Jeremy and I decided to become foster parents in January. We just completed our coursework last night and I’m sitting down to try and make sense of both where we are today and how we got here.

As it turns out, I had preconceived notions of foster kids and foster families and, well, the entire foster care system that I couldn’t even put into words before we began our training. I never really understood why people would choose to become foster parents. It sounded kind of messy. It also sounded like something I had read in an old Christian fiction book in 6th grade. Wasn’t there a Libby character who was a foster kid and always messed up while her bio sister looked and acted perfectly? And then Libby’s dad would show her grace, I suppose he was the Christlike figure. So there you go, the extent of my knowledge and education. Gross.

My ideas began to be changed and molded by a deep friendship with another adoptive mama, who also is a foster mom. She was (and still is!) a normal and loving mother. Her kids are normal and loving kids. Foster or adopted, they are just her kids. Normal kids. Normal meaning hilarious, fun, precious, crazy sinners like the rest of us. My old notions began falling away and I began to build new thoughts. I, a mom by adoption, wanted more children. There are lots of local children in the foster care system, many waiting to be adopted, but I would *never* be able to adopt them unless I became a foster parent.

Our tale really kicked into gear when Jeremy—who had to, by his own admission, be dragged into parenthood to begin with—said we should become foster parents. Really, this fact still hits me as remarkable and miraculous and I am grateful that God was working in his heart. What a blessing to be on the same page here. So we called Christian Heritage, a local agency that shares our Christian worldview, and we began our ten weeks of classes in February. It’s been a long time since Jeremy and I took night classes for college—this was definitely comparable in terms of time commitment. We signed up for the training with friends from church, my foster mom friend encouraged me all along the way, and my parents supported us by caring for Livia so we could attend the classes.

We filled out a lot of paperwork. We got background checks. And physicals from doctors. And completed a lot of homework. And met with Christian Heritage folks in our home. And our hearts have been changed in the process.

Foster care is far more than a way to build our family. It’s an amazing way for us to invest in the future of our city and state. One of my preconceived notions is right, though: it is messy. By its very definition, it’s messy, sin is messy. We’re talking about families that are being torn apart by abusive and neglectful behaviors committed by parents and guardians. And here, right in the middle of the situation is a child who has no control over their crumbling world and is desperately in need of some loving care. Can you see how someone might get starry-eyed at this point? I want to save the children, love the children! Well, foster care training does a darn good job of wiping those stars from your eyes. More often than not, we would end our evenings feeling like we were in way over our heads. And we still feel that way to some degree. We are humbled by the task. We know we can’t do it alone. We trust that God will give us what we need, when we need it—and that includes support from family, friends, church, schools, Christian Heritage, etc.

We are not going into this system alone. Not by a long shot.

So, now that classes are done, are we ready to have kids placed in our home? Not quite yet. There are loose ends to tie up, a waiting game to play, and then we’ll be added to a list of foster families awaiting placements. Even then, it’s my understanding that fostering requires a large amount of flexibility and a willingness to go with the flow of the court system of the state of Nebraska. If we are looking for absolute control and strong deadlines and a life of “sure things” then foster care is simply not the way to go. Jeremy and I would be kidding ourselves if we thought we were in control anyway. God has carried us through the sufferings and joys of our lives—and He is the one we serve in all this.

Now listen, you who say, “Today or tomorrow we will go to this or that city, spend a year there, carry on business and make money.” Why, you do not even know what will happen tomorrow. What is your life? You are a mist that appears for a little while and then vanishes. Instead, you ought to say, “If it is the Lord’s will, we will live and do this or that.” [James 4:13-15]

May God be praised by the misty offerings of our lives.

In the middle of the night I “heard” Livia’s voice calling for me, so I jumped out of bed, ran into her room and began asking her questions and patting her face before I realized she was sound asleep. Dead asleep, even with her mama’s hands groping her noggin in the pitch black at 3:00am. Niiiice.

The weird thing is that sometimes I think I’m hearing her when she’s not even in the house! She’ll be asleep in my parents’ extra room and I’ll sit up straight in bed after hearing her call for Mommy.

The most unfortunate consequence of getting up for a real call or imaginary one is that I can’t fall back asleep easily. I usually spend 20-30 minutes trying to relax again, my mind spinning with unsleepy thoughts. Curse you, adulthood, with your multitude of responsibilities!

My last thought regarding sleep and children and responsible parental behaviors is this: Friday mornings are only accomplished successfully because Saturday is just one day away. Friday comes around and it’s almost physically painful to rouse myself and Livia from bed. Get dressed. Get shoes on. Eat breakfast. Brush teeth. Brush hair. Get out the door and get into school on time.

But oh, sweet sweet Saturday. How I adore thee. I didn’t fully appreciate your beauty until school started—I was blind to your precious ways. But now? I can see clearly your benefits. Pajamas until 3:00pm. Lucky Charms for breakfast. Lounging on the couch until lunchtime.

TGIF.

Liv brings enthusiasm, or a party if you will, to pretty much everything she does. She lives with gusto and uses her arms to express her joy and excitement—and if there’s a glass of milk nearby, you can plan on cleaning it up off the floor. Those expressive arms are not only good for punctuating thoughts, they’re also remarkably good at spilling drinks.

Living with my six-year-old makes my life so much more interesting. I came home from running errands this morning to discover a toothbrush suction-cupped to the dining room wall. It *almost* made it back into the bathroom, but not quite. And I’m still laughing about her song of choice while she was getting ready for school: Iron Man. As in, the song by Black Sabbath. Granted, the only words she knew where “iron man,” but still, hilarious.

Last night while I was giving most of my attention to the red carpet at the Oscars, Liv entertained herself making movies on my computer. I kept thinking she was talking to me, but as it turned out, she was talking to Lewis. Lewis was the one foot tall servant whose chief task, as I understood it, was to push Livia around in her wheelchair (aka my desk chair). Oh, and her name was no longer Livia: it was Cupcake and she was royalty. So I made Cupcake a grilled cheese and carrots with dip, and Lewis obligingly pushed her to a location where she could eat. That Lewis, such a kind soul. What would I do without his help for my poor broken-legged Cupcake?

This is my world. I am richly blessed.

Livia’s class teddy bear, Theodore or Teddy as he is often called, came home with her this weekend. She was ecstatic about this development and proceeded to cuddle him at every opportunity.

The one requirement at the end of Teddy’s visit was a small story on what he did over the weekend. The writer in me needed restraint to not embellish Livia’s words in the classroom journal. After recording her story, I gave her a set of colored pencils so she could draw a picture. The following image is what Livia came up with.

Do you see what she wrote next to the picture? Do you see her first sentence? Yaaaayyy, Liv!! I asked her later how she wrote the sentence and she said she “turtle talked” it. Sometime you’ll have to ask Livia for a demonstration of turtle talking—it’s a fascinating method of sounding out words and I have no idea why it’s called turtle talking. Anyhow, when you adopt a kid you just don’t know much about their development. When is she going to walk? Talk? Read? Write? Etc, etc. And, as mothers often do, you worry a bit about your child. So it is with great pride and great joy that I mark my child’s first sentence. What a beautiful thing.

Livia: Mom, can I stay with you?

Me, thinking of an upcoming trip: What do you mean?

Livia: When I’m a grownup, can I always stay with you?

Me, heart melting: You can stay with me as long as you want to.

There will come a day when Livia is ready to move away from my side, when she finds her first apartment or moves across the country to a dorm room. But for today, for this moment where she needs her mommy and wants to stay close, I am grateful. I pray I have the grace to let her go when it’s time for her to not need me so much.

**************************

After school Liv told me about a video she watched with a ballerina and a toy soldier. This led to questions about real soldiers and, as I often do, I told her way more than she needed to know. Army, Navy, Air Force, Marines, Afghanistan, President Obama, Congress and, oh yes, God bless the USA. I told her there are some countries where people aren’t allowed to worship God and meet together for church, and there are other places where women aren’t allowed to vote or be in charge of the government. There are some countries where children have to work instead of go to school, and there are some places where the government doesn’t take good care of its own people.

She thought seriously about all this, then asked, with great concern in her voice, “Are there places where kids can’t have play dates?”

I love the six year old mind. Because really, what could be worse than not being allowed to have play dates?

I stood in the aisle at Target for goodness knows how long as I contemplated buying the plush white throw pillow. I had completed all important shopping and my brain wasn’t functioning very quickly anymore as I entered something of a Shopper’s Daze. The store lights, smells and dizzying colors had gotten to me and I debated and debated and debated the purchase of one throw pillow.

In the end, I bought it.

And I’ve found I have officially turned into my mother. “Don’t drool on this one!” I warned Livia right away. “Because I can just see you drinking something chocolate-y and then laying down on this pillow.” She cuddled into the fuzzy stripes and nuzzled her face in it. I took one look at her, and promptly gave her an old couch pillow. Just like my mom used to do. But somehow, despite my mom’s best efforts, I repeatedly napped—and drooled—on the good pillows.

Why we mamas purchase anything new is beyond me. And something white to boot? I’m blaming it on that shopping daze—and those alluring fuzzy white stripes.

Every good and perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of the heavenly lights, who does not change like shifting shadows.
– James 1:7

I praise God for this child, for the fun of being together on a Friday afternoon and doing special things together like drinking Sonic slushies and going to the lake.

I praise God for this world He’s created—that Livia loves to explore—and for the creatures like ducks and caterpillars that bring her such delight.

I praise God for her chubby kid cheeks that will someday morph into a more slender shape. I praise God that He has given such a beautiful child to me to love and care for.

This unchanging nature of our God brings me such relief and profound gratitude. He doesn’t change. His goodness can’t be altered. Praise God.

Under the headline “Why getting messy can be good for children,” The Macomb Daily newspaper printed my photo in their Sunday, July 18 newspaper.

It was pretty cool. Here’s the photo:

If you Google muddy child, (and if you ignore the horror show shot of one particular small child, eek!) then Livia’s image will immediately pop up and that shot will lead you to this blog post. I believe that’s how a journalist from the Macomb Daily found me. We conversed back and forth via email and I submitted several images for consideration. I also gave a small email interview and was then quoted in the article.

Like most other papers, the Macomb Daily doesn’t publish every last article online, but I wish I could link to this one so you all could read it! I think I come off sounding much smarter and more professional than I really am. [wink, wink]

“We’ve always known that kids and play are just a natural combo,” [Dr. Michele] Borba said. “But new research also shows that letting kids engage in self-directed play has immense value for their social, emotional, cognitive and physical growth.”

Rebecca Tredway, 32, would agree.

The former middle school teacher and freelance photographer—whose blog, View From the Prairie Box—provides readers with a daily dose of images and stories about life in America’s Heartland—said, as a mom, she tries to value childish fun and exploration over cleanliness and easy parenting.

The article goes on, with a little more quotage by yours truly, to detail the benefits of messy, independent play for young children. If you’d like to read it in its entirety, you’ll have to stop by for a cup of coffee sometime. I have exactly one hard copy in my possession.

You can see the rest of the mud photo series on my Flickr account. My favorite shot is this one.

Two weeks ago: Is it kindergarten yet???!!!! [bounces around the house with glee]

Tuesday night: Tomorrow I start kindergarten!!!!! [bouncing, glee, etc]

Wednesday 7:02am: It’s kindergarten today!!! [a little less bounce because it’s early in the morning, lots of glee]

Wednesday, 7:47am: Backpack, sidewalk notes, lunch!!! [big smiles]

Wednesday, 8:04am: [The tide turns. Emotions on edge, finally spill over into tears.]
But I want to take my dollies to school! Waaaaah!!

Wednesday, 8:12am: I want to go home. I want to go home. [said in a whisper while clinging to mommy’s leg amongst the millions of schoolchildren and their parents]

Wednesday, 8:13am: Mommy is forced to be strong while blinking back tears of her own.

Wednesday, 8:15am: Child is safely and peacefully walked into classroom. Mommy holds Daddy’s arm and attempts to be brave.

Wednesday, 8:47am: Mommy thinks school is a *brilliant* idea, marvels over the fact that it’ll go on, day after day, until May.

Wednesday, 1:55pm: School was GREAT! My teacher is so kind; she’s not a yeller! [And the giddy chattering commences until bedtime. Seriously, she couldn’t stop talking she was so excited.]

Summer has dwindled into the hot, humid days of August where some of us mommies begin to say, Now, when does school start? The structure and enthusiasm of earlier weeks has turned into something less shapely, where too much television might be consumed and motherly motivation is lacking.

It was on one of these lazy, hazy days that Livia and I emerged from our pseudo-naptimes (Quiet Time in our house) and simply had to find adventure. Here I was, reading all the Facebook statuses about friends being in cool Colorado, and it was high time to entertain myself in the city of Lincoln, Nebraska, instead of merely being envious.

So we wandered through Indigo Bridge Books, picked up the best ice cream in town at Ivanna Cone, and wandered among the trains for a time. Deciding the wandering should be extended, we quickly drove out to Pioneers Park and pet turtles and snakes at the Nature Center. Livia caught—and released—a toad and a moth. I snapped photos and filled up the creative space in my own heart.