3.11.1, In the end.

Three kids left

after eleven days

with me.

And just like I said here, I was sad.  Super sad.  

But I was also grateful.  Incredibly grateful.

I was grateful that I had gotten the opportunity to know these little beings.  I was grateful for the strength that pulled me through those eleven days and the emotional meltdowns that each of the three (and I) suffered at one point or another.

I was proud.  Very proud.

I was proud that we had met the expectations of an enormous challenge.  I was proud that the kids had shown growth in "using their words" to handle conflict and "remembering their manners" when asking for help.  I was proud that our family had grown.

I was moved.  Deeply moved.

I was moved that these little beings trusted us so whole-heartedly with so little reason to.  I was moved that they trusted us enough to call us "Mom" and "Dad."  

We hadn't had that before.

Mom.

Dad.

We always knew that we were a "mom" and a "dad" to all of the kids that we had cared for. 

But we had never before had the title.  

WOW

I have never asked or expected to be called "Mom."  And caring for all of the kids we've had - and especially that respite placement - has really brought to the surface why we want to have a family.

It has nothing to do with being called "Mom" or "Dad."  It has nothing to do with thinking it would be "fun" to have a baby or "see" what a miniature combination of Doug and Marsha would be.  It has nothing to do with having someone to take care of us when we are old and frail or it being "the next phase in our life."  All of these things feel fun and applicable, but they also feel like a great big bonus in comparison to the heart of what parenting children means to us:

We desire to have a family because we long to share experiences, opportunities, and most importantly, love with a child(ren) that may not know what the world has to offer.

Simple as that.

And hence, we've welcomed two more.

XO

3.11.1, Part 3

Three kids. 

(STUFFED into the backseat of our car.  Literally.)

Eleven days.

Me.

...set off on an adventure into the great unknown.

Eleven days of me as a stay at home mom.

THIS is what we did...

We read books and books and books and found one we fell in love with.

We shared secrets and shoes.

We picked beautiful flowers...

...and made a BEAUTIFUL arrangement.

We made our own play dough...

...and watched morning cartoons.

We went to the pool...

...and worked on taking turns.

We played games like "Crocodile Dentist"...

...and "Guess What's In My Pocket???"

(It's a Monster Truck.)

We glued...

...and colored...

...and glued some more until we were ready...

...to show off our work.

We "helped" each other cook (and cook and cook and cook) and wash (and wash and wash and wash) dishes in the kitchen.

...and enjoyed lunch and conversation on the patio.

We blew bubbles and drew a "sidewalk Doug."

And not only did we make it to the end of: 

Three kids.  Eleven days.  Me.

...at times we felt the joy in it.

xo

3.11.1, Part 2

Three kids.  Eleven days.  Me.

I tried to psych myself up before they arrived.  I used positive self talk.  I brainstormed activities.

I set up beds and brought toys out of their storage space.  I swept the, "What was I thinking?  I should've never agreed to this." sick feeling in my stomach out of the way.

I used my teacher thinker to preemptively establish some easily identifiable and understood boundaries for some wee ones that were new to the concept of yours/mine/safe/unsafe.

 

I referenced my Pinterest boards for meal planning.

I ate a Sassy Cakes cupcake.  (Margarita flavored.  Mmmm.)

I was as ready as I was going to be.  And at 4:00 pm on Sunday, July 29, 2012 I picked them up.

Three kids.  Eleven days.  Me.

3.11.1, Part 1

The kids left to return to their longer term placement a few hours ago.  I have concluded that it is debilitatingly saddening when the children leave regardless of how long they've stayed; regardless of the reason they came.  They weren't even out of the drive-way and I was in the shaky-tears state.  Doug quickly swept me out of the house for a drive and a stop at El Jimador.  He knew I couldn't take the stillness in the house.  He's awesome like that.

There are so many thoughts running through my head, I'm not exactly sure where to begin to expel them.  So, let me start with this:

CAN YOU IMAGINE?!?!  

CAN YOU IMAGINE being PULLED, TORN, SEVERED from the ONLY way of life you have EVER known, the life with which you have become comfortable, to be dropped in a brand new place with brand new faces and brand new expectations to be told by the person that TOOK you from all you knew, "It's okay, trust these strangers,"???

CAN YOU EVEN BEGIN TO IMAGINE?!?!  

AND THEN to relive that conversation not once, not twice, a total of THREE times.  THREE new places with new faces and new rules - in LESS than a MONTH.  And you are FOUR years old, or THREE years old, or TWO years old.

CAN YOU?

I cannot.

I tried.  I spent eleven days doing something that I wasn't sure I would survive.  Three kids.  At home.  All of the time.  With me.

No work to dissipate the drama.  No daycare breaks to squeeze in a trip to the store or a nap or a walk.

Eleven days.  Three kids.  And me.

We are right at the six year mark of Doug and I "trying" to grow our family.  Six years ago I would've said that there was nothing I wished for more than to be able to stay home with my children full time.  And then as we welcomed kids into our home and I had the (non-negotiable) role of "Working Mom," I found I enjoyed it.  Not only was I raised by a (hard) working mom, I was surrounded by fellow working moms that supported and comforted me when the balance seemed off.  I had great examples from which to take guidance and nurture my own transition into this role.  I discovered I liked the fast-paced scurry of the morning routine, the multi-tasking, and the reflections at the end of the day.  I enjoyed having my independence (and adult conversations) and watching the kids embrace theirs (and kid conversations).  We were individuals that went our separate ways by day and returned under the same roof in the evening to remember what unconditional love and support and respect felt like and that God had brought us all together for a time and a purpose that may or may not be identifiable.

I had changed my mind: Marsha Mezger is the Working Mother type.

But I just spent ELEVEN days as the NON-Working Mother type.  And it was quite the trip.  Here's what we did...

to be continued

life is a maze and love is a riddle.

If I had a penny for every time this felt applicable, I'd be rich.

Enjoy.



xo