When are you due?" I asked.

"January."  

It was late November.

I asked her if she needed anything.  As a foster mother, I literally have bins in my attic for every season, sex, and size from newborn to 24 months.  If she needed something, chances are I had it in duplicate.

She assured me that she had everything, but I didn't believe her.

Each class, she told me more of her story:

Her baby's father (who she referred to as her husband even though there was no legal or even religious marriage ceremony) was in prison "because he loved her" and stole a car because he "didn't want her to have to walk."  She did not know when he was getting out.  His family did not like her because she was "a bad girl."

She told me that her own father was in jail for trying to murder her older brother, that she didn't know what jail he was in, and that she and her family hadn't seen him in five years.  (a fellow student told me that her father had been deported, but I never knew whether this was true or not).

She lived with her mother who had had a series of strokes when they were still in the Thai refugee camp prior to coming to America and that she hadn't gotten any medical treatment.  There was an older brother and a younger sister, all who lived in a tiny two-bedroom apartment.  They were all, apparently, "very excited" about the baby.

She told me she had gotten pregnant on purpose, so she and the baby's father could "be together forever" and so his parents couldn't keep them apart.  The prison system, however, was doing a fine job.

I found out who her ESL teacher was and pretty much begged her to allow me to give her, if not help, then some resources.  I gave her the number of CareNet, recommended by Bram's mother, which gave free parenting classes and allowed expectant moms to earn baby supplies with certificates from workshop completion.  I also gave her the number to Rebecca at MVCAA who I worked with when I had Bram.  I knew that between the two, she would get some support.

I had the crochet club that I advise at my high school make her a layette set:  a blanket, hat, sweater, booties, and mittens all in pale blue, yellow, and green yarn.  She accepted it happily.

Every day I would ask her who was going to watch the baby while she was at school.  

She never had an answer.

Christmas in PA & NJ, Part Three: Are They Twins?

After a while, there is only so much you can do in someone else's house.  

Darryl was home.  My brother was at work.  It was just me and Tiernen with Bram and Joshua in the middle of the Poconos.  Yes, we had a car and yes, we had money to go places, but it always seemed not to work out.

I assume this is how moms of multiples feel:  they don't nap at the same time, one or the other needs to have a poopy butt cleaned or a snotty nose wiped, and one or the other or both are spilling something or getting into something they aren't supposed to.  Note: not my house; no longer baby-proofed.

You can only say, "d't touch the tree" so many times.  There are actual pictures of the tree without a single decoration three feet from the bottom.  Yes, once it was gorgeously decorated.  Enter two toddlers and bam, naked tree.  

Note the lack of decorations on the bottom...

Luckily, the weather was amazing. It was crisp but not cold, so I went out and bought the cheapest double stroller I could find, put mittens and hats on the boys, and went for long walks around my brother's development.  

Everyone we saw would ask, "Are they twins?"  

I would explain that they were my godson and my foster son.  

"Oh, I thought they were twins."  

"Nope."

"Oh.  How old are they?"

I told the inquiring mind.

"They could totally be twins."

I disagree, but whatever.

Next time I'm going to just say yes and average out their birthdays.

Rock stars in the making

Tiernen was bored.  She was not subtle about this and regularly told me how miserable she was.  On more than one occasion, I wanted to pack up and drive her home just to stop the incessant complaining.  I mean, I get it.  Babysitting two rambunctious toddlers isn't necessarily everyone's idea of a blissful Christmas vacation (even if it is mine) but she just added fuel to the fire.

We went to the nearest mall and while Bram was cool looking around and enjoying the post-Christmas hustle, Joshua was miserable.  I mean miserable with a capital MISERable.  He screamed for so long that every muscle in my neck was solid tension.  We stayed in the mall for less than an hour and it took twice that long to commute there and back.  Now remember how great Joshua is in the car...

We ended up eating fast food in the car.  Bram fell asleep.  Joshua screamed until five minutes before we got to my brother's.  

Damn twins.

Christmas in PA and NJ, Part 2: Baby Shark

While Christmas was rather low-key with just the seven of us (three under the age of three, so I guess not-so-calm but still low-key), what I was really looking forward to was having the post-Christmas party at my Aunt's house.  

Darryl got called into work for December 26, so he had to leave late Christmas night, taking the dogs with him.  Though we missed Darryl (at least I did), the dogs going back home made for a slightly less hectic household.

On the day of the party, Tiernen and I took Bram and Josh in our car and my brother took Miles in his, and we drove down to the Jersey shore.

My Aunt always cooks and has it catered, so there was a ton of food. I had to feed the boys off of one plate, standing up, because they were so excited with all the people and couldn't stop running around.  My Aunt's house, like my brother's, is not baby proof (Kenny's because Miles is almost four and knows better; my  Aunt's because her only grandchild wasn't old enough to walk at Christmas).  Therefore, Bram and Joshua got into everything!

The four little boys (in age order Miles, Joshua, Bram, and my cousin's son -- which I guess technically makes him my cousin --  Alexander) looked like a Benetton commercial from back in the '80s with their brown, red, blonde, and curly black hair (respectively).  

My Aunt had a doll of herself made for Alexander and Bram was in love with it.  My cousin Maria said it was okay if we "accidentally: took it home.  My Aunt said no need, she would make another one for him!  

Luckily, I think she forgot...

Joshua gave lots and lots of kisses to baby Alexander.  Unfortunately, I was only able to only able to snap one.  Soooo many little boys...  

At one point, someone put Baby Shark on YouTube.  Seriously, it was like baby crack.  Instantly, Bram and Joshua were transfixed. It was the first of many, many, many, MANY times that this song was played.  

(Whoever played it that night, I will find you, oh yes, I will!  And when I do, you will wish you were swimming with the sharks!)

How I loathe that song...

Here's a snazzy dance that Bram did once we got back home...

Pictures are Worth a Thousand Words...

Take a picture of the boys in front of the Christmas tree, they said.
It will be a nice picture, they said.

(It was like herding cats.)

These were the "best of the best."

Christmas in PA and NJ, Part 1: The Drive

Before my grandmother died in 2015, it was the family tradition to celebrate the Saturday AFTER Christmas at my aunt's house in Point Pleasant, New Jersey.  It would be a combination Christmas celebration and birthday party for Gram, who was born on Christmas Eve.  

But after she died, we were all too heartbroken to keep the tradition going.  We just couldn't.  2015, 2016, and 2017 passed, all without a family get together other than Miles's first birthday.  But this Christmas, 2018, Aunt decided that we were going to get together again.

My brother only had Miles for Christmas every other year, and this year he would get to spend Christmas with him.  The plan was to get to Pennsylvania early enough to see him open his presents that Santa brought on Christmas morning.   Then that weekend, we would all drive to New Jersey to spend the day at Aunt's celebrating together.  

We were very fortunate to still have Joshua, and since so many people in my family knew and loved Bram, we invited him too.  His parents had their Christmas celebration on December 24, and late Christmas Eve, we drove down in two cars:  Tiernen, Joshua, Bram, and I in one car; Darryl and our two dogs (Nox and Zephyr) in the other.  Tiernen's best friend Zach agreed to come over during the week to change the litter boxes and feed our six (that's right, six) cats.

The ride down was, in a word, hell.

We didn't leave until it was dark because Bram was having his holiday with his family and because we wanted Joshua to be tired and sleep all the way down.  Joshua was a terrible rider.  He hated it.  According to his mother, this was from birth.  He literally would scream even on the shortest rides.  It didn't matter if there was another person in the backseat with him, whether it was day or night, whether we played music, gave him toys, provided snacks, the poor baby was miserable.

Bram, on the other hand, is a fabulous rider, but he was set off by Joshua.  Within ten minutes from our house, Joshua was screaming and nothing could soothe him.  Did I mention that my brother lives four-and-a-half hours away?  Joshua was overtired and wanted to sleep but could not.  He screamed.  He howled.  He begged me to pick him up, "up, Mama, up!" over and over and over again. His screams upset Bram and Bram was screaming too.  I put on soothing lullabies and told myself they would fall asleep... eventually.

By the time we got to Syracuse, about 45 minutes away, it started to snow.  This is nothing new.  We live in Central New York. It snows.  I have an SUV.  Darryl drives a Subaru.  We are equipped for snow.  Still, driving in a snowstorm is no fun and is often nervewracking.  Snowstorms coupled with two screaming toddlers is a recipe for a nervous breakdown.

Tiernen's nerves were shot and she wasn't even driving.  Her freak out was only adding to my freak out, and so at one point I pulled over and told her to go into Darryl's car.  

Now I was alone.
With two screaming toddlers
In a snowstorm.
Listening to soothing lullaby music.
Trying desperately not to fall asleep.  

I hated Darryl so much for NOT having to experience this, that I wanted to punch him in the dick. And, not one to hide my feelings, I told him as much.  Repeatedly.

The four-and-a-half-hour ride took about six-and-a-half-hours.  The boys screamed for roughly half of his.  I AM NOT EXAGGERATING ON THIS AT ALL.  We had to drive super slowly because of the crap road conditions.

We got in roughly three o'clock in the morning at which point I had to pee so badly there were points on the trip where I seriously thought, "fuck it, I'm just going to pee myself.  The seats are leather.  Easy cleanup, right?"  By the time the boys finally did fall asleep, I was PETRIFIED that if we stopped at a rest stop they would wake up and the cycle would begin all over again.

My brother was not home but had left me his key.  I bolted up the stairs to the bathroom while Darryl let the dogs out and Tiernen stayed with the sleeping boys in the car.  Bladder empty, I went to help them bring all our luggage (two toddlers require a LOT of luggage for a week) and the sleeping boys into the house.

As soon as we got inside, Bram and Joshua immediately woke up.  They were not crying (thank God) but they were ABSOLUTELY AWAKE.  They had napped for three hours in the car, and they were excited to be in a new place with a huge ten-foot Christmas tree and all of Miles's toys.  I was ready to pass out.

Tiernen retreated to the guest bedroom in the loft, and Darryl and I changed diapers, made bottles, and climbed into my brother's kingsized bed with both babies and both dogs (boys in the middle, dogs at our feet).  There was plenty of room, but after they drained their bottles, they decided that rolling over one another and us would be great fun.

This went on for hours.  I don't know how long, but I remember daylight creeping in through my brother's heavy curtains.

They finally settled down, but then Bram started having night-terrors and waking up Joshua.  Bram thought this was only fair since Joshua had kept him up for so long with his screams.

I don't know how much sleep Darryl or I got that night, but before I knew it, my brother texted me and said that they were on their way home from New Jersey with Miles so he could open his presents.

Merry Christmas.

Preemptive Christmas Haul

When Toys R Us went out of business, it was like a part of my childhood died.  Granted, I hadn't shopped in there in years (too expensive, even during the final days when things were supposed to be discounted 90%... you could still get them cheaper at Target).  

Still, Toys R Us always reminded me of Christmas.  If you were a child in the '80s, I have no doubt that you not only remember this commercial but have fond and cozy memories of it hailing the start of the Christmas season as much as seeing Santa Claus at the end of the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade.

(Note for my millennial readers:  once upon a time, Christmas decorations did not go up mid-September.  Christmas season started after Thanksgiving.  It was magical.  Now it's just consumer bullshit.  Back-to-school supplies in the stories July 5?  No, this is wrong!)

Anyway, when Toys R Us went out of business, Darryl and I headed to Ollie's at the beginning of October because we heard that they had bought a lot of TRU stock and we wanted to check it out.

If you've never been to Ollie's, think Big Lots, where they buy all the crap that isn't flying off the shelves quickly enough in other stores.  They buy it up and sell it to you for a fraction of what you would pay in the initial store.  (Example:  I bought over the counter hair dye at Ollie's once for $3 that sold at Target for $7... I was so excited at my findings that I bought a case!)

A lot of what we saw was crap, but then we stumbled upon the stack of age-appropriate toys for Joshua.  First of all, they were all WOODEN, which thrilled me to no end. I hate toys that remove all creativity from the child playing.  A toy car doesn't need to make noise when you can go, "brrrm brrrm."  In our overly electronic world, let's give infants a break.  Secondly, they were all Fisher-Price, which I loved.  Thirdly, they were all dramatically, dramatically reduced.

We spent about $100 for all pictured here.  


Then I looked up the prices on Amazon, which are usually on the cheaper side compared to most big box stores, and I almost passed out.  

• barista set (Darryl insisted) was $24
• wooden shapes were $23
• octopus thingie was $26
• plane $9
• whale shape sorter $27
• ice cream truck $16
• moving animals $12/each (we bought 3) 
• shape animals $7.50/each (be bought 6 of them) 
• deep blue sea stacker $50

$256 worth of stuff for about $90

I was super proud of my haul, especially since all the toys were high-quality, educational, and used imagination.  But it was only October.  I didn't want to think that maybe we wouldn't have Joshua for Christmas, that maybe this would have been for nothing.

But Darryl brought it up anyway.

"What if he goes home before Christmas?  What will we do with all this stuff?"

I didn't want to think about it, so I said, "Then we'll give it to Bram."

Except we didn't have to.

Thanksgiving

Let's be real:  holidays with children are just better.  When you are a foster parent, you never know whether you are going to actually "have a baby" for a holiday or not.  

Sure, I had Baby O for New Year's Eve, but Darryl and I usually just spend those home alone anyway (I know, par-tay animals!)

When Easter came, Bram went all day to visit his family, so we didn't have a baby that holiday either.

We did have Joshua for Halloween, my all-time favorite holiday, but it isn't considered a family holiday if you get my meaning.

Thanksgiving was coming and the question loomed:  would we have Joshua for this holiday?  Would he be spending it with us or would The Agency allow him to go spend it with his family?

My brother only has Miles every other Thanksgiving, so it seemed stupid to drive down to Pennsylvania when he wasn't really celebrating.  I invited him up, but he declined because he had work the day before and after.

If you want to know the truth, I hate Thanksgiving.  I've hated it since I became a vegetarian in college.  Unless I cook myself, there is usually nothing I can eat when visiting someone else.  I end up only eating what I brought and what fun is that?

I don't shop and loathe crowds, so the "thrill" of Black Friday is completely lost on me.

Then there is Thanksgiving week, or as I call it, the historical week of shittiness.  

In 2009, two days before Thanksgiving, I had to put my dog Seamus to sleep.  Shitty.

In 2013, two days before Thanksgiving, I had a surgical biopsy to find out whether or not I had breast cancer (I didn't, thank goodness) but because it was the holiday weekend, I didn't know that until Monday, nearly a week later.  Also shitty.

In 2015, my beloved Gram died the day after Thanksgiving.  I'm still not over it.  That is the shittiest ever.

The week is cursed, I tell you.

We found out that we could indeed have Joshua for Thanksgiving, and we planned on just finding someplace to go and eat out.  But then Erin invited us over.  We were thrilled.  She lives less than ten minutes away (by foot!) and we got to see Bram and I love all of her family.

We brought tons of food and dressed up Joshua and were on our way.

Joshua and Bram had a ton of fun together, and oddly enough, were wearing the same sweater from H & M in different patterns.

It was one of the most relaxing and enjoyable Thanksgivings I had had in a long, long time, surrounded by friends and family and babies.  Who could ask for anything more?

Haircut

Tiernen never had a haircut.

She was born with black finger waves and looked like a little Eskimo baby.  Her hair was so long at birth that it literally cascaded over my arm when I held her.

And then, like with most babies, it all fell out.  She was bald until well after her first birthday.  Then, thankful to see hair again, I just let it grow.  Every once in a while, I would trim her brown bangs so they wouldn't get in her eyes, but other than trims, she never got a haircut.

Joshua, however, needed one.

It wasn't that his hair was incredibly long.  It just was incredibly uneven, longer in the back and choppy, almost mullet-like.  Since Darryl thinks any hair on a male longer than 1/8 of an inch is "too long," he really wanted Joshua to have a haircut.

As foster parents though, we were not allowed to get him one.  We would have to get permission from his mother.

I had a bad history with haircut permission.  When we had Baby O and W, W's hair was in desperate need of a cut.  He had light brown loose curls, but his hair was so thin, the weight of his hair would show his scalp and make him look bald.  

What was worse is that he desperately WANTED a haircut.  He was a very pretty little boy with an angelic face, and whenever we were out, people would mistake him for a boy.  (Being misgendered on the regular is traumatic, even for your average cis three-year-old.  Every time we got in the car, he would ask, "Are we going to get a haircut?"  He would pretend to call his father and say, "Hello, dad?  Can I get a haircut?  Okay, thanks!"

Except his father flat out refused to give permission.  He wanted it to be long.  He talked about getting it professionally braided "once he came home."  I paid a LOT of money to get his hair professionally braided, not once but twice.  His hair was so fine that by the next day, all the braids were coming undone, leaving him with a fuzzy halo of fine hair around his head.

I feared the same thing would happen with Joshua.  

I texted his mom and she gave permission with the caveat that we keep all of his baby hair and give it to her the next court date.  I said I would.

Darryl was THRILLED to bring Joshua to his barbershop.  According to Darryl, ONLY Dominicans know how to cut his hair.  And so, the day before Thanksgiving, we trucked on down to Darryl's place and Joshua had his first haircut.  I took a million pictures to send to his mother.  Along with, of course, his hair.

Here are some of the better ones.

The Judge

About a week after Joshua came to live with us, Joshua's mom was summoned to family court.  

The purpose of this initial trial was to determine whether removing Joshua from his parents' custody by CPS was warranted or not.

I had not been informed that any court was happening, or I probably would have attended, even with the short notice and even though it was so close to the beginning of the school year.  

The Agency cannot tell me anything about WHY a child is put into foster care.  The only details a foster parent gets is on the permanency paperwork from CPS six months in or at court.

Unless the family discloses, you are kept in the dark, which kind of sucks.

I found out about this one because, in the middle of day, I started getting texts from the case planner.  

She was in court with Joshua's mother who, understandably, was frantic not knowing where her son was or who he was with.  The case planner wanted to know if I was willing to give Joshua's mom my phone number so she could text me (no one uses phones to actually make calls anymore, do they?) and see how he was.  Of course I said yes.  If there was one thing I was good at, it was being open to the parents of our foster kids.

Back when we had Bram, his case planner would constantly tell me that the relationship that Erin and I had was atypical and NOT to expect that with other families.  She said they were tolerable at best, but mostly, parents were outright hostile towards the fosters who had their children, in many cases blaming them for their children not being with them.  

I get it.  Rarely does a parent, even one who has been deemed "unsafe" by CPS think anyone could do a better job with their child then they could.  And there is the jealousy aspect; as a foster parent, you get to see the child many more hours a week than they do.  There is the fear that the child will love the foster family more...  I get it. I do.

The case planner told me that Joshua's mom couldn't stop crying, even when she showed her the texts from me saying that I would happily text her, call her, and send her pictures and videos of Joshua whenever she wanted.  

The judge did indeed find that the removal was warranted and set another date for two months later.  I asked the case planner for the date and she gave it to me (I don't know if that was allowed or not).  I immediately put it in my planner and called in for a sub for a half day on that date.  

We knew we would have him for at least two more months.