foster parenting

Foster Care & Footed Pajamas

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It’s 14 degrees outside as I write this, which is twenty degrees warmer than this morning when I was celebrating Valentine’s Day at our dining room table with Dustin and our girls.

It was a quick, fun morning, and while I wished I could stay home and avoid the cold, I was looking forward to coming into work. I reminded the girls we’d have a special dinner tonight to finish up our celebrations.

“What is it?” they asked.

“You’ll see!” I said as I hurried out the door. Truthfully, I’ve been looking forward to homemade pizza with heart-shaped pepperoni all week.

I got to work and had a busy morning, but this afternoon, I decided to check on our foster parent resource closet. I wanted to see what clothing sizes we need for kiddos who come into care with nothing but the clothes they are wearing.

“All of the sizes,” I quickly realized as I straightened up the few items that were left on the shelves.

As I refolded and relabeled a couple of sweatshirts, I noticed one particular pair of really snuggly pajamas. The kind with the feet and one-long zipper. My girls always insist these won’t be a problem in the middle of the night when they’re groggy and making their way to the bathroom. But knowing my younger daughter, I tend to imagine otherwise. So, much to their dismay, I usually opt for buying them two-piece pajamas.

These cozy footed pajamas really did look perfect for the bitter cold day we were having. And as I grabbed them to check their size and put them in the best spot on the shelf, I realized they were just a little bigger than what my 8 & 9 year old daughters wear – a size 10. The design was super cute – pink with polka dots featuring a cute cartoon-like dog that lots of elementary girls would probably love wearing.

I wondered which little girl would end up with them. Which little girl who was leaving her home at a moment’s notice would wear those pajamas as she climbed into an unfamiliar bed on her first night away from mom or dad.

I wondered how difficult it would be for our licensing team to find a placement for her. Would we have an available family who was willing to welcome a little girl who was most likely 9 or 10 years old? All of our homes are pretty full right now, not to mention the fact that in child welfare, 9 or 10 years old is considered an “older child”. 

But when I looked at those pink polka dot footie pajamas, I didn’t picture an “older child”. I pictured my girls, still young and playful, snuggled up in their bunk beds, surrounded by their favorite stuffed animals.

I pictured them happy and chatty, asking for their bedtime song and for Dustin to pat their backs. I pictured them settled and cherished and loved.

I thought about our good days together over these last almost five years. So many special days like today filled with laughter, small gifts, and over-the-top food. And I thought about our rough days – the ones filled with tears and big feelings and my expectations that are probably too high for everyone.

And then I said a short prayer while I held those pajamas. Nothing major. Just a silent one asking God to be tangibly near to the little girl that will wear those pajamas.

When I pray those types of prayers, I guess what I really mean is, “God, will you move in the hearts of the foster parents that this particular little girl needs. Will you help them and strengthen them and give them the courage to say yes? Will you help that sweet girl who is walking through some kind of difficulty right now to know that she is loved, even when life around her might be a mess? And somehow, can these pajamas be a tiny reminder to her that she is loved and cared for, not just by the family that welcomes her in, but by the God who created her? And will you help me in all those same ways?”

I guess it isn’t a simple prayer after all.

Foster care isn’t simple. Moving homes isn’t simple. Changing families isn’t simple.

But you know what is simple? Buying footie pajamas.

So maybe I’ll stop by the store on my way home, and grab a few pairs.

After all, they’re still little, and I’m so lucky to be their mom.

It All Matters

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No one that I know has just woken up one day and decided to become a foster parent, which is probably good (it’s definitely not something to be entered into on a whim) but it’s also too bad.

As a foster parent recruiter it would make my job much easier if I just came into the office each morning with a full inbox of emails from people inquiring about the steps to becoming licensed and welcoming a child into their home.

Now, of course, I do get inquiries. And I follow-up with those people as quickly as I can. But even those individuals who are on the other end of the phone asking questions and setting up a time for me to come look at their home, didn’t just wake up that morning and decide to give FamilyCore a call.

They have a story that has led them to that particular moment.

And that story is usually years and sometimes decades long. While these stories are, of course, unique to each person or couple that is taking this step, there’s seems to be a simple common thread: somehow, they’ve caught a glimpse of what foster care is like and think – “I could do that and it would be worth it.”

Sometimes the person has grown up in foster care and now wants to provide for kids who are going through the same experience. Sometimes they’re a teacher or health care professional who works with these families and wants to serve as they aim to reunite. Sometimes they have known a foster parent and have watched that journey unfold. Sometimes they have had difficulty having biological children and are exploring other ways to care for children. Sometimes they had brothers or sisters who joined their family through foster care, and they want to do what their own parents did by opening their home.

Whatever the story is, it’s somehow connected to the very real need that is present and the change that can happen when good people get involved.

It’s at this intersection of dire need and unrelenting hope that I believe my job exists.

As a foster parent recruiter, I fill my days with a variety of tasks. One of the main goals I set for myself is to bring awareness by building connections in our local community.

Sure, I want to find individuals and couples who are willing to welcome children into their home by becoming licensed foster parents. But in order to do that well, in order to find the right people at the right time, I’ve begun to think of myself as first being a part of their story – I’m that lady they heard talk once. I shared about the child welfare statistics in our area or the opportunities to serve or the stories of impact. I posted something on Facebook about foster care and they happened to click on the article to actually read it.

To me, this sharing is one of the building blocks of a successful foster parent recruitment strategy. No one is going to jump in to meet needs that they don’t know exist.

And we don’t just need more foster parents. We need you, with whatever gifts and talents and experiences you bring to the table. 

So I spend some of my time talking about the ways we can show up. Not by jumping in at a level that is beyond our real life capacity, but at one that matches who we are and what we can actually contribute. I believe that if we show up to the invitation, good things will happen.

The needs of the foster care community are vast and varied. This means we can show up in all sorts of ways.

We can show up by making meals or rocking babies or reading stories or organizing a closet or cleaning visiting rooms or offering a listening ear.

We can show up by running a diaper drive or hosting a training session or teaching a teen to cook or advocating in the courtroom. We can show up by baking a dessert or running a powerpoint presentation or putting together a care package or designing an event flier.

And you know what? When we show up, we begin to impact a system that can too often feel impersonal and messy. When we show up we infuse that system with personhood and connection. When we show up, we offer not only our time and our talent, but most importantly, our hearts.

And the best part of all is that things really do change. Sure, systems can be overwhelming and slow moving. But systems are just made up of people who are longing to be noticed, supported, and loved.

So let’s show up. Let’s do what we can with what we have. Let’s believe that things can be different for these families and kids. When we do, good things happen.

Workers feel more appreciated. Parents feel more seen. Kids feel more supported. Foster parents feel more sustained.

All of it matters. All of it.

“Never doubt that a small group of thoughtful committed citizens can change the world; indeed, it’s the only thing that ever has.” – Margaret Mead

My View from the Copy Room

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My office is in the copy room at work.

This means that the hustle and bustle is constant. Co-workers are in and out, updating files, printing court reports, making sure their kids’ placements have been properly documented as they’ve moved to yet another home in their foster care journey.

Sometimes they’re chatty. They share about a tough case or celebrate when some kiddos finally find permanency. Sometimes they ask about my girls or our church.

I really enjoy my co-workers. They’re personable and dedicated, and I’m proud to be on their team.

Some days, like today, are a bit different in my office. People seem even busier than normal. They’re still in and out to use the copy machine and printer, but there’s less chatting and more rushing. I notice their quickened strides and tired eyes.

Today, I can almost feel the stress they’re experiencing as they hurry to complete all they have to do, looking forward to a weekend that they’re so desperate to reach.

I can sense overwhelm in the air. I think it lingers just above our third floor happenings everyday, but on particular days, it seems to settle in, descending like a fog.

It’s days like these, when the air is just a little bit thicker, that I assume we can all feel it. This work always matters, but sometimes there’s a deeper sense of the immensity of the job.

Kids have to leave homes at a moment’s notice. New cases come pouring in. Caseloads grow too quickly for anyone to do much more than tread water and hope for the best.

These workers, who buzz around the office, are crucial to the child welfare world and our community at large.

They’re the ones visiting children in their foster homes – once, twice, sometimes three times a month. They’re the ones building rapport with foster parents, getting to know their clients, and coordinating ever-changing schedules. They’re the ones sitting in the hospital waiting room on the weekend when there’s no bed for the teenager who needs to be admitted for their own safety.

They’re the ones showing up to court, thick files in hand. And they’re the ones who sometimes wait hours for the judge to call the case, all the while mentally calculating how many extra hours they’ll now be working this evening to make up for the delay. 

And these workers, who come in and out of my office with exasperated sighs, carry stories. Stories of trauma and abuse. Stories of struggle and pain. Stories of redemption and hope. And stories that haven’t been made quite right. 

It’s no wonder that this job had such turnover. Who could carry it all? The brokenness of this world can be too much at times.

And yet, these case workers, my co-workers, keep showing up. When I arrive back at my desk for my next day of work, there they are.

Back to the mess and the hard. Back to the kids who depend on them to be their advocates. Back to the parents who are working diligently toward reunification. Back to the cases that take years to close. Back to the workload that continually seems to expand.

I’ve never had the honor and burden of doing case work, but I’ve been around long enough to know, this calling is not for the faint of heart. 

So to my friends and co-workers who show up daily, thank you. Your commitment makes our community better, and we’re grateful for the sacrifices you make.

You are seen, and you are loved.

What We’re Learning to Do Differently

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I’ve already written a post on getting our girls to learn to sleep, and yet, as I reflect on the last four years of parenting, it’s one of the areas I wish we’d approached differently.

You can check out my previous post Sleep Matters to see how I was processing this part of the journey a year and a half ago. There were definitely some things that we did well, and other things we’ve adjusted since I last shared.

One of the main things we decided to do a little differently is to lean into what our girls were asking for even if it seemed unconventional. One of our girls really wanted to be rocked. We’d try to convince her to just lay down in bed. We’d offer to just pat her back or lay with her. But she was persistent.

And we, the stubborn couple that we are, really didn’t want to “give in”. What if we started this practice and then she expected it every night? Isn’t she way too old for this? Shouldn’t she be able to just go to sleep on her own?

All of those questions, while normal, are loaded with fear. Fear she’ll be seen as weird or behind. Fear that others might judge us if they hear we’re still rocking our six (now seven) year-old. Fear that I’ll be here all night and won’t have time to myself.

I wish I would have asked myself these types of questions, “Is it in my power to say yes?” “Will this yes help her in the long run?” “What does saying yes mean to her?”

Now, I’m NOT saying we should respond “yes” to every single idea our kids have. In fact, this daughter is so incredibly creative and unique that she asks us to do all kinds of crazy stuff over the course of a day.

But what I am saying is that if our kids are asking us something repeatedly that could possibly help them, show them that we care, and remind them that we want them to ask for what they need, then maybe we should try to say yes more often.

So, we started saying yes to this specific request. Dustin would rock her for five minutes or fifteen minutes, or whatever she seemed to need. And she didn’t ask every night. Not even close. In fact, it seems like she’s asked less and less now that we’ve said yes a few times.

Sometimes, Dustin will now actually offer to rock her on nights when bedtime seems to be a little more anxiety-laden. She’ll happily crawl into his lap, and rock back and forth, calming down fairly quickly. Most nights, she doesn’t even fall asleep in the rocking chair. She just enjoys the time together with Dustin or me.

And my view has changed. Now, when I look at her in her dad’s arms or I pull her close to me for one more song, I tell myself – she’s finally experiencing a stage that she truly needed. I watch her soak up those feelings of trust, connection, safety, preciousness and love. And I celebrate the opportunity to say yes.