Please don't call me Momma

We've had our new little two (Miss and Mr) for a month now.  It seems so much longer than that. Not in a time-moves-painfully-slow during horrible circumstances kind of way. Quite the opposite actually.  It's more like a I-already-can't-really-remember-life-before-them kind of way. They just fit.

Fostering in Arkansas is a bit different than Texas. For starters, in Arkansas you get day care vouchers that allow you to send the kids to daycare for free. Let me clarify- that allow you to send the kids to *certain* daycares for free. After touring several applicable ones and swearing we'd never ever ever ever ever ever send our children there, we finally found one we like. It's an older facility that's a little run down and dirty (kinda like my own house) but the teachers love Miss and Mr and that's all I care about. It helps me not feel so guilty for sending them to school everyday from 7:15-3:00, even though some of that time I am actually home doing school with Levi and could technically keep the littles home too. You know, technically I could, but not sanely.

Another difference is the size of Houston compared to Little Rock. In Houston we never thought twice about running into someone who would know our foster kids. Houston is ginormous. But in LR it has already happened twice. We found out that one of the new day care workers at Miss's old school was actually related to her somehow. Which explains why she was giving me the stink eye when I picked her up on that one day. And then last week at the grocery story the bagger helping us kept staring at Miss and Mr and whispering to his co-worker. I caught wind of him saying the phrase "they have them, " so as I walked passed on our way out I said, "Do you know these two kids? I thought I heard you say something about them. We are fostering them and they are doing really great." I'm not sure where my boldness came from. He denied knowing them and just kinda moved out of the way of my Momma Bear wake.

I have to say though, the biggest difference in Arkansas vs Texas foster care is that AR DHS provides transportation services that pick up the kids from day care or home and take them to all the appts or visits with bio parents.  In Texas, we had to transport the kiddos ourselves, which pretty much means only families with a stay at home parent can foster. Because if you will remember Houston equals Ginormous so taking the kids to visits every week is actually a half day commitment at minimum. With Mr and Miss they go twice a week for two hours each time, and transportation picks them up from day care and brings them back to day care. Cory and I aren't involved in the process at all. And because of that it makes it really easy to forget that Mr and Miss have a real family and that it's not us.

All that changed for me this week though. Suddenly I remembered they were in foster care because I got to meet their real mom for the first time. I had taken Miss to a doctors appt that ran into her visit time and I told the caseworker I would just bring her myself late and then pick them both up. Can I just tell you there is not much more depressing than walking into a sterile building and seeing a big room with a few toys filled with moms & dads (and grandparents) all interacting with their kids by appointment only. Not only that, but sitting across the room from the parents are various caseworkers and CASA workers watching their every move.  I don't know about you but nothing makes me feel more relaxed as a mom than knowing I am being watched and judged.

 (((((((I'm looking at you fellow mom from the playground last week who instead of enjoying the afternoon with your one little girl at the park, thought your time was best spent staring down a particular child of mine and then turning to glare me. FYI yes I saw him climbing on the outside of the equipment and yes he was totally safe because I know him and know how coordinated he is. For the record, his name is Silas Jones. Remember that when he is a professional athlete someday so that you can say "I knew him when" !!!! JK.)))))))))))) Mostly :)

But I digress. Back to the depressing DHS office visit...When I walked in for pick up Mr was on the floor throwing a giant Houston-sized fit and grandma explained it as something about sister having the toy he wanted. He's 2, I get it. No judgement from me. But the awkward part is that I am now a presence of authority and comfort for him and so he was looking at me like "Momma!! Pick me up of this floor and hold me." But all I kept thinking was "Please don't call me Momma-not right now.  Please don't say it out loud. Please not in front of her."

Can you imagine how hard it would be to watch your child call someone else Momma? And not just someone else, but someone that is a complete stranger to you; someone you have never met and could't pick out from a line up of two people. And yet yourself, and everyone else in the room (both the nosy bystanders and also the official adults documenting your actions for the judge) can clearly see that your son is completely, whole heartedly, bonded to this new stranger.

I scooped him up off the floor and purposefully said loud enough for mom and grandma to hear "Oh you want me to save you? I can't save you. It looks like you are in trouble. You have to wait your turn." I was trying to figure out how to avoid undermining the true authority of his real mother who he sees 4 hours a week while simultaneously being true to the attachment that he has secured with me the other 164 hours a week....an attachment that is imperative to his mental and emotional health both right now and for future relationships. An attachment that the CASA worker witnessed during her first visit to our house and then later texted "I can't believe he's only been with you 2 weeks. He's thriving in your care and is certainly happier than I've ever seen him."

Mom and Grandma watched as I pulled Mr into my arms, careful not to draw him too close. I silently apologized in my head to this boy I have fallen in love with. "I'm putting on a show right now for them and in doing so I am throwing you under the bus and I know it. I'm so sorry. Don't be confused. I know I'm being distant. If we were home I would scoop you up and snuggle you into my neck and tickle you until your cries turn into laughter. But we can't do that right now. We can't show how close we've gotten in one short month. Just wait till we get outside."

I know too many stories of kiddos from orphanages or from trauma who never learn to attach to a caregiver. It's a loss felt deeper and impacts more in their life than neglect or abuse. And Mr is in those critical under 3 years. I know, I know, I know in my head that his bond with me is so so good for him. But I also know it must hurt her immensely to watch.

It was now time to go and we said our goodbyes. Levi scooped up Miss and again Mom and Grandma got to watch a baby of theirs readily wrap arms around another white stranger. I tried to get Mr to lean over to Mom for a hug and kiss, but he clung to me and cried out. At this point I knew I was turning the knife so we made a quick exit.

We walked down the long hallway leading outdoors when Mom and Grandma started to follow us out. They were told to wait back in order to be escorted to their car.  Mr was wrapped around me like a little monkey, his head over my shoulder looking behind us. I heard him say "Bye Momma," and stopped so he could say it again louder.

Thank Goodness she heard him the second time. I praised him and squeezed him tight. Then we walked out the door, loaded up in our new van, and drove back home free to continue our 164 hours.