Making parenting mistakes since 2008

Category — deep thoughts

Someone broke my babies.

Someone broke my kids. It was not me. Before I knew better,  I probably made things worse for a while  but I was not the one who broke them. I quickly figured out that I was in over my head and started to learn about how to parent these kids in a way that would ensure we would all survive until they were adults. I am still learning though.

That being said my kids are not like kids who were born to me. I have never birthed a child but I do know about family, relationships and child development. My kids are not like biological kids and it frustrates me when people tell me that all kids behave like my kids. Yes all kids do the things that my kids do but attached children who have not experienced trauma do not behave like their whole life depends on lying about whether you took the nail clippers and stashed them in your room. Taking the nail clippers should not create a raging tantrum and days of fallout. But here it does. For kids who have experienced trauma and neglect, this is their normal. Taking those nail clippers, testing that limit with your forever family might mean that you have to leave because you have had to leave so many other places where you wanted to stay so you better deny it, you better protect yourself because if you are vulnerable you might get hurt.

My kids brains are broken. It is not their fault, they did not ask for this.

In-spite of their brokenness I love them fiercely. I love them when they are raging at me and throwing boots at my head. I love them when they scream that I am bitch and that they never wanted to live here anyway. I love them while they sob  ( my heart breaks and I cry right along with them)  about just how very unfair all of this. I love them when they use pee as a weapon of mass destruction and when try to beat the crap of adults and kids alike. I love when they tell me I am not the mother they wanted or that they did not want to be adopted.  I love them they break my stuff and steal things that are special to me. I love them when I have to supervise  them  like a jail guard at every event because one of them might be totally inappropriate of they feel as if they might away with it this time. I love them when they try to manipulate other adults into feeling sorry for them when they are not getting their way. I love them when they pretend they can not do something just to make me crazy or run away and scare the crap out of me. I love them when they remember the pain of their trauma and then spend days making everyone around them miserable because that is how they are feeling inside.

I love these kids in a way that only a mother could and there are days when the last thing I want to do is love them. There are days when I am so angry that I wonder why on earth I ever agreed to this, when I wonder what was I thinking when I signed up for this.

Deep down I know why and most days I actually have to stop and remember that I was thinking they deserved a chance. I was thinking they deserved a family, that they did not deserve to grow up in a world of uncertainty and that knowing you are loved to the core of your being, regardless of your choices,  is so very important.

Parenting these broken babies is so freakin hard, their pain, their anger and their grief has overwhelmed me and yet I am still here. I am still committed. I never knew I was strong enough for this but I am. It is the hardest thing I have ever done, it hurts. There are days when I wish this was not my life. Days when I wish I was just like those people who I used to be friends with, the ones who have regular lives where the effects of trauma does not permeate  every moment. We are not friends anymore, they do not know how to cope with my kids or with the way that I have changed in the last 5 years. There are moments when I miss them, moments when I wish they were able to understand but they are only moments. Then my kids start screaming and they pull me back to reality, that is not my life.

This is my life, someone broke my babies and I am trying to help them heal.


February 28, 2013   9 Comments


Things in my world have felt very dark for a long time. It started before Christmas and the spiral I was in just kept getting bigger and harder to get out of. I have been trying very hard to step out, friends have reached out to me and tried to help, they have talked me through parenting moments that have literally brought me to my knees. My husband has heard me, has stepped up and tried as well but at the end of the day the only person who can really make this better for me is me.

I have struggled with depression for years, for as long as I can remember I have had these very, very dark patches of time in my life.  I have lots of tools to help me get through, I know that these dark patches will always come into my world and I need to do what I can to get through them.

But it is stinkin hard some days.

Some days I would rather turn off the alarm, roll over and cover my head with my blankets and pretend that there is nothing else in the world except my nice warm bed. Sadly that is not a option, I have these 3 kids that I homeschool and they need to be fed and such and if they are unsupervised someone is likely to be dead within the hour.

Depression is not my friend.

I hate that the sadness over takes me when I least want it to, I hate that I feel like there is no joy in my life, I hate that no matter what I do to keep the darkness at bay it finds a way to creep back it.

My dear Lisa, is working hard to help me keep the darkness at bay, what on earth on we doing you might ask, we are tapping and people, it is helping, it is not an answer, it is not the only thing but it is seriously helping and then sound of that woman’s voice and the tapping scripts she has written for me have made the difference this week , it has been the glimmer of light I so desperately needed.

February 15, 2013   3 Comments

44 months and a ball

Fudge has been my son for 44 months which is about 1341 days or 32 184 hours… that’s a lot of hours.

For the first 38 of them he merely tolerated my presence in his life. I was not the Mom he wanted and there was little I could say or do to make him change his mind. In many ways we tolerated each other, he tried to make me miserable ( and succeed frequently) while I tried to make him love me. Although I did make some progress ( in the processing of teaching him to trust me) I really felt like was rowing backwards at the edge of a waterfall. He did come to me for comfort on occasion, he did occasionally reach out to me, there was a part of him that wanted to be loved but the walls he had built around his heart where solid and very, very high.

He let P in first and as a result for a long time P did much of the parenting of Fudge on his own. I met his day-to-day physical needs but when it came to handing out consequences or dealing with big issues P handled it. I supported him as best I could, I participated and Fudge knew we were in this together but since he was so very good at making me crazy it was easier to step away and let P deal with it.

There were so many days when I felt as though nothing was ever going to change and that I had to be ok with that. He might never attach to me, it may always feel as though he is someone else’s child and I am just taking care of him. I began to accept that he might never heal in the ways that his brother had. In many ways I had given up hope that anything was ever going to change. We were destined to tolerate one another’s presence, nothing more and as heartbreaking as that was for me I had accepted it as best I could.

( please excuse me while I now compare my relationship with my son to a baseball game)

Then one day in October, literally out of left field there was a ball, he threw it to me and I caught it. It was a small ball, a little tiny piece of love thrown from him to me. Slowly but surely he started to throw more and more tiny little love balls in my direction. Weeks passed although he was still throwing little love balls my way he was also throwing great big huge balls that screamed you don’t love me enough to keep me. As he threw those huge screaming balls he tested out how he could make me stop loving him. Catching those huge balls as they screamed toward me was infuriating and hopeful at the same time.

This past week he ran out of left field, circled the bases and met me at home plate. He ran straight into my waiting arms. I think he might be here to stay ( that doesn’t mean he’ll stop testing but he believes me when I say I love him) and it warms my heart to think that maybe, just maybe he might let me love him the way he deserves to be loved.

He is a fabulous kid with a compassionate and loving heart and I am so glad that he is finally trusting enough to let me take a little piece of it and keep it all for me, his Mama.

April 27, 2012   8 Comments

and again

So after a good stretch of stellar behaviour (read no major tantrums or issues)  from both of the boys the stellar behaviour train was derailed on Friday.

It was a spectacular crash and we are still cleaning up the mess. Train derailments are messy things and long after all the people have been accounted for and the debris cleaned up the tracks still need to be repaired. We are reapiring tracks this week. Much of the track repairing is work that I need to do because I was less than helpful in dealing with my kids.

We celebrated Fudge’s birthday on Saturday he had huge meltdowns on both Friday and Sunday. While Fudge was having his meltdown on Friday I asked Calvin to take out the compost. There was a large bin of crab apples that never got made into anything and the regular compost bucket as well. He took them out without complaint and I thought nothing else of it until yesterday when I was mowing the lawn and discovered the compost in various places in the yard rather than on the compost pile.

I was pissed.

I went inside and got him, told him to clean it up, NOW! He knew he was in trouble but he also knew that if he did just did that would be it the end of it. There was a part of him that wanted to just get it done but there was a bigger part of him that wanted some negative attention because it had been all Fudge all the time for the last 3 days and he was tired of it. So he refused to pick up the apples and move them to the place they needed to be. I was tired, I reacted poorly, luckily for both of us P heard me turning into a raving lunatic and came out to see what was going on and then took over. P also got frustrated with Calvin’s refusal but  finally with the aid of a shovel and a calm Dad the clean up was accomplished.

Calvin was told he had to help in the yard to make up for the time of ours that he used up with his antics. He was mad but worked and was helpful,  then I found more compost. If he thought I was mad before I was really mad now. It did not go well. He was told to clean it up, again he refused and there seem to be no amount of threatening consequences, cajoling or talking at him that was going to move him out of that place of refusal.

He yelled and screamed and cried, then he ran away and came back and ran again. Finally after threatening to take away an upcoming camping trip he stopped running and came over to work with us in the yard. But he still would not clean up the compost. I refused to discuss anything with him till he had done it. We were at standstill – he would do other jobs but not that one and I would not let him stop working till that job had been done.

This went on for 3 hours, I kept trying to get him to do and he kept refusing. He would walk over to the compost and stare at it, I would yell, he would cry and then he would go back to a different chore.

Finally I paused and asked him what the problem was because he knew that once he cleaned it up we could move on and he said “my brain knows that and wants to do the work but my body will not listen.” My interpretation of that was that he just could not physically get past the grossness of the task because compost sitting in the hot sun for 3 days is really disgusting. I needed to make this into managable task for him. I sent him back to the compost and said he had 5 minutes to work at it and then I would send him to a different chore. For the first 5 minutes he just stood there and looked at it, I let him and after 5 minutes I sent back to other things. About ten minutes later I sent him back to the compost and he picked up one or two pieces and then just stood there, after 5 minutes I sent him away again. This going back and forth went on for about an hour and then finally he looked at me and said I’m done.

He had finally done it. It was cleaned up. Four hours later a 2 minute job was done.

I learned that even though Calvin is attaching, even though he has come so far, he can still get really stuck inside his head and when that happens he still needs me to help him regulate and manage things for him. He is still not capable of doing that on his own. He could not actually figure out a way to pick up that compost until I broke the task down and removed the pressure to get it done on my terms.

I often saying parenting is a lesson is repetition, todays repitition is that this Mama needs to be reminded that trying to win a battle with him on his brothers birthday weekend, when he just had a visit with his sister and has a trauma anniversary coming up, is impossible. I mean really, there is no way that he is going to manage all of that effectively, what 11 year old would.

Remind me of that next October will ya, sometimes I am a slow learner.

October 11, 2011   2 Comments


Michael’s  (aka E’s) family is about to get a baby to foster and I must say that I am jealous to say the very least. I have written about learning to be happy with the family I have, about it being enough and it is enough. In fact it is great but my heart still longs for more children and I am working on it.

I am frustrated by the fact that we were the right family for two very broken boys that no one else would take but that we can not be the right family for another child. I am feeling the sting of infertility as more and more people around me announce pregnancies and new babies and my life is destined to remain without a baby to nurture. It is hard, it hurts me to core and there is little to be done but to learn to cope with the pain and these feelings.

To be honest, I have had to learn to cope with a lot of things that were out of my control and it’s crappy. It sucks to not be able to dictate how and when our family will grow or not. It is hard to watch other people get to nurture children from infancy while I know that I will likely never get that privilege and that is not to say that my children are any less fabulous but there is a part of me that longs to have a baby in my arms. Sometimes the realisation that it is unlikely to ever happen is hard to swallow and makes it hard to keep the tears in check as another person tells me their due date.

To add to my overwhelming feelings of loss I am also trying to wrap my brain around the fact that tomorrow is my last appointment with my therapist. With a woman who has journeyed  with me for 13 years and has seen me through more than anyone else. She has held my hand through serious depression, through loss and grief,  through joy and wonder. I am working on moving on, I have not seen her all summer on purpose, I have stayed away so that I can start to move on but saying good-bye to her tomorrow is looming large and yet it needs to happen, I need to close that door.

My grief at this moment is heavy, it is weighing me down and as if that was not enough I spent 30 minutes doing homework with Fudge. I need you know that this alone would make anyone crazy let alone me given the way that I am feeling this week.

I know I will survive, I will learn to cope, to let this be enough, to let go of the dreams of more kids and babies in my arms, but it is hard and sadly I do not think that it is going to get any easier in the next day or two.

September 28, 2011   9 Comments


I have been feeling reflective lately, I have seen and heard of some horrible tragedies both here in the world of my virtual friends and among people I know and love in real life. Children, husbands, wives, whole families  have been dealt unexpected blows that have made their world spin out of control. It is devastatingly sad.

It has made me think about my family, about the people I love and about my intense desire for more kids. It is no secret that I want more children, that we want more children, me, my partner, my kids we are all waiting for the phone ring but it is starting to feel like it might not happen. It is starting to feel like this might be all there is in our family and that should be enough.

I have two kids who are working really hard to be regular kids, I have a great partner and all the things that a family needs ( I want other things but I do not need them). I have so much and yet I long for more.

When does the longing for things that may not happen go away?

I talk about the challenges of the system in Canada, I talk about how hard it is to be rejected by workers who will not place children with us but I rarely talk about how it makes me feel, because on a deeply personal level it hurts to be rejected over and over again. I already know the pain of not being to control whether or not I birth children, the pain of hoping that maybe this time and this time never happening or never lasting. I can handle this pain, as deeply painful as it is to have my body betray me in this way it is something that belongs to me and I can work through it. I have a partner who loves me, who hears me, who understands my sorrow around our infertility because although I say it is mine we are a couple and in many ways it belongs to both of us.

The journey of adoption does not belong to me though, other people are in charge, other people make the choices, others decide that we are not right for this child. The sorrow that is felt around those decision does not belong only to me, it also belongs to P and to our boys. It is as a family that we moved forward with a plan to adopt again and it is as a family that we wait and wonder if it will ever happen. It hurts to hear my kids ask when it will happen, to hear them talk longingly about when we have more kids and things will do together. It is hard to make them understand that it is not up to us.

It is completely out of our hands.

So perhaps it is time to move on, even if it is just in little ways, time to hope less for what could be and enjoy the wonder of what I have instead of longing for what might be. Even though the thought of moving forward in this way takes my breath away,  because there little I want more than another little person to pull into my lap at the end of a long day for one last hug before bed. But I have two who give pretty fantastic hugs and maybe that is just going to have be enough.

September 15, 2011   7 Comments

Could it just be easy…

I heard about a little girl yesterday, a little girl who needs a family, I am thinking we could be her family (I know your all shocked to read that), the thing is I do not know if I am up to the challenge.

We want more kids, we want to adopt again but we are struggling against a system that is not really ready to place kids in families that have younger children through adoption. It is crazy though because in one breath everyone says they need experienced parents for these kids and yet the best way to find experienced parents is to find people who have successfully parented kids like that in the past – which usually means they have kids in the home.

This little girl though, she will need a lot of love and patience and support because oh my goodness she has a had a rough start. All kids need all of those things but when you are parenting kids from trauma there needs to be more of it and I am not sure that I will have enough of all those things for her.

You see adding children to our family would be a challenge for all of us, we would all need to shift and change and grow but I would end up doing most of it. That is not a bad thing, it not something I want change, it just is our reality, that is how our family works. P has job and I am home,  it’s the choice we made.

This little girl, she needs a really great family, she needs a family who gets her, who will love her unconditionally in spite of her many challenging behaviours. She needs people who are going to be there for the long haul and there is a huge part of me that thinks we could be that family, but there is also a part of me that thinks it might be to much. That being said, if I knew before we adopted the boys, what I know now about they needed I would of thought it was more than we could handle as well.

Does my expereince parenting children who have survived significant trauma make me more apprehensive about adopting again? Yes. Does that make me a better a parent? I think so.

The other piece of this puzzle is that this little girl  and I share a common history and on deeply emotional level I get it, I get it in a way that other people will not ever get it. Does that make me the right person to be her mother though – I wish I knew that.

You know like that big read easy button from that stationery store, could I just push that and be done with it.

Yeah I know there is no easy button, just wishing there was.

Since I don’t have one I am packing a cooler and heading to the lake for a day of fun with some friends cause there are 0nly 12 more days till school is back


August 24, 2011   9 Comments

There are reasons I adopted

There are reasons I adopted kids from foster care. There are reasons that I wanted to do this rather than adopt internationally. There are reasons that I convinced P that this was the best way to grow our family even if it was not the easiest way.

One of those reasons died in tragic accident last week and I am,  in a word, devastated.

Let me explain.

Years ago I spent time working in a city in Western Canada, a city with a profoundly poor inner core where poverty, alcohol, drugs and gangs were common, so common in fact that it was not really safe to walk around at night. We did anyway, stuff happened but we survived to tell the tale.

It was a tough place.

I was 19, very idealistic and also incredibly naive.

The center I worked in was designed for families but my passion was the kids, I loved them all but I had some favourites  and as the years went by and I watched them grow up a few of them etched their names into my heart.

There was Sarah*, Paul and Jane, 3 kids whose Mom was working really hard to keep them out of the system. I helped her by watching them for free whenever she needed, I loved those kids, one day they did not come over and went home instead, Mom was not back from work yet. They sat down on the steps to wait for her, the neighbour called Family Services and the kids were apprehended. I kept track of them for awhile as they bounced around the system and then I lost them. It broke my heart.

There was Daisy and her 6 brothers and sisters, their Mom died of a drug overdose one Easter, Grandma kept the girls and the boys ended up in foster care. The boys lived in a hotel room with rotating care staff for months because there were not any foster homes open to take in 3 boys. When they were finally placed they were split up even though Wolf and Storm were twins. I lost track of them after that.

There was Nastia and her siblings, I loved them too. One night Mom left them alone to go to the bar and her little brother Timmy set the house on fire. They went into the system, we fought with her to get them back, she did, but looking back I wish things had been different. All of the kids ended up with serious addiction issues and another generation of children ended up in and out of foster care.

And then was the trio, they were three kids who lived almost across the street from us. There was Marin, the oldest, she took care of her younger brothers Simon and Bob. They lived on the edge of abject poverty and although their parents had few skills they really did do their best with what they had available. The kids came to our house constantly, they were dirty, they had lice and Bob always smelled awful but they worked their way into my heart. Bob used to come and poke his little head up into the front door window shouting “you open!”. We were usually closed but for them we opened the door and gave them a snack because we knew they were hungry.

Over the years I watched Marin, Simon and Bob grow into adults from a distance. I heard about how they were working  to break the cycle of poverty they grew up in and although they still became teenage parents why had jobs and partners who stayed. They were young but they were creating families who were committed to one another and although they still made some less than stellar choices they were doing a much better job than what they had grown up with.

Bob died last week in a tragic car accident, it was a stupid teenage boy kind of accident, some alcohol and speed was probably involved and he left behind a pregnant partner and young child. He was changing his world, he was breaking the cycle of poverty and his life was cut short not because of drugs but because he did a stupid thing and it ended badly. Any middle class kid could of made the same mistake, it happens to teenagers, their judgement is not always so great.

Those kids, the ones who etched their names and smiles into my heart made me want to adopt from foster care, they made we want to help kids who through no fault of their own found themselves in a situation where they no longer had a family. They made me understand what it is like to be neglected, to be hungry, to be desperate for love and human touch.

Those kids are the reason I am the parent I am, they are the reason I put myself out their to be scrutinized by social workers, to be judged as a parent and as a person. I did it because those kids deserved to be loved and cherished, they deserved to well fed and clean, they deserved hugs and unconditional love. They deserved so much more than they got. Some of them made it, some did not, some broke the cycle while others are repeating it.

They system is not perfect, society is not perfect, the world is not perfect and neither are any of us, but while we wait for perfection children wait for families to love them.

*all names have been changed

August 23, 2011   9 Comments

Do you even care to begin to understand?

I spent my weekend running a camp at the university that both P and graduated from. This is the 4th year in a row I have been there for 4 days in the summer providing programming for the children whose parents are attending or presenting workshops. Many of the presenters of the workshops are people I studied with and they have kids now as well. It is like a family renunion every summer where proffessors, alumni and current students spend 4 days learning new things and being togheter. Most people seem to have a lot of fun, I spend four days chasing kids so mostly I am just exhausted. It is good too see my friends during meals and in t he evenings though. We sit around and talk about our lives, about parenting, partners, marriage, we argue, we disagree but it’s all good cause have been friends for years.

There is one huge difference between us though, glaring in fact and it causes me more trouble than my left leaning, gay marriage is a right, woman should be ordained views.

I have adopted children from foster care. I am the only one of us who is raising kids who experienced trauma and neglect, raising kids whose brains have been altered by the choices their first parents made.

When I am with them they judge me. They comment. They stare. They do not get it nor do they care to.

It’s hard. It’s hard to hear them joke about my being so strict and teasing me about not letting them out of my sight. It’s hard to hear them tell me loosen up and let them be kids. Trust me, I would if I could.

Sometimes I try to take a step back, to see if the boys can do things that would be developmentally appropriate for a child their age and each and every time I do it fails. Why does it fail, it fails because they are not ready. They are not ready to have full control over what they take in the cafeteria line because they will take enough to feed four children and then refuse to eat it. They cannot share a bed in a hotel room because no one will sleep. If they are left alone for any length of time something will get broken or someone will get hurt. They cannot resolve their own conflicts because they do not yet have the skills needed to do so without hurting one another. They have to be reminded to use the washroom or they will wait until it is to late. Most statements that come out Calvin’s mouth are lies and have to discussed at length to determine their accurateness. They have to be within arms reach of an adult they know really well at all times or something crappy is going to happen to someone nearby.

This is behaviour that pales in comparison to the what we used to deal with and yet the comments are still made. They still stare and snicker and tell me to back off. I’d like to tell them to shut up, I mean really I don’t tell  you how to raise your kids. I don’t comment on their appalling table manners or smart ass comments to adults whom they should respect. I do not mock your parenting or suggest that because you are raising your children in the way that you feel is right for your family that you are doing a less than perfect job.

Yet because I am raising my kids in the way that is best for them, that gives them the structure they need to be successful, I somehow appear to be in need of parenting advice from people who have never been here, have not walked a mile in my shoes and probably never will. It drives me crazy and although I know that it is not going to change I would really like to be able to educate the masses but really is there any point because it seems as though everyone thinks they are an expert on how I should be raising my kids.

This road that we walk, the one where we adopt kids who other people have damaged and try to make a family is a tough way to create a family and the next person who makes a smart ass comment might just get to kiss my fist. You  know or something like that.


July 20, 2011   14 Comments

Openness in older child adoption

I have been mulling over this idea for a few weeks and the best way to write about it because what I thought about openness before I adopted, soon after I adopted and now 3 years later are all really different. Last night read a post over at Roztime about Inclusive Foster Care and it got me thinking about how to write about openness and how I really should just say what I feel and think because maybe some others will have something to add to the conversation and that might give me some perspective.

I have never met my children’s birth mother, I have read about her, I have made  judgments about her but I have never met her. She is mythical in my sons minds, she has a pretty high pedestal and that is okay. Calvin has started to vocalize how if he if he lived his birth mother she would never _______________ (fill in the blank for whatever consequence he has ). We usually burst that bubble for him pretty quickly, I remember longing for a family where I did not have to follow the rules as well.

That all being said my children have no contact with their birth mother which is a complicated matter because they have 2 sisters who do have contact. It is messy and frustrating and frankly way more detailed than I can get into here, it is also not all my story to tell.

When we first adopted the boys  we agreed to openness with both birth parants via letters twice a year. It was reasonable, the boys needed to write to her and to deal with the loss of her in their lives. They are still processing that loss but their need to communicate with her in that way has diminished a great deal as time has gone on. This year May came and went and they were not at all interested in writing to her. I respected that and guilty as I feel about it I have not written to her either. I have not written because I do not know what to say because we have stopped giving the boys her letters. We stopped last Christmas because they were just not appropriate and they tend to make the boys more upset than happy and that is hard for all of us. I have kept them and I have no doubt that the boys will be angry at me when they find out that I withheld them from them.

I think that a big part of the problem is that she has not processed her loss of them and so she writes to them as though they are just away at summer camp rather than moving on with their lives with another family. It is heartbreaking to see the pain she is in and yet I can not help but be angry at her for the choices that she made. She was given ample opportunity to learn to parent appropriately, the law was broken to give her more time, support was provided and yet she was unable to put her children first. I do not understand her choice, I do not understand why she was unwilling to change for them and yet then changed in order to parent a child who was born once the others were already in care.

In an ideal world I would like to be able to have a relationship with her in some way but I can not see how that is possible. I have learned in the last weeks that she is crossing all sorts of boundaries in other relationships and that concerns me. It worries me because I am afraid that she would undermine the work that we have done to help the boys heal from what happened to them as young children. It worries me because they deserve so much and yet at this time she has little to offer. Her family is of little help as they also continue to cross boundaries that are not theirs to cross and continue to try to have access to the boys in sneaky and inappropriate ways.

I think open adoption is a wonderful thing. I think that children who are growing up in adoptive homes are doubly blessed when they have birth families who can maintain healthy relationships with them. I think that when reunification is the goal it is great to inclusiveness   in foster homes. I think that there are lots of families who make all kinds of things work in all kind of situations. A part of me would really like to be one of those families.

But, regardless of what I think about what might be or what could be I am faced with a situation that is none of those things. I have talked to our adoption worker and she is going to speak to the boys birth mother (again) about what can and cannot be included in letters. She is going to let her know that the children have not been receiving her letters nor the money that her mother has been sending them. The worker is going to try to get birth mom to begin to work through this so that she can have a realistic relationship with our children. Yes they are ours, hers and mine (well not just mine), ours. I will not for a minute pretend that she is not important to them but at the same time I want to save them from the heartache that her empty promises cause for the boys.

It is complicated, I wish there was an easy answer.


July 6, 2011   10 Comments