Alternately titled: Chapter 137 (or something like that) in The Kurtis Capers.
Yesterday, having pushed my start time to the outer limits of it possibly being finished by the time Karson needed to leave for gymnastics, I set out to make dinner, only to immediately run into a snag. It was a minor snag at first. I had forgotten to thaw the enchilada sauce for the Mexican Lasagna. This would definitely set me back a few minutes...minutes I didn't have to spare, so I hurried down to the basement to retrieve the sauce from the freezer. Unfortunately, the key to our freezer was not in its usual location and was nowhere to be found.
Panic started to set in as I realized that Kevin was heading out the front door to go to work and that he was the last to gain access to the freezer. I caught him in time, but he was little help as he assured me he had placed the key back on the ledge. He did point out that he had found the outside door to the basement unlocked earlier and suggested that the job may have been done by our beloved youngest son. Sounded likely, so I set out to find him, trying to keep my head from spinning around and the steam from spewing out my ears.
I found Kurtis and his best friend and next-door-neighbor, 4-year-old James, in the backyard of our rental property next-door. When I asked about the key, they didn't seem to know what I was talking about. James even commented, "How would I know, I'm blinded." I had noticed that he was missing his glasses. He unzipped his backpack to show me his broken pair, but no key. I decided to look in the other part of his backpack. Again, no key, but I did find a LOT of very large paint chips with chunks of old decaying brick still attached. Apparently he and Kurtis had been entertaining themselves by peeling paint off of the rental property foundation. I went to check out the damage before dragging Kurtis off to the basement, hoping that pointing out where the key had been located would jog his memory.
At this point, I decided to do all that I could to suppress my growing frustration. I figured that revealing any anger might push Kurtis to lie and that I'd never find my key. Playing nice seemed to work and Kurtis' memory was indeed jogged. He confessed.
"So, where did you put it?" I inquired.
"It's where James keeps his stuff. Follow me!" Kurtis said, a little too enthusiastically.
He led me, follow the leader style, out behind our house where our property has several garages that we rent out as storage space. Sitting there in a pile on the sidewalk was an obvious "stash". An old plastic soda bottle with 2 corks inside, several fruits and twigs from nearby trees, an old sash pulley from the window that Kevin rebuilt this summer, and 4 out of 6 knobs from the buffet that I'm in the process of refinishing. Things I hadn't even realized were missing yet, but no key.
Kurtis then led me into James' backyard. Suddenly, perhaps because he was now in the presence of his grandmother, James' memory came rushing back and he admitted to knowing where the key was. He ran off into the house and returned with an old printer paper box full of his "treasures".
There, at the bottom, was the key to my freezer. I didn't have time to notice whether I recognized anything else in the box or to wring any necks, I was now half an hour behind schedule on my dinner making. Perhaps I'll go back today and investigate further.
I know I've said it more than once. Number 6 needs more supervision. And maybe a lesson or two in resisting peer pressure.
Tuesday, October 19, 2010
Friday, October 15, 2010
Letting Go
Poignant moments can occur anywhere, can't they? How about near the crowded register of your favorite Chinese place while you wait, already-bagged order in hand, for the egg rolls you decided to add at the last minute. Kendra leaned her head on my shoulder and I reached up and patted her cheek. Her tenderness was meant to console after my confession that I was taking the fact that she drove us to the Chinese restaurant harder than I'd expected.
Don't get me wrong. It wasn't our first time out together since she's had her learner's permit and she's really doing a great job. However, it's really beginning to hit me how big a milestone this is in the letting go process. Up until now in Kendra's life, I guess I've felt a certain amount of control over her safety. I've never been much of a worrier, but the thought of her soon being out on the road by herself...with other drivers of who-knows-what level of impairment, distraction, or just plain idiocy....has my heart beating a little faster. I strongly believe in the truth espoused in Psalm 139:16 - "Your eyes have seen my unformed substance; and in Your book were all written the days that were ordained for me, when as yet there was not one of them." I know that I can't add a day to her life via any form of anxiety, but it surely has become more of a temptation.
Then there's the fact that this is all such a strong reminder that in just a couple of years she'll be considered an adult. An adult? How did that happen so quickly? My mind rewinds to all those sweet older women who told me that it would go by quickly (usually as I'm pushing a full grocery cart while simultaneously trying to control 4 young hooligans). Turns out those ladies that I was maybe, just a little, tempted to smack, were right.
It does go by quickly.
Don't get me wrong. It wasn't our first time out together since she's had her learner's permit and she's really doing a great job. However, it's really beginning to hit me how big a milestone this is in the letting go process. Up until now in Kendra's life, I guess I've felt a certain amount of control over her safety. I've never been much of a worrier, but the thought of her soon being out on the road by herself...with other drivers of who-knows-what level of impairment, distraction, or just plain idiocy....has my heart beating a little faster. I strongly believe in the truth espoused in Psalm 139:16 - "Your eyes have seen my unformed substance; and in Your book were all written the days that were ordained for me, when as yet there was not one of them." I know that I can't add a day to her life via any form of anxiety, but it surely has become more of a temptation.
Then there's the fact that this is all such a strong reminder that in just a couple of years she'll be considered an adult. An adult? How did that happen so quickly? My mind rewinds to all those sweet older women who told me that it would go by quickly (usually as I'm pushing a full grocery cart while simultaneously trying to control 4 young hooligans). Turns out those ladies that I was maybe, just a little, tempted to smack, were right.
It does go by quickly.
Friday, July 9, 2010
What Possessed Him to do THAT??
It's been a LONG time since I've regularly posted to this blog. The time period from December through about May of this year was so busy for our family that all creative energy was sucked out of me! Sometime about mid-June, I found myself creating a blog post in my head about something that had happened. It was then that I knew my creativity was on the mend! It was a wonderful feeling. I never did get around to typing up the story swimming in my grey matter and, unfortunately, it has long ago drowned. We've again been terribly busy with remodeling a couple of rooms for the last several weeks and I've even contemplated giving up blogging altogether. I voiced my ponderings aloud yesterday only to have my proposed resignation met with much negativity. Kendra in particular moaned, "You can't give up blogging, I like reading about myself!"
Obviously I've taken that into consideration since I'm sitting here at the computer when there are tomorrow's yard sale items waiting to be sorted and priced. Or it could be that I'm sitting with the window air conditioner blowing at my back in one of only 2 air-conditioned rooms in the house during this unusually hot summer.
Or it could be that I have a story to tell that needs to be recorded:
About a month ago, Kara-Faith and Kurtis came to me complaining about the toys in the "fake food" bin being wet. I went to investigate. There were several items on one end that were wet and some liquid in the bottom. I couldn't identify it by it's smell, but I was pretty certain that it wasn't urine. I couldn't imagine how urine could have gotten into the bin, but I did recommend that the kids not play with the fake food until I got a chance to clean it up, just in case.
Then the above referenced remodeling project happened. I forgot all about the incident until I was moving every last item out of the kids' rooms. Somewhere in there I happened to find a small plastic tea cup with a dried yellow substance in the bottom. I was now pretty certain that the earlier liquid had indeed been pee and I was also immediately certain of the perpetrator. The same 4-year-old little boy who, at the time of reporting, seemed just as baffled as his sister as to what that strange liquid could be. It was a good thing that he was away at Nana and PopPop's house at the time of my discovery. I made mental note to take the issue up with him when he got home later in the week. I then erased my mental note, deciding that it was probably going to be an isolated incident and it probably wasn't necessary to bring it up. I knew I wasn't going to get acknowledgement out of him anyway.
Fast forward several weeks to this evening. I walked into Kara-Faith's newly painted room to be greeted by a foul smell. I sniffed around, unable to find it, finally deciding to chalk it up to the extreme heat, but when Kara-Faith complained about it to me later, I went back to hunting. I found a pair of her pajamas on the floor that smelled slightly of urine. They could be it. I took them and all the dirty laundry in her hamper to the laundry room hoping it would take care of the odor. No such luck.
It was then that it dawned on me to check the fake food bin to see if the dried pee in the bin was the culprit. Yes, that same pee that I had still never gotten around to cleaning. In my defense, there is a lot of toy food and plates and cups, etc. in that bin and it's going to be a big job! As I lifted the lid, the tip of my finger touched something wet. I eased back the lid the rest of the way to discover a tea cup, filled nearly to the rim, with....yes, you guessed it, pee. It was ever so gingerly resting on a not-so-stable or symmetrical stack of other toys. I guess I was wrong about it being an isolated incident. Immediately I remembered earlier in the day when Kara-Faith had asked me, on Kurtis' behalf, if he could play with the fake food (it had still been off-limits at least!). My "no" answer prompted quick begging on his part. He claimed he only needed "one thing". I guess I know now which thing it was he "needed"!
No longer at Nana and PopPop's, the perp was pulled in for immediate questioning. I stood him over the still full cup that I had set on the floor and grilled him for answers.
"What is that in that cup?"
"I don't know", he promptly lied.
I spanked his bottom once for the lie. It's the one automatically punishable offense in our house. The wrong-doings won't neccesarily get you in trouble, but the lying about it will! He didn't even try to use his earlier excuse for me not giving him a spanking: "I already spanked myself". Uh huh.
I asked again.
I got the same answer several times before he admitted to it being pee. Now that I had that established I moved on my next question: "Who peed in the cup?"
Back to his favorite answer: "I don't know".
He received several spankings for that one, which persuaded him to confess through his tears.
"Bailey did it!"
Bailey is our dog. Uh huh. Just try to picture a 4-year-old getting the dog to squat and pee on-demand while he holds a very small cup under her! If only he knew the absurdity of his answer. I managed to keep a straight face during his repeat of the same answer two more times! It was only after another persuasive round of swats to the bottom that I finally got the truth.
That's what I thought, mister. Kurtis, you win, hands-down, the award for the most creatively mischievous child I've ever raised. Now don't ever do that again!
Obviously I've taken that into consideration since I'm sitting here at the computer when there are tomorrow's yard sale items waiting to be sorted and priced. Or it could be that I'm sitting with the window air conditioner blowing at my back in one of only 2 air-conditioned rooms in the house during this unusually hot summer.
Or it could be that I have a story to tell that needs to be recorded:
About a month ago, Kara-Faith and Kurtis came to me complaining about the toys in the "fake food" bin being wet. I went to investigate. There were several items on one end that were wet and some liquid in the bottom. I couldn't identify it by it's smell, but I was pretty certain that it wasn't urine. I couldn't imagine how urine could have gotten into the bin, but I did recommend that the kids not play with the fake food until I got a chance to clean it up, just in case.
Then the above referenced remodeling project happened. I forgot all about the incident until I was moving every last item out of the kids' rooms. Somewhere in there I happened to find a small plastic tea cup with a dried yellow substance in the bottom. I was now pretty certain that the earlier liquid had indeed been pee and I was also immediately certain of the perpetrator. The same 4-year-old little boy who, at the time of reporting, seemed just as baffled as his sister as to what that strange liquid could be. It was a good thing that he was away at Nana and PopPop's house at the time of my discovery. I made mental note to take the issue up with him when he got home later in the week. I then erased my mental note, deciding that it was probably going to be an isolated incident and it probably wasn't necessary to bring it up. I knew I wasn't going to get acknowledgement out of him anyway.
Fast forward several weeks to this evening. I walked into Kara-Faith's newly painted room to be greeted by a foul smell. I sniffed around, unable to find it, finally deciding to chalk it up to the extreme heat, but when Kara-Faith complained about it to me later, I went back to hunting. I found a pair of her pajamas on the floor that smelled slightly of urine. They could be it. I took them and all the dirty laundry in her hamper to the laundry room hoping it would take care of the odor. No such luck.
It was then that it dawned on me to check the fake food bin to see if the dried pee in the bin was the culprit. Yes, that same pee that I had still never gotten around to cleaning. In my defense, there is a lot of toy food and plates and cups, etc. in that bin and it's going to be a big job! As I lifted the lid, the tip of my finger touched something wet. I eased back the lid the rest of the way to discover a tea cup, filled nearly to the rim, with....yes, you guessed it, pee. It was ever so gingerly resting on a not-so-stable or symmetrical stack of other toys. I guess I was wrong about it being an isolated incident. Immediately I remembered earlier in the day when Kara-Faith had asked me, on Kurtis' behalf, if he could play with the fake food (it had still been off-limits at least!). My "no" answer prompted quick begging on his part. He claimed he only needed "one thing". I guess I know now which thing it was he "needed"!
No longer at Nana and PopPop's, the perp was pulled in for immediate questioning. I stood him over the still full cup that I had set on the floor and grilled him for answers.
"What is that in that cup?"
"I don't know", he promptly lied.
I spanked his bottom once for the lie. It's the one automatically punishable offense in our house. The wrong-doings won't neccesarily get you in trouble, but the lying about it will! He didn't even try to use his earlier excuse for me not giving him a spanking: "I already spanked myself". Uh huh.
I asked again.
I got the same answer several times before he admitted to it being pee. Now that I had that established I moved on my next question: "Who peed in the cup?"
Back to his favorite answer: "I don't know".
He received several spankings for that one, which persuaded him to confess through his tears.
"Bailey did it!"
Bailey is our dog. Uh huh. Just try to picture a 4-year-old getting the dog to squat and pee on-demand while he holds a very small cup under her! If only he knew the absurdity of his answer. I managed to keep a straight face during his repeat of the same answer two more times! It was only after another persuasive round of swats to the bottom that I finally got the truth.
That's what I thought, mister. Kurtis, you win, hands-down, the award for the most creatively mischievous child I've ever raised. Now don't ever do that again!
Monday, February 22, 2010
My Dreamboat
I'm thinking that if I just get on here and type something, maybe the creativity will start to flow once again and it won't be so long until the next time I write something. So here goes a short post just for the sake of getting creativity flowing again.
It's about my husband. He's the kind of man that always draws astonished looks from other moms when I tell them the things he does. It's sometimes downright "husband envy". That's a term I actually heard today from someone who'd learned that Kevin had gotten up at 5:30 this morning to: bake bread, make homemade scones for breakfast, and make pasta from scratch to pack in our lunches for our all-day excursion to homeschool co-op.
He usually makes breakfast. Homemade breakfasts. Often something from fresh-ground wheat, even. He also usually bakes the bread around here. Again, from fresh-ground wheat. And he regularly packs our lunches on Monday mornings, so I'm quite accustomed to getting envious looks as a I munch on my delicious salads. Today, however, his envy-worthiness was over-the-top.
Did I mention he brought me tea, sweetened just the way I like it, up to the bedroom while I was preparing for my day of teaching? Yep, that, too.
Oh, and he took his short lunch break to come by and spend a few minutes with me.
That's just the list of today's sweet things. I don't have time to write about the past weeks....months....years.
Dreamy, isn't he?
I sure think so.
It's about my husband. He's the kind of man that always draws astonished looks from other moms when I tell them the things he does. It's sometimes downright "husband envy". That's a term I actually heard today from someone who'd learned that Kevin had gotten up at 5:30 this morning to: bake bread, make homemade scones for breakfast, and make pasta from scratch to pack in our lunches for our all-day excursion to homeschool co-op.
He usually makes breakfast. Homemade breakfasts. Often something from fresh-ground wheat, even. He also usually bakes the bread around here. Again, from fresh-ground wheat. And he regularly packs our lunches on Monday mornings, so I'm quite accustomed to getting envious looks as a I munch on my delicious salads. Today, however, his envy-worthiness was over-the-top.
Did I mention he brought me tea, sweetened just the way I like it, up to the bedroom while I was preparing for my day of teaching? Yep, that, too.
Oh, and he took his short lunch break to come by and spend a few minutes with me.
That's just the list of today's sweet things. I don't have time to write about the past weeks....months....years.
Dreamy, isn't he?
I sure think so.
Tuesday, December 8, 2009
My Fashionista
Again. I should have known.
He was about 3-years-old the day he walked into my bathroom, crumpled onto the floor in a crying heap and loudly bemoaned the fact that he didn't "look good". Nevermind that he was only in his pajamas. He was not to be consoled by my assurance that I thought he looked good and that I was the only one who was going to see him.
The clothes he wears has always been an obsession of Karson's. Each season, he would choose 2 or 3 favorite outfits and could not be steered to wear much else. One year, he even became enamored with the outfit that had spent the last year in his preschool cubbie as his "just in case" change of clothes. It spent the year in the cubbie because it was an outside-the-family-hand-me-down outfit that I thought was ugly and didn't mind sacrificing. Who knew?
As a second boy, Karson hasn't had much in the way of new clothing. Through most of his nearly 10 years, he's been wearing his brother's hand-me-downs. Several years ago, however, he started to notice. He'd notice every time I brought home clothes for any of his siblings and would proceed to pout. Wanting to speak his apparent love language, I started occasionally bringing something home for him, too - even if he didn't really need it.
Fast forward to last night. We took the 4 youngers shopping with us, stopping at several stores. As you might suspect, Karson never minds clothes shopping. At one point, I went to the checkout while Kevin was still looking at something. Given the choice to go with either one of us, he requested to remain in the men's section to look around.
We spent the most time at the Gap outlet. As an aside - I love the Gap. Although I'm not into labels, per se, I do appreciate quality clothes at a good price and Gap's sales are unbeatable. I can usually find things cheaper on sale at Gap or Gap outlet than I can buy them new at Wal-Mart or Target (or even used at a consignment sale!)...and they've always held up better for the inevitable handing down.
Anyway, I didn't pay much attention to what Karson was doing while we were there - the kids were under Daddy's watch for the most part - but apparently he kept himself busy (even though he was disappointed to hear that the store only carried grown-up clothes) As he was heading to bed last night, Karson showed me the stack of clothes on the end of his bed. He told me he'd put together an awesome outfit that was nearly exactly like one he'd seen on a mannequin in the store. He'd studied the mannequin and was certain he had similar items at home. Sure enough -
dark jeans, a striped button-down shirt, a charcoal grey half-zip sweater, and a hoodie zip-up vest. It was a pretty awesome outfit. Apparently he has more talent than gymnastics. My son - the fashionista.
He was about 3-years-old the day he walked into my bathroom, crumpled onto the floor in a crying heap and loudly bemoaned the fact that he didn't "look good". Nevermind that he was only in his pajamas. He was not to be consoled by my assurance that I thought he looked good and that I was the only one who was going to see him.
The clothes he wears has always been an obsession of Karson's. Each season, he would choose 2 or 3 favorite outfits and could not be steered to wear much else. One year, he even became enamored with the outfit that had spent the last year in his preschool cubbie as his "just in case" change of clothes. It spent the year in the cubbie because it was an outside-the-family-hand-me-down outfit that I thought was ugly and didn't mind sacrificing. Who knew?
As a second boy, Karson hasn't had much in the way of new clothing. Through most of his nearly 10 years, he's been wearing his brother's hand-me-downs. Several years ago, however, he started to notice. He'd notice every time I brought home clothes for any of his siblings and would proceed to pout. Wanting to speak his apparent love language, I started occasionally bringing something home for him, too - even if he didn't really need it.
Fast forward to last night. We took the 4 youngers shopping with us, stopping at several stores. As you might suspect, Karson never minds clothes shopping. At one point, I went to the checkout while Kevin was still looking at something. Given the choice to go with either one of us, he requested to remain in the men's section to look around.
We spent the most time at the Gap outlet. As an aside - I love the Gap. Although I'm not into labels, per se, I do appreciate quality clothes at a good price and Gap's sales are unbeatable. I can usually find things cheaper on sale at Gap or Gap outlet than I can buy them new at Wal-Mart or Target (or even used at a consignment sale!)...and they've always held up better for the inevitable handing down.
Anyway, I didn't pay much attention to what Karson was doing while we were there - the kids were under Daddy's watch for the most part - but apparently he kept himself busy (even though he was disappointed to hear that the store only carried grown-up clothes) As he was heading to bed last night, Karson showed me the stack of clothes on the end of his bed. He told me he'd put together an awesome outfit that was nearly exactly like one he'd seen on a mannequin in the store. He'd studied the mannequin and was certain he had similar items at home. Sure enough -
dark jeans, a striped button-down shirt, a charcoal grey half-zip sweater, and a hoodie zip-up vest. It was a pretty awesome outfit. Apparently he has more talent than gymnastics. My son - the fashionista.
Sunday, November 29, 2009
What If We Lived What We Believe?
James 1:27 ~ Pure and undefiled religion in the sight of our God and Father is this: to visit orphans and widows in their distress, and to keep oneself unstained by the world.
Matthew 34-40 ~ "Then the King will say to those on His right, 'Come, you who are blessed of My Father, inherit the kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the world. For I was hungry, and you gave Me something to eat; I was thirsty, and you gave Me something to drink; I was a stranger, and you invited Me in; naked, and you clothed Me; I was sick, and you visited Me; I was in prison, and you came to Me.' "Then the righteous will answer Him, 'Lord, when did we...?' "The King will answer and say to them, 'Truly I say to you, to the extent that you did it to one of these brothers of Mine, even to the least of them, you did it to Me.'
One of the sons the Lord has given me was carried in the womb of another woman. I didn't even meet Kurtis until he was nearly 6 months old, and couldn't call him "mine" until he was more than 2. The circumstances by which he came to us - through being foster parents with Social Services - was something Kevin and I volunteered for, even though it's a system that we don't wholeheartedly support. As strong believers in parental rights, we don't take lightly the fact that the state can step in and take a child from his parents. We even cringe a bit at the thought of being party to such a system. Yes, I do know that it serves a good purpose and saves many children from fates that no one wants to think about, but as with anything in this world, it's far from perfect. Sometimes justice is served and sometimes the innocent get the short end of the stick. I've come to the belief that it's too often the poor and uneducated who do not find justice within our system. I think that both my youngest children are mine because of little more than the socio-economic situation of their parents. Both they and their parents were among "the least of them."
I have always believed Kurtis' birth-mom to be innocent of the abuse that landed Kurtis in the hospital with the injuries he had when we met him. However, she did lie about what had truly happened. Perhaps she was scared of losing her son, the way she had recently lost her older 2 boys for not protecting them from the severe beating by her boyfriend. In the end, she lost him anyway. When the 14 months of Social Services standard operating procedure had elapsed, "A" was on the short end of the stick. She had missed all of the hoops that Social Services had asked her to jump through and had continued to make poor choices. Genuinely wanting what was best for her son when faced with being asked to sign away her parental rights, A asked if we would adopt him. She knew he would be safe with us and that seemed worth more to her than continuing to fight for his custody. I said we would. She then asked if she would still be able to see him. I answered yes again. I held back tears and walked away.
To be honest, I wasn't entirely comfortable with having an open adoption. I wasn't sure that I could trust A to not overstep the unspoken boundaries I had in mind. Afterall, I'd just spent the last 14 months being told one thing by social services (though what I was told was extremely limited) and being told another by A. I never stopped feeling compassion towards her, but her situation seemed so steeped in a lifestyle I knew nothing about, let alone knew anything about delivering a person from! I wanted to help, but felt crippled to do anything more than be a mom to her son.
I decided to release information about us slowly and gradually. First a phone number and meetings in neutral locations, then a birthday party at her apartment, then I gave her our address and let her come to our home. The unspoken boundaries were never crossed - there have only been a handful of times in the 2 1/2 years since I made those promises that we've seen A and only another handful of phone calls. My trust increased. Still, selfishly, I hoped she wouldn't call too often or that someday she might move on with her life and give up on maintaining a relationship altogether. My discomfort was not only having to deal with a birth mother, but with the socio-economic status that birth mother dwells in. It's a whole other culture that I can't relate to. The bad decisions, the immorality, but, being the squeamish girly-girl that I am, it was the stench of cigarette smoke over EVERYTHING that made me the most uncomfortable. The emotion of compassion met it's demise against the self-centered, mere-toleration of her more often than I'd care to admit.
Not long after we adopted Kurtis, J came into A's life. By then, A already had another little boy by another man (neither Kurtis' or her older boys' fathers), but J was undeterred. A big, heavily tatooed fella with, what I imagine, was a heart to match. He was with A to stay and he loved her son like he was his own. He was a hard worker who dealt all in cash because he "didn't trust banks", but wanted to provide for his little family. They got engaged. She got pregnant again, this time with her first girl. It's far from the picture perfect story....there was still the lack of education, the poverty, squalor, and the cigarette stench, and some in society would be apt to cry "she should have her tubes tied!", but somehow I felt encouraged that life was going to get better for them and happy that they had each other....and the mother in me rejoiced over a baby girl. What is a visual reminder of hope more than a new little life? I felt hopeful for them.
The last time we saw them, A and J had moved to Richmond and we had been invited to Kurtis' half-brother's birthday party. It was February. We went and spent a couple of hours trying to hide our distaste regarding the filthy surroundings. Would it be too obvious if we didn't sit on anything?? I didn't hear from A again until early November. I'd begun to think that she had given up. Far from it - she'd just been busy...and couldn't afford to get her cell phone turned back on to retrieve our number. She and J had gotten married, she'd survived the traumatic emergency c-section birth of their daughter, and they'd started going to church, resulting in them both being baptized and both children being dedicated to the Lord on Mother's Day! She and J were new creations in Christ! What could be a better start to their life together? A then told me she and the kids were back here staying with her mom for a while and would like to get together to give Kurtis his birthday gift once her children were over their current illnesses. I didn't think too much about her explanation of J staying behind in Richmond because "he still had some things to take care of".
It turns out that the thing J is taking care of is a 12 year prison term on trumped up drug charges. Having had a brother who died of an overdose several years ago, J, with A by his side, took on the mission of ridding the world (or at least their corner of it) of drug dealers and de-toxing their addicts. Unfortunately, J acted from his heart, seemingly forgetting his head. He was working diligently, on his own, undercover, to inform the police of a drug dealer....a dealer who, unbeknownst to J, was already working for the police as an informant, and was, in turn, informing the police about J with every "deal". I don't understand all the details, but I do believe A's story of J's innocence. Again, the poor, the uneducated, the man who has already served time and so continues to struggle to make a better life for himself, does not find justice within the system....a system that includes dirty cops who do drugs themselves and don't mind sending a man to prison to save their own hides.
Left behind is the wife, struggling to keep a stiff upper lip while still rehearsing the dreams they must've lain in bed at night talking about - of her being a preacher's wife someday. And the children - a 2-year-old who has only been told that Daddy's in the hospital, because his mother doesn't know what to tell him, and a 7-month-old who's never even known him. All living in one room of her mother and step-father's home while their "stuff" remains on the front porch getting wet and "spidery". They're, of course, on government assistance and waiting for government housing to open up, but, with her history of her children being abused when left in the wrong care and the lifelong consequences of such, she's afraid to leave them in order to seek work. The portraits that her husband was drawing from prison to bring in a little money have ceased with the new inability to use his hand - broken by a guard.
As I re-read what I've written so far, the same old thought of "what if she's just made it all up...what if she really isn't to be trusted...what if their conversions weren't real?" comes to mind. What if? Would it lessen her or her family's personhood one iota? Would it change at all the fact that she is still this society's "least of them"? No.
My heart is burdened for this family...this family that I believe, no matter how uncomfortable that is to me at times, is indelibly linked to ours by God's sovereign hands. After I hugged A goodbye and had kissed everyone's cheeks, my mind was racing. I had already promised to be their "Angel Tree" family this year, but it seemed a small gesture in comparison to their great need. The proverbial "be warm, be fed, I'll pray for you". Could we do more? Not only as followers of Christ, but as conservative-minded citizens of these United States, who profess to believe strongly in personal responsibility and that "cradle to grave" government care is NOT the answer!
Could we live what we believe? Could we afford to "give" A our vacant apartment at a rate similar to that subsidized sub-standard housing she's waiting for? Could we be the "subsidy" ourselves? Could I juggle babysitting her kids, so they have a safe place while she works? Could we have them over for dinner regularly? Could we make them more like family than people we tolerate? Could we risk being thought foolish and being taken advantage of? One answer comes to mind: only by God's grace. If that's where He leads, Kevin and I know that's where we'll follow. Not because it's comfortable, but because the places where the "least of them" dwell are not comfortable.
Neither was the cross.
Matthew 34-40 ~ "Then the King will say to those on His right, 'Come, you who are blessed of My Father, inherit the kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the world. For I was hungry, and you gave Me something to eat; I was thirsty, and you gave Me something to drink; I was a stranger, and you invited Me in; naked, and you clothed Me; I was sick, and you visited Me; I was in prison, and you came to Me.' "Then the righteous will answer Him, 'Lord, when did we...?' "The King will answer and say to them, 'Truly I say to you, to the extent that you did it to one of these brothers of Mine, even to the least of them, you did it to Me.'
One of the sons the Lord has given me was carried in the womb of another woman. I didn't even meet Kurtis until he was nearly 6 months old, and couldn't call him "mine" until he was more than 2. The circumstances by which he came to us - through being foster parents with Social Services - was something Kevin and I volunteered for, even though it's a system that we don't wholeheartedly support. As strong believers in parental rights, we don't take lightly the fact that the state can step in and take a child from his parents. We even cringe a bit at the thought of being party to such a system. Yes, I do know that it serves a good purpose and saves many children from fates that no one wants to think about, but as with anything in this world, it's far from perfect. Sometimes justice is served and sometimes the innocent get the short end of the stick. I've come to the belief that it's too often the poor and uneducated who do not find justice within our system. I think that both my youngest children are mine because of little more than the socio-economic situation of their parents. Both they and their parents were among "the least of them."
I have always believed Kurtis' birth-mom to be innocent of the abuse that landed Kurtis in the hospital with the injuries he had when we met him. However, she did lie about what had truly happened. Perhaps she was scared of losing her son, the way she had recently lost her older 2 boys for not protecting them from the severe beating by her boyfriend. In the end, she lost him anyway. When the 14 months of Social Services standard operating procedure had elapsed, "A" was on the short end of the stick. She had missed all of the hoops that Social Services had asked her to jump through and had continued to make poor choices. Genuinely wanting what was best for her son when faced with being asked to sign away her parental rights, A asked if we would adopt him. She knew he would be safe with us and that seemed worth more to her than continuing to fight for his custody. I said we would. She then asked if she would still be able to see him. I answered yes again. I held back tears and walked away.
To be honest, I wasn't entirely comfortable with having an open adoption. I wasn't sure that I could trust A to not overstep the unspoken boundaries I had in mind. Afterall, I'd just spent the last 14 months being told one thing by social services (though what I was told was extremely limited) and being told another by A. I never stopped feeling compassion towards her, but her situation seemed so steeped in a lifestyle I knew nothing about, let alone knew anything about delivering a person from! I wanted to help, but felt crippled to do anything more than be a mom to her son.
I decided to release information about us slowly and gradually. First a phone number and meetings in neutral locations, then a birthday party at her apartment, then I gave her our address and let her come to our home. The unspoken boundaries were never crossed - there have only been a handful of times in the 2 1/2 years since I made those promises that we've seen A and only another handful of phone calls. My trust increased. Still, selfishly, I hoped she wouldn't call too often or that someday she might move on with her life and give up on maintaining a relationship altogether. My discomfort was not only having to deal with a birth mother, but with the socio-economic status that birth mother dwells in. It's a whole other culture that I can't relate to. The bad decisions, the immorality, but, being the squeamish girly-girl that I am, it was the stench of cigarette smoke over EVERYTHING that made me the most uncomfortable. The emotion of compassion met it's demise against the self-centered, mere-toleration of her more often than I'd care to admit.
Not long after we adopted Kurtis, J came into A's life. By then, A already had another little boy by another man (neither Kurtis' or her older boys' fathers), but J was undeterred. A big, heavily tatooed fella with, what I imagine, was a heart to match. He was with A to stay and he loved her son like he was his own. He was a hard worker who dealt all in cash because he "didn't trust banks", but wanted to provide for his little family. They got engaged. She got pregnant again, this time with her first girl. It's far from the picture perfect story....there was still the lack of education, the poverty, squalor, and the cigarette stench, and some in society would be apt to cry "she should have her tubes tied!", but somehow I felt encouraged that life was going to get better for them and happy that they had each other....and the mother in me rejoiced over a baby girl. What is a visual reminder of hope more than a new little life? I felt hopeful for them.
The last time we saw them, A and J had moved to Richmond and we had been invited to Kurtis' half-brother's birthday party. It was February. We went and spent a couple of hours trying to hide our distaste regarding the filthy surroundings. Would it be too obvious if we didn't sit on anything?? I didn't hear from A again until early November. I'd begun to think that she had given up. Far from it - she'd just been busy...and couldn't afford to get her cell phone turned back on to retrieve our number. She and J had gotten married, she'd survived the traumatic emergency c-section birth of their daughter, and they'd started going to church, resulting in them both being baptized and both children being dedicated to the Lord on Mother's Day! She and J were new creations in Christ! What could be a better start to their life together? A then told me she and the kids were back here staying with her mom for a while and would like to get together to give Kurtis his birthday gift once her children were over their current illnesses. I didn't think too much about her explanation of J staying behind in Richmond because "he still had some things to take care of".
It turns out that the thing J is taking care of is a 12 year prison term on trumped up drug charges. Having had a brother who died of an overdose several years ago, J, with A by his side, took on the mission of ridding the world (or at least their corner of it) of drug dealers and de-toxing their addicts. Unfortunately, J acted from his heart, seemingly forgetting his head. He was working diligently, on his own, undercover, to inform the police of a drug dealer....a dealer who, unbeknownst to J, was already working for the police as an informant, and was, in turn, informing the police about J with every "deal". I don't understand all the details, but I do believe A's story of J's innocence. Again, the poor, the uneducated, the man who has already served time and so continues to struggle to make a better life for himself, does not find justice within the system....a system that includes dirty cops who do drugs themselves and don't mind sending a man to prison to save their own hides.
Left behind is the wife, struggling to keep a stiff upper lip while still rehearsing the dreams they must've lain in bed at night talking about - of her being a preacher's wife someday. And the children - a 2-year-old who has only been told that Daddy's in the hospital, because his mother doesn't know what to tell him, and a 7-month-old who's never even known him. All living in one room of her mother and step-father's home while their "stuff" remains on the front porch getting wet and "spidery". They're, of course, on government assistance and waiting for government housing to open up, but, with her history of her children being abused when left in the wrong care and the lifelong consequences of such, she's afraid to leave them in order to seek work. The portraits that her husband was drawing from prison to bring in a little money have ceased with the new inability to use his hand - broken by a guard.
As I re-read what I've written so far, the same old thought of "what if she's just made it all up...what if she really isn't to be trusted...what if their conversions weren't real?" comes to mind. What if? Would it lessen her or her family's personhood one iota? Would it change at all the fact that she is still this society's "least of them"? No.
My heart is burdened for this family...this family that I believe, no matter how uncomfortable that is to me at times, is indelibly linked to ours by God's sovereign hands. After I hugged A goodbye and had kissed everyone's cheeks, my mind was racing. I had already promised to be their "Angel Tree" family this year, but it seemed a small gesture in comparison to their great need. The proverbial "be warm, be fed, I'll pray for you". Could we do more? Not only as followers of Christ, but as conservative-minded citizens of these United States, who profess to believe strongly in personal responsibility and that "cradle to grave" government care is NOT the answer!
Could we live what we believe? Could we afford to "give" A our vacant apartment at a rate similar to that subsidized sub-standard housing she's waiting for? Could we be the "subsidy" ourselves? Could I juggle babysitting her kids, so they have a safe place while she works? Could we have them over for dinner regularly? Could we make them more like family than people we tolerate? Could we risk being thought foolish and being taken advantage of? One answer comes to mind: only by God's grace. If that's where He leads, Kevin and I know that's where we'll follow. Not because it's comfortable, but because the places where the "least of them" dwell are not comfortable.
Neither was the cross.
Thursday, November 26, 2009
With the Tulips in Spring
Whether it was born out of a desire to avoid the literature paper she had hanging over her head or hormones gone wacky or something entirely off my radar, Kylie was "in the mood to clean" yesterday. Her helpfulness never comes at a wrong time! As I was stuck in front of the computer screen in my robe and pajamas, still finishing up the PEACH newsletter, Kylie was like a whirlwind. She washed dishes, did laundry, cleaned bedrooms, picked up messes, packed clothes for the little ones and generally held down the fort the entire day. We were able to depart for Thanksgiving weekend only an hour or so behind, leaving a nearly spotless house in our wake. I told her she did a "mommy job" of it and rewarded her with a strawberry smoothie at our dinner stop on the way to Nana and Pop Pop's house that evening.
At lunchtime, after feeding Kara-Faith and Kurtis, Kylie sat down to eat, too. Still hanging out in the kitchen, Kurtis became curious about the cheese grater on the table. He pointed to a particular side of it and asked what it was for. After explaining it was for slicing cheese, Kylie warned him not to touch the blade or his finger would fall off. Undeterred (and stubborn as usual), he ran his finger over the blade anyway.
Insisting her bluff was true, Kylie feigned concern. "Oh, no! Now your finger is going to fall off later!"
"No, it's not." Kurtis also insisted, but with obvious hesitancy and growing concern as his finger did, indeed, start to bleed.
They went back and forth with the yes-it-will-no-it-won'ts for a bit.
Kara-Faith, observing the whole scene, found Kylie's story more believable and inquired as to whether fingers grow back.
"Nope. Once they're gone, they're gone. They don't grow back," Kylie assured her.
Apparently Kurtis had been thinking hard about his situation. Maybe she's right, I imagine him thinking, but I'm still certain it's going to work out all right in the end...."It will grow back! It will grow in the flower bed," he stated triumphantly.
Who knew? Right next my spring tulips, I suppose.
**Updated 2 days later**
Kurtis is still wearing a band-aid on that finger, even though the cut is rather minor. I went to clip his nails today and he told me not to take off the bandaid. I took it off anyway and when I did he sort of gasped and said, "Oh, it's not fallen off!" Maybe Kylie's comment got to him more than he let on : )
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