Growing Family

Moving House

Three and a half years ago I had two children and was packing up my happy life, preparing to launch our family across the globe in search of sunshine. People on both the launching and landing sides thought we were both inspiring and crazy, and I suppose we were.

We arrived haggard, and travel weary, in Sydney. Our luggage did not. With my mother's help we found our rental car in the parking lot, piled our carry-ons and kids into the vehicle, and set off driving, on the wrong side of the road, to our temporary furnished apartment.

We arrived in autumn and I blanched at the eternally silver-gray palette. Gum trees (eucalyptus) are the foundation of the terrain here, and their silver blue was a stark contrast from the heavy and humid green of a southern spring rainstorm I had left behind about 30 hours before.

I now know that we were driving through some really ugly bits of Sydney. I didn't know that then. I felt nauseous from lack of sleep and stress. Stress derived from hurtling towards certain death (at least that's how it felt on the wrong side of the road), and panic from having moved across the globe to a drably colored, ugly place. What have we done?  I wondered, hoping my mother couldn't detect my dismay from the back seat.

We had been so sure of our plan to move to a beautiful, amazing place we had never visited before,.

All that comes to mind when I have our house in boxes and we are moving fifteen minutes down the road. Things are so different now.

When we finally arrived, safely, at our apartment, I abandoned husband, mother, and children. I went to my room and passed out on the bed, crying.

I awoke several hours later to the smell of dinner cooking. Husband had found food, and mother was preparing it. Children were settled and things were organized. Refreshed from a nap I decided to eat something and put on a brave face. It would take our container three months to arrive, so we couldn't catch the first flight home. Better make the best of it.

Three and a half years ago I had two children. They were not in school. They did not have extracurricular activities. We had a snug two bedroom bungalow and maintained a streamlined life free of extra stuff. We shipped the contents of our house and took our suitcases to my parent's for the last month. We sold our house to some friends for our asking price. The Captain finished work and we directed all our attention to THE MOVE we had so long anticipated. Our vision was clear. We were focused.

Fast forward to today. We move in nine days. I have been packing for weeks. I have spent all three weeks of school holidays packing, with four children underfoot. We have a lot of stuff. So.much.stuff. This house is much bigger than our little Nashville cottage. The rental agents have been having open inspections on Saturdays, so with the boxes stacking up in each room, we've been cleaning and putting out flowers, vacating the house with four kids and a dog.

Monday school starts back. Sprout starts a new ballet class on Saturday. I keep repeating to myself "don't pack the school uniforms, don't pack the ballet clothes, don't pack the baby gear." 

Moving with a child in school, a child in preschool, ballet class, a toddler, and a (recently sick) newborn is a completely different beast than the last move. There's the dog to transition from outside to inside, the plants in the garden to dig up and move to a new garden that hasn't yet been prepared. There are the numerous contact visits for our foster baby each week, and his many recent doctor's appointments. There is a very busy, and very full life to continue.

I am normally good at time management, and breaking a big task down into small tasks. But this move? When I try to break it down piece by piece and spread it out along a time line, my mind just starts spinning. 

The movers arrive at 8 am. I need to take the boys to a friend's house, and Sprout to ballet. I need to make sure the dog doesn't escape while the movers have all the doors open. I need to get all the car seats out to lay the seats down to move the important/fragile stuff. I need to move the dog to the new house and make sure he doesn't escape while the movers have the doors open. I need to move the fish tank. Geez, where am I going to put the fish in the new house? I still don't know. Will it still be bucketing rain on move day? What should I put in the "first night box"? Should I put the bassinet in my car or let the movers take it? Click, click, click, sssssssssssssssssssssss.

Meltdown. 

I guess if worst comes to worst, I go to my (new) room and fall asleep crying, and wake up to unpack. Because unpacking? I'm really good at that. 

Park Convo

We are slowly going mad enjoying our school holidays. Earlier this week I had one crazy day where Small Sun's kindy class, and Sprout's preschool class both arranged school holiday park play dates...at the same time...at two different parks. I did them both, with a newborn baby, and fresh baked cookies to share. (You may each award me a gold star now, thank you.)

Perhaps because of this extended jaunt into crazy over-extension, the baby became ill and we have been quarantined at home the entire rest of the week. I rue the day I decided to be supermom!

Anyway.

At park playdate #1 I had an interaction with a fellow preschool mom that left me a bit speachless.

I walked up, pushing the baby in the stroller, with Sprout and Finch walking with me. I had dropped Small Sun off with a friend from school, to go to the other park ahead of me. Immediately this mother (who I have had very little contact with, but know to be an expat from the U.K.), said "oh, you're the one with the foster baby!" I introduced myself and gave her my name. When she started asking about the baby, I asked her if she was interested in foster care. (This is one of my current strategies for re-directing personal questions about the baby's situation.)

"Oh no, I could never do that." She replied. "What I would really like to do is adopt."

"Oh?" I asked.

At this point she leaned in and said "I'll say this quietly because we're in a mixed cultural area (she looked around for emphasis): what I really want is to adopt a little Chinese baby."

I think I just blinked, but didn't really respond. We had only been at the park all of about 48 seconds.

"If they find out it is a girl, they just abort them! There are just tons of little Chinese babies that they don't even want. I used to live in Russia..."

"Oh did you?" I interjected, hoping to get to another topic we could relate on. "I lived in St. Petersburg, where did you live?"

"Moscow", she replied. "The Americans used to come to adopt the babies there, but they all have fetal alcohol syndrome, you know. "

My mind kind of boggled, processing so many different possible responses, and I just didn't respond. I got her talking about Russia, then preschool, and then we were safely away from the topic. 

This interaction made me realize several things. 

First, this sort of conversation used to happen in Nashville ALL THE TIME. I run into someone I don't know and have no relationship with and they tell me their opinion on foster care or adoption. Often they just haven't "done their homework" as my dad says. They don't really know much about the factors and dynamics at play, but that doesn't stop them from sharing their perspective with me. 

I suddenly became aware that I haven't had that kind of experience in a long time. I am out of practice with my reaction there as well, because I just haven't needed it. Most often here, people ask me questions about foster care and adoption and really listen to my answers. They don't seem to have a pre-set opinion. They're curious and interested. I like that. 

Second, I still just don't always know when it is appropriate to stop and attempt to broaden a person's perspective, and when to just let it go. I will jump neck-deep into that cold creek for a friend, because I can't maintain a friendship without honesty. For a random aquaintance...not so much.

I wonder if she would have felt differently about sharing, had she seen me with my brown son? With Small Sun at school, I "pass" as a mom of all white kids much of the time. I think people filter their comments somewhat differently when they see me in the adoptive-mother-of-a-brown-child role. There are so many ways for people to (mis)perceive me these days, with the Baby Ant looking passably like my child as well. 

Ah well, food for thought. I might need to brush up on my responses. Yet again, I feel blessed to be in Sydney where my day-to-day interactions are ones of respect and open-mindedness. 

Rusty

I feel like an old cowboy, trying to swing my leg up over the saddle and getting stuck half-way, in an awkward standing splits. After about three years out of the adoption/child welfare conversation, I've got some new things on my mind to work out here.

After adopting Small Sun, I went deep, deep into adoption-blog world, reading all three angles of the triad (First/Birth parent, Adoptee, and Adoptive Parents). I really took in so much from the first parent and adoptee perspectives (which are as varied as the number of people holding them). Ultimately, I gained a much higher appreciation for the first parent-child bond and the need to honor and maintain that whenever possible.

With that said, all my personal experience is in a positive open adoption that was a voluntary placement. While people have their fears, I can't imagine NOT having Small Sun's mom in our lives, separate though our lives are. She is amazing. I admire her. I like her. If we lived closer, I can imagine us spending so much more time together, and maybe even being friends outside of the bond we have over our son.

Enter our first experience with foster care. 

I am part of a team that works towards restoration first, before moving on to consider other options. I am expected to interact and eventually play a part in mentoring parents who are on the track to having their child restored. This was all very clear in the agency's materials. "Perfect!" I thought. "The agency is as committed to preserving the family as I am. We're a good match."

Hypothetically, I still maintain the sanctity and value of the first parent-child bond. 

Yet, the more hours I spend holding and nurturing this tiny life, the less I can comprehend the reasons he ended up with us. 

When other people say "I could never!" or "Can you even imagine a mother who could..." when discussing placing a child for adoption, abandoning a child, or even neglecting or abusing a child, I've kept it clear in my mind that no, from a position of privilege and resource, those choices don't make sense. From sound mental health and freedom from addiction, they don't make sense. However, most children don't leave one family and end up somewhere else in circumstances that can be described as "stable, wealthy, healthy, sober, full of choices and resource" etc. 

It takes drama and trauma for a parent to surrender their child, or lose their child against their will. 

I can find empathy if I know some context of struggle for the first parent.

At the moment, in this, our first foster care placement, I don't know that contextual information. I know why the baby was removed, and what DOCS is requiring of the parents to consider restoration. I don't know their history. I don't know what compels their choices. I only know the choices themselves, and let's face it, whatever choices that end up with the state taking your child away from you are some rotten choices. 

I'm wondering how I proceed from here? How do I proceed with empathy and respect and a truly helpful attitude? How do I suspend judgement?

Here I am, up all hours of the night, and putting in those lonnnnngggg newborn days. I am feeding, dressing, bathing, burping, changing, and LOVING this baby. I am giving him everything I've got, and I'm supposed to be completely neutral towards the people who were meant to do that and failed. Beyond neutral, I'm meant to be cheerful! supportive! and helpful!

This is a tough thing. If anyone knows of foster parent bloggers, or book recommendations, I need to get through this learning curve if I'm going to be any good at this.

Isn't it amazing how a little reality can throw such a spanner in our belief systems?