Foster CARE

I'm in the business of foster CARE. the children that I tuck into bed at night and snuggle while watching Dinosaur Train are in need of my (and my husband's) constant, delicate care.  Unfortunately, in the chaos of  Week 1,  someone in this house is not getting taken care of: me.

I frequently regard myself as superwoman, or at best, Scarlett O'Hara.  I'm not taking about pre-Civil War Scarlett.  I'm not talking about "fiddle-dee-dee" Scarlett.  I'm talking about "I slapped my Butterfly Queen, Melanie is dying, Pa died, Rhett's a jerk, I'm making my clothes from draperies and pulling carrots out of the ground" Scarlett O'Hara.  I am sad to say that right now I feel more like Scarlett amidst all the death and dying at the "hospital" - overwhelmed, "why won't a doctor just help me?!" and just wanting a carriage to get out of dodge.

This is my own darn fault.  I haven't been eating or hydrating properly, and I'm fully aware of the germs that little ones can carry, especially when they are in daycare two days a week.  It didn't help so much that my other half has been picking up tons of extra shifts at work (they aren't optional) and has been unavailable for the better part of the day/evening.

Let's get real here, people.

Preconceived notion of foster care: sweet snuggle bunny to care for that goes to bed by 8pm.
Reality: two kids (not our age range!!) on two totally different schedules and absolutely NO way to get in touch with case workers. I mean is she going home today or not? It's 9am, lady. I'm in class. Kinda need to know this stuff.

Preconceived notion: I can get the 4 year old to rock some natural African American hair. I've got oils and Shea butter. I've seen the target ads with the cute kids in PJs embracing their natural hair without tight braids or rows.
Reality: EVERYONE thinks he's a girl. And I think I understand what nappy means now. And I feel really bad about it.

Preconceived notion: last night was bath time.
Reality: too much toilet paper in the baby's bathroom means ACTUAL poop flowing onto the floor. Dirty babies again.


Enough with the negativity

Truth of the matter is that last night I put the kids to bed two full hours before regular bedtime because I was nearly fainting and throwing up.  And I can't let that happen again. Where is the balance?  I love my waking moments with them: park time, dinner time, aquarium time, ESPECIALLY singing in the car time. And they need someone who loves that time with them. And those people are me and Steve.


The snuggles make it worth it. Worth every second.  Don't get me wrong. This is a truly joyful experience. During a particularity foggy day a few afternoons ago C asked me "why did God decide to come down today?"

Those are the moments that matter. I've just got to learn to take care of myself in the process.