So. One of our kids will have been in foster care nearly 1000 days when we next get to court, when the court will determine whether to terminate her parents’ parental rights.
Because that court date is coming up in less than a month, I contacted the guy I’m going to hire as our attorney for the adoption. His statement boiled down to:
Congrats on getting this far, it’ll be at least 18 months from the time of this court date to when we can file adoption papers because of the lengthy appeals process. So sit tight. I’m here if you need me but you don’t really need me for a while yet.
I’m an attorney myself. How could I have forgotten about the appeals process and not realized how long it would take? I got way ahead of myself.
If a parent chooses to surrender their child, you can skip the appeals process and go straight to adoption. But I don’t get the impression surrender is in the cards right now for a whole host of reasons and I understand. I really do.
It’s so frustrating because this is a case where timing matters. Sprout needs a medical specialist team we cannot take her to until after she’s adopted and on our medical insurance.
What can we do? We can sit and wait and hope and pray things go ok in court, but knowing full well nothing will actually be ok that day. Nothing at all. This is messy and ugly and terrible to watch unfold. And it’s terrible to have to wait for it to unfold. But it is what it is and no matter what happens and how, I’m so grateful we have Sprout in our lives, whatever her legal status is.
The other morning I found a video of Say Yes to the Dress Lancashire by accident. Well, ok, not really by accident, it’s sort of a guilty pleasure. I simply adore Gok. I think he’s pure magic with women who have body image issues and I’m totally here for it.
But I digress.
The bride on the episode is absolutely gorgeous, with lovely shiny hair and big eyes and the sweetest dimples. And she just happens to be a Little Person with the same form of dwarfism as my girls.
It’s like every other episode of Say Yes to the Dress Lancashire. The team at the shop helps her select an absolutely lovely gown, and at the end of the episode she selects one of the dresses as hers for her big day.
On a whim, I showed the episode to Sunny and Sprout when they got up. Sprout, at age 4, missed the point and got bored fast, wandering off to find something else to do. But Sunny? She was transfixed.
At the end of the clip (it’s about 8 minutes long), she asked me some very serious questions. “Mommy, that girl? That lady? She’s like me?”
Me: “Yes, she is a Little Person who has the same form of dwarfism you have.”
Sunny: “But she was so pretty!”
Me: “Yep! Just like you.”
Sunny: “So you mean I could get married some day?”
Me: “Yes of course you could!”
She asked a few of the questions again, phrased differently, and eventually grew contemplatively quiet.
She has brought up the episode over and over again since seeing it. “Mommy, I could be like the lady in that video! I could get married some day!” “Mommy, I want to wear a dress like that. Like the pretty lady in that video.”
One episode of Say Yes to the Dress made my girl feel 1) seen, 2) beautiful, 3) like her life has possibility. That’s amazing. I wish I could thank that bride for doing the show.
Because representation matters so darn much, I’m constantly looking for books where the characters reflect my kids in some way. They desperately need more books they see themselves in, so they can understand where they belong and what their possibilities are and to feel like they are not alone. They’re a challenge though: Asian, Burmese, Muslim, Little People, transracially placed in foster care with a white non-Muslim average sized family.
So I’ve decided to start writing some children’s books that contain characters a little more like them. Honestly, if I included all of their characteristics, no one would believe the characters could exist in real life. But I can break things down a bit, and write a few books for them. The first book, called Fatima’s Two Families, is about a little girl who is Muslim and in foster care, and who is gradually shaping her non-Muslim foster family into the family she needs.
Who knows if it will ever see the light of day – I need a publisher and an illustrator and getting a children’s book published is notoriously difficult. But, I’ll give it a shot, and submit it to a bunch of small independent publishing houses to see if I can get any bites. If all else fails I can always self publish, though I’d prefer a real publisher of course.
I enjoyed writing the book so much I whipped off a second story not long after. Ideas for a third are stewing in the gray matter I call my brain. Maybe something will get published, and some other little kid will find him or herself in the pages of my story.
By the time we get to court next, it’ll have been 963 days. I am a nervous wreck. I don’t know what to expect in court other than an excruciatingly emotional day. I’ve worked as a lawyer in the system but never got to this stage on any of my cases.
Can you imagine being a parent and having a court decide you aren’t fit – for whatever reason – to have any rights to your child anymore? A child you grew and birthed and raised in this case for nearly 2 years? No matter how hard I try I can’t imagine it.
I also can’t imagine what it’s going to be like for Sprout to look back on the day when she’s older and trying to understand what went so wrong in her Mama’s life.
We are closing in on 1,000 days and even if things go “smoothly” with this upcoming proceeding I assume we will hit the 1,000 day mark. Sprout desperately needs permanency so she can get specialized medical care which she needs to be on our insurance to get. But there’s no part of this situation that doesn’t feel like an absolute tragedy, any way I look at it.
She’s been without her Mama for 921 days. She still sometimes wakes up in the night crying for her. There were visits for a while but for a whole host of reasons they’ve largely stopped. There *might* be a visit for both girls on Halloween, but it’s a big ugly might and I already have two excited girls who will be devastated if it falls through, which is very possible.
The next time someone refers to my kids as “lucky” to be with us I may cry, or I may throw down. There’s no luck in these girls’ lives. With their endless medical problems, being brown and Muslim in a Christian and ignorance dominated country, and the losses they’ve experienced and continue to experience, these are some kids who drew a seriously short straw in life.
I know what people are meaning to say when they say my kids are “lucky” to have us – they mean they could have landed in a foster home that’s less caring and capable and willing to go out of their way for them. I get that. But please, find another way to say it other than “lucky.”
I have to say, waking up and putting on modest clothing and a hijab on Sundays so I can take Sunny to Arabic school is strange.
Sunday morning attire
I’m finding it both liberating and restrictive at the same time. I’m on a podcast kick right now, and have been listening to several that feature Muslims living their everyday lives and discussing how their faith affects them. The more podcasts I listen to where women talk about their choice to wear hijab, the less “restrictive” it seems. I’m a super feminist and always bought the Western rhetoric that the hijab represents oppression of women. But I’m learning its being forced on women is what is so very problematic, and the choice to be modest and/or wear hijab seems just fine when left to each woman. I am learning that it can be an empowering outward expression of one’s faith, among other things – not terribly unlike a Christian wearing a cross necklace prominently. So I find I can support women’s choice to wear a hijab and support the protests going on in Iran right now at the same time.
My little Sunny is very clear: she does not want to wear hijab in everyday life but she does want to wear it to the Mosque on Sundays. She finds some of her very identity in that choice, and I support it wholeheartedly. I am curious how Sprout will feel as she gets older and is taught more about hijabs. Will she follow in her sister’s footsteps? Or assert her independence and reject it entirely? Or adopt it for everyday life?
Being out in public in a hijab is a hell of an experience. After I drop off Sunny I’ve taken to leaving the hijab on because it’s a pain to get on properly and I’ll need it when I pick her up, and because after wearing one, my hair no longer can go without. (I look like Jack Frost from The Santa Clause 3… if I’m lucky.)
If I take off the hijab…
When I’m wearing a hijab in public, I get overt stares. I get side eyed glances. I get people embarrassedly muttering a response when I give them a warm hello. I get people being sicky sweet and overcompensating. Some folks of course respond normally but a whole lot don’t. And this is in a city where there are plenty of Muslims wearing hijab! I can only imagine how folks would react in my tiny conservative village. Yikes.
Anyway, this is all a very strange set of lessons for me, and I’m sure it will continue. Who the hell would have ever thought I’d find myself wearing a hijab on Sunday mornings and going to a Mosque?! I miss going to my own church on Sundays but haven’t worked up the nerve to go to a Methodist church in a hijab. Perhaps packing a spray bottle and brush and some hair spray is in order…
Tonight we went to a barn dance at the farm where Sprout rides horses. It’s a program primarily for disabled people, so most folks who ride there have physical or intellectual disabilities or both. It’s an amazing program.
I found it a JOY to be surrounded by people who weren’t giving the kids weird looks. They both have pretty significant physical disabilities, they’re Little People, and it’s sometimes apparent that Sunny has intellectual disabilities. When we are in public, adults will give the kids assessing looks that linger way too long, and give us sympathetic glances, and it makes me so wildly uncomfortable.
But none of that at the barn dance! Total acceptance just where they’re at. No one condescended to the kids or us. It was wonderful.
I didn’t realize how much I need that kind of community now. It’s one of the reason it’s so great to get together with one of my friends from high school and her family – all her kids have disabilities or challenges of some kind so no one thinks twice about my kids’ disabilities there, other than worrying about how to make things accessible for them. It’s a breath of fresh air.
This is something I need to do some work around. I need to be immune to people’s innocent curiosity and occasional rudeness. I need to be able to champion my kids at the drop of a hat, and not be stymied by someone else’s discomfort about them. Why are we as a species so uncomfortable around people who are different? How can we make that better?
One thing I can suggest is to let your kids be curious and don’t shut them down if they ask a question. I remember one time walking through Target with Kiddo when she was about 5, and a lady who is a Little Person walked by us. Kiddo promptly asked me why she was so short, and I just replied that she’s a Little Person and some people are shorter than others. Kiddo was satisfied, she wasn’t made to feel ashamed of having asked a fair question, and the lady in question who overheard it all? Turned to me and gave me a broad smile and nod. Making kids feel ashamed for being curious just makes them feel uncomfortable around people who are different, and that discomfort can carry on into adulthood.
The other thing I can suggest is to expose your kids to people who are different – different races, different identities, different abilities. When I wore my hijab the other day to pick up Kiddo, I expected her to tease me about it. To my surprise, she told me I looked pretty in it instead! When I told her I was surprised and delighted that she wasn’t picking on me she just shrugged, and said “some kids at school wear them. It’s not like it’s a big deal.” Hooray for diversity in schools!
If it’s hard to expose your kids to people are different because you’re in a homogenous community? At least get them books about kids who are different.
Random recommendations here: there aren’t many kids’ books about kids with dwarfism, but my girls have a favorite: Mummy There’s a New Girl
A sweet story about a girl who is bullied for being a Little Person, and the boy who befriends her.
If you have young kids, add it to their roster. Or, if you have older kids who are readers, get them The Thing About Georgie.
This book explores all the emotional challenges of growing up a Little Person, and it’s characters are funny and engaging.
My kids will thank you for helping your kids understand that they’re just like everybody else.
Every year I’m asked by our agency if I’ve done any “training” on foster parenting. It’s part of our recertification process and I want to talk a little about the training I do almost daily.
To become a foster parent, there is a training requirement. It’s a class, which for us was 11 weeks I think, one night a week, for 3 hours. I’m going back in my brain’s archives here so take the specifics with a grain of salt.
After that though, regular foster parents in my area are not required to do ongoing training, which I think is a massive mistake.
For us, and for any foster parent who takes kids that are at a higher rate of pay because of their disabilities or difficulty in managing, there is a tiny training requirement. I think it’s like 5 hours a year maybe? It’s minimal, honestly. I always overshoot it by something like 100 hours. Almost anything seems to count, from formal training sessions to reading relevant books to listening to relevant podcasts.
So what DO I do for training? Here’s a quick-ish summary:
Podcasts. A lot of podcasts.
I’m an avid podcast listener. I love them. The podcast I listen to that I list when I renew my license each year is called Creating a Family.
There are episodes on infertility, which are obviously not relevant and which I skip, but there are outstanding episodes that dive deep into the difficulties you can face as a foster parent or adoptive parent. Some examples of episodes I’ve found good are:
Talking with your adopted or foster child about the hard parts of their story
Kinship caregivers & the hidden foster care system
What it’s like to be in foster care: former foster youth speak out
Partnering with birth parents in foster care
Attachment 101
Impact of prenatal exposure to opiates, opioids, methadone, suboxone, and other common drugs
Those topics are directly relevant to foster care and count toward my training.
I also listen to other podcasts that are relevant to my little ones, that may or may not qualify as “training” but honestly should in my case.
I’ve just started listening to I’m Kind of a Big Deal, which is a podcast that interviews all sorts of famous people who happen to have dwarfism.
My two girls, Sunny and Sprout, are Little People. They both have the same relatively uncommon form of dwarfism, and it affects their lives in every way. From joint problems that cause them chronic pain, to difficulty ambulating, to needing step stools in every room, to the emotional toll of always being the littlest one in their class, dwarfism is indeed a big deal. So I need to understand everything about it, from how to make the best physical accommodations for them, to how to support them emotionally through bullying, to what to say to them when they complain that their chronic pain is particularly bad that day, to how it’s going to affect their careers. This podcast is amazeballs. Does it count as training? Probably not because it isn’t directly about foster care, but in our family it should!
The last podcast topic I’ll mention is podcasts on Islam. My girls are Muslim, and I’m so not. I have learned a fair bit about Christianity and Buddhism in my life but am an abject novice when it comes to Islam. So, I need a crash course. What better way to get it than through fascinating little podcast episodes? Im currently picking through the following podcasts to learn about how Islam fits in with modern life, and how to teach my kids about their faith. Good Muslim, Bad Muslim; Tell Them, I Am; and Interfaith Voices podcasts all have relevant episodes. Most of the episodes I’ve listened to are about ordinary people living their lives who happen to be Muslim. Again, I highly doubt the hours I spend listening to these podcasts count toward my formal training since they aren’t specifically about adoption or foster care, but they’re fabulously helpful in raising the specific kids I’m raising.
Formal training
There’s an organization called AFFCNY, which stands for Adoptive and Foster Family Coalition of New York. It offers tons of great training opportunities. I always try to catch the keynote speakers in their annual conference. As a lawyer, you can imagine I’ve been to – and taught – a lot of conferences. AFFCNY takes the cake as the best conference keynotes I’ve ever attended. Every year.
This past year the keynote speakers were Sixto Cancel, who is a former foster youth who is working to change the entire foster care system, and frankly, the man has the energy, insight, and skills to do so. He’s amazeballs. The other keynote speaker was Sharon McDaniel, who is working to transform kinship care, which is kids living with family members other than their parents, or other family friends, rather than being in foster care with strangers.
AFFCNY is a rich resource, with regular presentations, and a gathering and publication of other resources for foster parents as well. Some of their stuff is free, some is for a fee, and everything I’ve attended so far has been worth every cent and then some.
Books books books
I’m a reader, and as I get older, increasingly a listener. I listen to audiobooks constantly. My favorites are memoirs, and among memoirs, my favorites are those that address racism and/or foster care.
Some of the relevant books I’ve read or listened to and recommend are:
The Last Black Unicorn by Tiffany Haddish (I can’t recommend this highly enough! Excellent book. Funny as hell, and also gut wrenching.)
Garbage Bag Suitcase by Shenandoah Chefalo
To the End of June by Cris Beam
Another Place at the Table by Kathy Harrison
And in my queue, not a memoir but most especially relevant: What White Parents Should know about Transracial Adoption by Melissa Guida-Richards and Paula Guida
In sum
Honestly, life as a foster parent is a lesson in itself. I’m currently learning how to navigate CSE and CPSE meetings and the art of crafting an IEP for a child together with a school district. We have a badass school district that is accommodating our girls amazingly, but it’s still a lot of work and attention on my part to get through the process. I’m learning all the ways Occupational Therapy can be used to help a kid, and the nuances of how a school gets authorization to do physical therapy with kids.
I’m continuously learning about medical stuff with these kids. It’s nonstop. Dislocated hips? New to me so I’m learning about how her body is compensating. Dislocated knees? We are learning how to build a bicycle that she can ride with her limited mobility. LIFE is my foster care educator.
I get overwhelmed with all I need to learn for these girls and all they’re facing. They’re transracially placed in foster care, and learning in their own ways how racism exists in their lives. We have to know how to address that with them before it happens if possible. They’re Little People, and facing everything from pain to difficulty navigating their environments to strangers’ weird comments. They’re Muslim in a country that doesn’t like Islam very much out of ignorance. And they both have educational special needs. Plus they’re just plain kids living in foster care, missing their Mom and siblings and familiar food and culture.
It’s so much. Its a lot for me to learn to navigate, yes, but way more for them to learn to live. It’s absolutely remarkable that we have two generally happy, feisty, loving kids. I hope to God it stays that way.
Twice now I’ve gotten dressed in a dress and a hijab and taken Sunny to Arabic class at her mosque. She’s a sight in her own hijab – bursting with pride about being Muslim and looking pretty all dressed up. I so wish I could share pictures of her – she just radiates joy when she gets her hijab on.
You’ll have to make do with a photo of me in my pink hijab that is too tight and squeezed the life out of my chin. I’ve since replaced it with a lovely black one made of the slipperiest crepe imaginable, that I just can’t keep in place. It slides off my head like it’s made of water. I just ordered a third hijab that is both pre-stitched and jersey fabric that maybe I’ll be able to manage. 😂
I, on the other hand, experience waves of apprehension about the whole thing. I hate being in situations where I don’t know what I’m doing and I feel so out of place there even though I’m dressed appropriately. I know I take my shoes off in the entryway. I know I keep my head covered and my clothing modest. But beyond that I’m at a loss. Where do I go? What do I do when I’m there?
The classes go from 10-1:30 and there are prayers at 1:30. Yesterday I spoke to a man I’ve talked to before. I’m not sure if he’s the Imam or just a person of authority there generally. He has been super kind and welcoming, and yesterday asked if Sunny could stay for prayers after class. I didn’t understand him fully because he has a thick accent and I was busy smiling and nodding before I realized what I’d agreed to. I had to go pick up Kiddo but had agreed Sunny could stay for prayers that could last literally any length of time; 15 minutes or 3 hours could pass while I stood around waiting.
Thank heavens it was 15 minutes and Kiddo has a sense of humor. When I texted her the story, she thought it was hysterical that I had no idea what I’d just agreed to.
Sunny desperately wants me to do prayers with her rather than standing awkwardly in the entryway waiting for her. But I’m anxious about the fact that I have no idea what to do when I’m praying with her; when to bow and what to say/do are not things I know.
There’s hope on the horizon though.
Yesterday I met the loveliest couple while I was waiting for Sunny. A gentleman was milling about like me and I struck up conversation by commenting on the unbelievable amount of energy the little boys running around had. He eventually asked me if I was born in the US. I said yes, and then he asked if I had converted to Islam as an adult. I explained that I’m not Muslim, but have Muslim kids. He looked so puzzled! I don’t usually go into much explanation about my kids to strangers but had mercy on this kind man trying to make polite conversation with me, and explained that I have foster children who are Muslim and I was there for one of them to attend Sunday School.
He didn’t know what foster care is, so I explained the basics: when parents can’t raise their kids safely and healthily, sometimes an agency takes the kids away and places them with strangers. To a man from Turkey who is a devoted father, he was shocked by the whole concept, and frankly, when I stood back and explained it that way, it sounded shocking to me too. He said “Do you do this from the goodness of your heart?” I had to say yes, I suppose I do. What a peculiar thing to volunteer for though when I stand back and think about it!
At that point he called his wife over and told her what I had shared with him. Both were astonished that I would take in a stranger’s children, that I would then take them to a mosque for religious education when I’m not Muslim myself, and that I would wear a hijab myself out of respect.
We all talked for a little while longer and I found out they are both PhD candidates at the nearby university. They are teaching reading classes at the Mosque on Fridays, and while it’s too long of a drive for us to make it in time, they offered to share a reading list with me so my kids can have some bedtime stories that feature Muslim kids. I’m stoked for that.
Then they offered to answer any questions I may have about Islam, so I can understand some basics about holidays and protocol and prayers so I don’t feel so out of place and have some clue what I’m doing raising Muslim kids. The woman offered to have my family over some time. Our kids could play with her son, and she could go over some basics for us.
I’m so happy. It’s exactly what we need! I want to do a good job raising these kids and would love to know more about another religion just because it’s fascinating to me. I love learning about other faiths, and this one is important to me because of my kids. Plus these folks seem so kind and nice, and having new friends in our lives is always so welcome.
It really truly does take a village, or in this case, a remarkably large community. The folks at our school district have been over the top excellent with our kids, teaching them and caring for them in the most wonderful ways. We have good friends we just got to share Burmese food with on Saturday who have welcomed us into their home and lives. We have a former therapist for Sprout who continues to love on our kids whenever she has time. Their case worker and her supervisor are excellent and caring – true gems in a broken system. Sprout’s riding instructor treats her with utmost respect and gentleness. Our church community is full of loving kind people who dote on our kids.
If nothing else, these girls are going to learn that there are good people in this world who care about other human beings. They’ve been through hell being removed from their mother and siblings and extended family and culture and faith community and all that was familiar. But I’m going to surround them with as many good caring people as I possibly can. It won’t make up for their trauma, but maybe it will give them a little hope and happiness in this crazy life they’re leading.
I first started as a receptionist at my family’s church, plus some babysitting gigs. Then I switched to working at the rare books department of the nearby university. I worked there summers for years, including while I was in college. During my time on my own college campus I worked 2 or sometimes 3 jobs at a time. When I graduated from college I had my first “real” job within a month of graduation. Even in law school I worked throughout, despite being warned I should just focus on academics. Then I worked as a lawyer for a lot of years.
Paid work is what I was raised to expect and have lived for the vast majority of my life. The only times I’ve ever not worked a paying job have been my junior year abroad when I had no work visa, and now.
Being a stay at home mom is work for sure. I cook, I clean, I wipe small butts, I feed children and break up their arguments and play with them and take them to appointments.
With our lot, there are a LOT of appointments because both of our full time girls are medically fragile with significant medical complications. So there’s a lot of physical therapy and the dentist, an orthopedic surgeon and two cardiologists, an audiologist and an ophthalmologist, an optometrist and a geneticist and of course a pediatrician. They both have academic needs, so there are CPSE and CSE meetings with the school. Then we also have horseback riding lessons for the youngest, which are therapeutic and amazing, and are breaking our bank. Plus we now have Arabic school on Sundays. Did I mention we live in podunk so everything is at least a half hour away? Family visits and the geneticist and the horseback riding lessons are each an hour away.
Parenting these two kids is no small task. I forget sometimes just how much it all is, but my calendar is loaded and we never ever have totally unscheduled days.
On top of all the parenting work, I have medical issues that cause significant fatigue and require me to sleep at least 10 hours a night and nap 2 hours a day. Every day. If I go without a nap I’m a wreck for 2 days. It’s just what my body does in response to at least 2 autoimmune diseases, plus fibromyalgia.
There is no way on god’s green earth that I could hold down a real job right now. I have nothing left! The fatigue alone is making working impossible. I have a tiny gig as a paid secretary for a planning board that I enjoy, but it pays less than $2000 a year and is very part time. It’s all I can manage.
Despite knowing I’m ridiculously busy and paid work isn’t possible right now, I am wrestling with demons about not working. I mean, I’m working. I’m working my tail off. But it’s not a paid job. Its not work. It’s not what I was raised to expect of myself. My mother worked from the time I started school until she retired many years later. My father always worked, often miserable jobs he hated, because work was what was expected to support the family. For years as an adult, I was the breadwinner of my family because working as an attorney paid a lot better than what my husband was doing.
When I quit work almost a year ago I didn’t expect my ego to take the hit it has and my fears to skyrocket about being “dependent” and a “burden” on my family. We are barely afloat financially. That’s not helping my guilt. Shouldn’t I do something to help my family financially?
A while ago I swallowed my pride and applied for disability. With my needing to sleep every day mid day I can’t hold down a real paid gig. I can’t do an ounce more than I’m already doing. But disability applications take months and months to process and I know I’ll get an initial denial and have to appeal it (80% of initial applications are denied), so heaven only knows how long it’s going to take before I even have a real answer about disability eligibility, much less potential income from it. So in the mean time, we are just carrying on and doing our best to make ends meet.
Not working working is a mind f*ck of epic proportions. I’m exhausted but earning nothing. I’m constantly moving but never caught up. I’m not using my brain’s power to produce anything or provide anything and I’m terribly afraid it’s a waste. I’m not helping my family financially and I feel like a failure for that.
If my husband gets home from work and the house is a mess because the kids have been Tasmanian devils, I get down on myself for not doing a good enough job at my “job.” I feel like I should be able to keep the house always neat since I’m home. Deep down I know that’s sheer lunacy – anyone who has met my kids knows that. They’re a lot. News flash: they’re always Tasmanian devils! And I am perpetually exhausted and trying my damndest to keep up and do what I can.
Crawling out
So how do I crawl out of this weird limbo I’m in? I don’t really have an answer other than to note that I’m ok, and remind myself of that regularly.
I think that when I quit my job last November, it was a mix of burnout (years and years worth of built up ADHD and autistic burnout) and my health problems. Now? It’s still a little lingering burnout a year later, but it’s better. My health ain’t letting me stay awake as many hours as I’d like or hold down a real job, but it’s allowing me a good life still and I’m grateful for that. My depression is in remission. My anxiety is hugely reduced now that I understand most of what I was experiencing wasn’t anxiety, it was overstimulation.
Almost a year after quitting lawyering, I feel like I can finally take a deep breath and let it out and not feel any concomitant waves of panic. I joke that I’m a recovering Catholic and lawyer, but it’s not really a joke.
Mentally, I’m doing better than I ever have. I’m generally a happy optimist. I’m doing good work raising these crazy beloved kids, and that is something that really matters in the grand scheme of things.
I’m going to beat this thing that tells me I’m inadequate because I’m not earning money. I will conquer this damn capitalist societal pressure to always produce something with my time and brain. I’m going to be okay with being instead of producing.
Sunny deserves her nickname. She’s an incredibly resilient kid, usually happy, and has a fabulous warm smile. There’s another side to her too though, and I’ll just call it the “waves against a rock” side of her.
Like a lot of kids who wind up in care, Sunny has struggled to get some of her needs met before she got here. Her Mama is incredibly sweet and loving and this is nothing against her, but with 5 kids and lots of difficult personal issues going on, sometimes the kids had to be loud – literally and figuratively – to get Mama to hear them.
Sunny has a stubborn streak that she comes by naturally judging by the personalities of the entire family, but she also uses it as a learned behavior. It is, frankly, exhausting. For example, she will come home from school and ask for a snack and if she gets told she can’t have the chocolate she’s asking for she’ll wheedle and cajole and beg and ask 1,000 different ways non-stop for an incredible length of time. Just when you think she’s finally done, a last “pleeeeease?” or two or three will eke out.
I’m made of granite, not sandstone. I don’t give in. I get exhausted and irritated by it. But I’m sure it worked at home and I totally get why: it would be easier to give in than it is to resist. I just know it’s in her best interest for me to stand firm on decisions I’ve made for a whole host of reasons. Sometimes the world delivers “nos” and she needs to learn to accept that and cope with the emotions that brings up. And she needs to know I stand by the decisions I make.
All that said, her persistence is something that is likely to serve her well in this life, too. That, and once in a while it helps me out.
I delivered the sucky Halloween news to the kids as gently as I could. There were no tears but were a lot of “Awwwww, whyyyyys” and no small amount of whining. After a while, Sunny realized she could still challenge her Mama’s decision via telephone, so she asked to call her. And then she started wheedling, cajoling, and begging. Mama, bless her heart, eventually caved and said the girls can have their Halloween, including costumes and trick-or-treating, after all.
Oh frabjous day, Halloween is back on! I’ve already got costumes for everybody, and the decorations are going to come out of the attic, STAT. Everyone is excited, and for once, I’m appreciating Sunny’s incredible oceanic resolve.
I was raised Catholic. Seth was raised intermittently Pentecostal – i.e. Pentecostal when his parents weren’t getting kicked out of churches for pushing limits. We both walked away from our childhoods abhorring organized religion and its exclusivity.
About 22 years later, when Kiddo had been with us for about 6 months, we realized she was struggling with her racial identity. While her pre-k was diverse and majority non-white, her teachers were almost all white, and she wasn’t seeing Seth and me interact with adults who weren’t white very often. We knew she needed role models and to normalize seeing us – Seth and me – talking to people who looked like her. What better way to diversify our world than joining a diverse Church community?
I picked a Church we drove past all the time because it had a giant rainbow banner out front that said “All are Welcome.” I’m not straight myself, and was not willing to set a toenail into a church that wouldn’t welcome me fully. I also figured if the church was welcoming gay people it would not be the same conservative and exclusionary experience Seth and I had had as kids.
Since that time, Seth and I have gotten quite involved in that church, which is a United Methodist church that is doing simply outstanding work in the community. As Seth puts it, he’s “agnostic on a good day,” yet he’s leading a major committee and I’m doing some work there too. It’s full of good people doing good work, which is how I’ve always thought Christian churches ought to be but seldom are.
I’m not a Christian in any traditional sense. Jesus was an interesting fellow with some darn good ideas, but I don’t necessarily believe he was the son of God.
Baptism? Meh.
Feeding the hungry and treating fellow humans with compassion? I am fully on board with that.
So while it may seem odd we go to a Christian church, it fits with our ideals and it works. We love the people there and the work it’s doing and are committed to continuing it as best we can.
I happen to have another side, religiously speaking. In high school, my best friend’s family was Buddhist, and as a result of my long-term relationships with them I discovered Buddhism for myself. I believe most of the tenets of Buddhism not because I was taught them, but because my beliefs naturally sort of evolved to them over time. My practice on the Eightfold Path is a bit weak to say the least, but I meditate, and one of my favorite places in the entire world is a remote Zen Buddhist Monastery in the Catskills.
All that is to say I am currently some sort of reformed Catholic agnostic Methodist Buddhist. Heh. It sounds ludicrous when I put it that way but there it is.
Oh, and I’m raising Muslim kids.
Today’s challenges
I’ve always known Sprout was Muslim, but there was never any discussion about it other than one time her mother said that she wanted Sprout raised in her religion, then she took that back, and said no, what she really wanted was Sprout to be raised in her culture. So for 2 1/2 years we’ve cooked Sprout Burmese food, filled her room with Burmese related artwork, bought her a gorgeous Longyi, and read her Children’s books about Myanmar.
Then Sunny arrived. Sprout was removed from her family before she was 2 so she didn’t have much if any religious teaching then. But Sunny is 8, is missing Arabic school, is old enough to stick to not eating Pork, and informed me that trick or treating is not allowed in her religion. It’s turning out to be an interesting ride.
When Sunny first mentioned the trick or treating thing I just asked her if she wanted to go and she said yes. I didn’t think much of it. But it turns out trick or treating really really is a big deal for her family, and their Mom is laying down the law: no Halloween.
In theory I’m fine with that. I’m sad because it’s my favorite holiday and I have a killer costume this year, but whatever. Years fly by and there’s always another Halloween around the corner.
What stinks is that Halloween is something we’ve always celebrated with Sprout because dumb me, I never looked into which holidays weren’t allowed for Muslims. I should have. I know enough to know it’s something I should have done. But with her Mom saying she wasn’t worried about Sprout growing up Muslim I just didn’t think more about it.
Now that Sunny is here it’s very different in Mom’s eyes because Sunny truly is Muslim. Plus, I know Mom is wanting to control what little she can for her kids and this is something she can control. That’s natural and makes sense. In foster care we are required to do what we need to to support a child’s faith, and first parents have the legal right to dictate a child’s faith even though their kids are in care. Honestly, it’s something I agree with and fully support: kids need to learn and know the culture and faith they come from.
So I somehow have to break the news to the kids that we won’t be doing any Halloween-ing this year. No costumes (which they already had before I learned of Mom’s position), no party (we were invited to a legendary one thrown by friends of ours), no trick-or-treating. I’ll do something here for them that’s different: fall themed or something. We’ll probably have pizza and some candy just because, but keep the ghosts and goblins in storage for another year.
Another issue is that we need to enroll the kids in some kind of Islamic/Arabic schooling because Sunny is missing out on what she’d get at home. She’s told me a bit about her Arabic school and I won’t be enrolling her in one like it – rulers on knuckles should have gone out of style a long damn time ago. But I talked to a friend of her Mother’s to find out which Mosque I should call. Then I happily enrolled her in what that Mosque refers to as its “Sunday school,” even though it’s on Saturdays from 10-1.
Sunny realized today that she doesn’t have a hijab or dress for the Mosque yet, so I’ve spent some time this afternoon looking for hijabs and long modest dresses for both girls. While asking Sunny if I was looking at the right kind of hijabs for them, she told me she desperately wants me to get a hijab and dress as well so I can go into the Mosque with her appropriately. I readily agreed – I can’t teach her about her faith but I can learn about it with her and should so I have a clue what I’m doing in raising two Muslim kids. I’ve got a me-size dress and hijab in my Amazon cart.
Apparently I’m on my way to becoming a reformed Catholic agnostic Methodist Muslim Buddhist.
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