parenting

Another Casualty of the Pandemic: The Foster Care System

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In a “normal” year, 400,000 children are in the US foster care system. That’s 1 out of every 184 American children. The pandemic has brought havoc to this already overstrained system in an unexpected way.

While child welfare calls have gone down—for example, reports of child maltreatment in New York City dropped 51 percent in the spring of last year compared to the same period in 2019[1]—most experts agree kids are not safer. In fact, the heightened stress and insecurity of this crisis has likely increased abuse, neglect, and other factors that would normally necessitate intervention. But with schools, day cares, and community life closed or on hold, fewer mandated reporters and even concerned neighbors are interacting with kids who might be in need.

One county in North Carolina reported a spike in the number of children actually removed from homes in the fall of 2020, even though reporting calls were down 20%. Wake County Child Welfare saw an added, disturbing change: while 83 percent of removals are typically due to neglect, social workers found nearly half during the pandemic, 45% were because of abuse[2]. Fewer reports but more removals with a higher percentage of abuse paints a dreary picture of the life of the American child enduring this crisis.

A complicating factor for this catastrophe is many counties are reporting low numbers of foster homes. Working parents who aren’t able to be home with foster children when schools are closed, worries about spreading the virus, generally increased stress and uncertainty, the average higher age of foster parents, and other factors are making it harder for agencies to recruit willing families. For example, Dane County in Wisconsin has 385 children in foster care, but only 165 foster homes—their lowest number of homes in the last decade[3]. Stark County Children’s Services in Ohio reported that 10% of the foster parents on their regular roster are no longer able to take in new children at this time[4]. Nationwide, scattered reports from desperate agencies echo more of the same: dropping numbers of foster parent applications.

Additionally, with courts limiting procedures or even temporarily closing, more children are staying in foster care instead of being granted permanency (whether via reunification with their family or through another permanent resource).  For example, in California, almost 4,300 fewer children left foster care between October 2019 and September 2020 compared with the same time frame a year earlier[5]. A child’s average stay in the foster care system is already over a year[6], and extending that time only further stresses the system and each individual child’s development.

Older children in foster care, particularly those who are aging out of the system or nearing that age, are not immune to the economic and emotional impact of the pandemic. One in four 18- to 24-year-olds who are (or were) in foster care experienced heightened food insecurity since the pandemic began. In addition, about 40% were forced to move or feared having to move, nearly 33% said they only had enough money for a week or less of living costs, and 27% of transition-age foster care youth lost their jobs because of the pandemic[7].

So, what is your calling to the hurting kids of our country?

Most experts agree that an overwhelming surge of kids is about to hit the foster care system. As restrictions are lifted and more sunshine enters dark places, abuse and neglect that has been hidden for months is going to expose the needs of an unprecedented number of children.

But the question we face is not, “What can our nation do to help hundreds of thousands of children?”

The question is, “What can I do to change one child’s life?”

 
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[1] Administration for Children's Services

[2] WRAL, https://www.wral.com/19522214/

[3] NBC15, https://www.nbc15.com/2021/01/06/fostering-through-covid-pandemic-brings-foster-care-system-families-new-challenges/

[4] MSN, https://www.msn.com/en-us/news/us/pandemic-shortage-more-foster-families-needed/ar-BB1cPj97

[5] California Child Welfare Indicators Project

[6] 14.7 months, childwelfare.gov

[7] Foster Club study, March 2020


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the weird road home

I'm thinking about my house a lot about it as we tear it apart for some much-anticipated renovations.

When our realtor first showed us a picture of this house, I said no way. I didn't even want to visit! Fortunately, he is a wise man and encouraged us to give it a shot. We saw some work that needed to happen, yes, but we also saw that this was a place that could be home.

Our second son was supposed to be born about a month after we moved. No dice! He was born six days before we settled on the purchase, leaving my husband and family to do all of the work of moving and me to sit in the NICU staring at a plastic box.

We are blessed to maintain contact online with the former homeowners, who lovingly raised a family here. I look forward to building as many memories in this home as their family did!  We've enjoyed finding fun 'accidental memories' as we live here, such as a grade-school portrait behind a radiator, a seven of clubs under a floor board, a school writing assignment in the attic, and an old shaving kit on a long-forgotten shelf.

God orchestrated many wonderful people to arrive  in our neighborhood at a similar time, surrounding us with fellow Christians. Our house has three boys. Beside us has four boys. Two houses past that has three more boys. Behind us are three girls and a boy. And within just a moment's drive, we have our dearest friends and my sister's family. And I'm not even including a half-dozen more fabulous, engaging families we've met an neighborhood picnics and on walks. We are so blessed to have nearby stable, loving influences on our family, and friends for our kids. Plus, we've already traded countless babysitting hours. You can't beat this place! 

I sat on my neighbor's porch tonight, sipping an iced chai while our children ran around, whacking each other with light sabers. All I can think is how cool is it that God brought all these people into our lives?  And unless the boys do successfully burn one or more of the houses down, it will be like this for many years to come!

 


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momma songs

Who needs to cry? Even if you've heard these songs before, you must listen to them right now and then share them with every foster or adoptive parent you know. Because, yes. YES. YES.

Kari Kimmel's Where You Belong

You might know this song as the theme to the TV show The Fosters.

The lyrics that will make you cry:

It's not where you come from
It's where you belong
Nothin' I would trade
I wouldn't have it any other way
You're surrounded
By love and you're wanted
So never feel alone
You are home with me
Right where you belong

Phillip Phillips' Home

You might know this song as the summer Olympics theme from London 2012.

The lyrics that will make you cry:

If you get lost, you can always be found
Just know you’re not alone
'Cause I’m going to make this place your home

Phil Collins' You'll Be In My Heart

You might know this song from Disney's Tarzan movie.

The lyrics that will make you cry:

Come stop your crying
It will be alright
Just take my hand
And hold it tight
For one so small,
You seem so strong
My arms will hold you,
Keep you safe and warm
I know we're different, but deep inside us
We're not that different at all


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Happy Labor Day

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It's not because of April Fool's Day that I say this. It's because this is the anniversary laboring to deliver my first baby.  My baby is turning seven tomorrow (LIES, IT'S ALL LIES!). He told me today that since it was almost his birthday, he should get to do whatever he wants. I said, "Yeah, right, I worked myself to death the day before your birthday," and handed him the dustpan. #notkidding

So, here's the abridged version of my labor with my now-giant son, which I wrote two days later. It's abridged because I was as wordy then as I am now, and the complete thing is nine pages long and includes words like cervix that no one wants to read. Even me.

Here, then, is Lincoln's amazing and wonderful birth story...

I had been having contractions for several days.  On Friday, we’d spent the evening at Mikie and Heidi's with Laura and Shaun and my back hurt bad enough that we went home early.  I was really hoping that was a sign that we were starting… but no. 

Monday and Tuesday saw more back pain… I’d taken to hollering “come out baby” every 15 to 20 minutes.  I was having so much trouble sleeping at night that I’d end up in bed until 10 am.  By Wednesday, my back was hurting so bad I didn’t sleep a wink.  Poor Matt – I woke him up several times that night just to be sure he knew I still wasn’t sleeping!  I was able to close my eyes for an hour or two in the morning (Matt was on the early shift at work so I stayed in bed after he left at 6 am) simply out of exhaustion.

Caryn was coming into town for Easter/spring break so she spent the day with me on Thursday.  By that point, I had a pretty good idea that we were going into labor.  Things were about the same timing-wise but the contractions seemed to be getting more intense.  Caryn helped me time my contractions all afternoon while we watched The Whole Nine Yards.  Matt got home from work around 2:30 which was about the same time that I wasn’t able to sit through the contractions anymore.

For the next few hours, Caryn and Matt tag-teamed to time my contractions and remind me to go to the bathroom.  They also experimented with the massage tools from our child birthing classes: a nerf football and three tennis balls in a sock (which Caryn thought was a dog toy). 

Matt was a little restless – I don’t think he enjoyed watching me be in pain.  He cleaned the kitchen, did the dishes, and then actually cleaned the stove!  At least we came home to a clean house…

As we did the final check (including making sure our pup Gina had some lights on and had gone potty), I asked Matt if the car seat was in the car (which it was).  Caryn gasped and said “that’s right because you’ll be going as two and coming home as three!”  Sometimes the simplest thoughts are the most profound.

After check-in at the hospital, Matt and I wandered the halls for a bit until our nurse came out to get us.  She introduced herself and said she would be my nurse until 11 pm.  I joked that I promised to finish before she left!  But things didn’t go that fast.

I watched Caryn pace beside the bed with her very telling “I’m praying” face which was actually a huge relief for me as I labored. At some point while I was relaxing after the nasty process of getting an epidural in a back full of scar tissue from spinal fusion surgery, Caryn asked the nurse how many laboring moms she was caring for.  She said normally it would be different but that tonight I was the only person laboring in the whole place! Wow! 

Caryn, Matt & I chatted and took some video until I suddenly felt like I needed to push.  They tried to keep me from using my neck muscles too much to support my head by putting lots of pillows behind me, but I was doing it anyway, like a bad sit-up. (Two days later, I really regretted that – I felt like a bus had run over my neck and shoulders!) When he finally whooshed out, I let out a yell of relief.  It was all over!  It was 3:54 am on Friday, April 2, 2010.  Good Friday!

They put him up on my belly and he promptly pooped all over.  Thanks, Linc!  They cleaned me up while Daddy Matt cut the umbilical cord.  When they placed him back on my belly, he peed!  Boy, I’m just a target…

So as time passed, we had visitors – Poppy and Mom-Mom, Grandma and Grandpa, Aunt Kelcy and Uncle Mike.  Everyone got a chance to hold baby and see me & Matt. When Poppy and Mom-Mom walked in, the nurse was just finishing up Lincoln’s footprints.  She asked Matt if he had a white t-shirt on under his sweatshirt, but he did not.  Poppy announced that he did, so he took his shirt off and she used the rest of the ink to stamp Lincoln’s footprints on Poppy’s t-shirt!  What a special memento.


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the broken candy box

My mother-in-law has an adorable ritual for Valentine's Day. She buys candy and gives it to my husband in an old, broken, heart-shaped Teddy Bear box. 

Not ANY old, broken, heart-shaped Teddy Bear box. The Box.  The Box that they have done this with since Matt was like, 8 years old, or something. 

What an inspiration to me as a mom of boys! I want to be the mom whose son still remembers that she was his first Valentine. What a reminder to me that my boys will someday be MEN! I want to be reminded that my man was once a little boy, too. 

I love that my mother-in-law can still look at my hubby (who an awkward stranger once described as "burly") and see her little baby boy. I know that no amount of time will change my desire to ruffle my sons' hair or to startle them to make them laugh. So I like seeing that in previous generations of our family, and I love seeing his willingness to remember who he is and where he came from.

I appreciate that my mother-in-law saved The Box. In a world of downsizing and digital pictures, how many tangible reminders of the past really still surround us? The ones we can touch and use to really connect with the sweet memory of another time?  I have storage bins of collectible memories for each of my kids, and I don't intend to replace them with a digital scrapbook. It isn't the same as opening The Box. I have a scrawled-upon "Engineer" certification from my son's first trip to the Strasburg Railroad. I have crafts and things he colored.  This stuff is important. It isn't the Declaration of Independence or the last signed letter of Abraham Lincoln, but it's our family history -- and I'm the only one keeping it.  If my grandkids want to know what their daddy was like at age 6, I don't want to login to my old Google Photos account. I want to pull out a wrinkled, faded purple sheet of construction paper and say, "Look, he made this elephant collage," and I want them to touch it and see how the lumpy glue dried outside the lines. 

And then I want to show them The Box that he used to get candy from his mama, their great grandma, in.

Because I will still have it.

 

 


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A legacy of reading

Me: Who gave you this book?

Him: You did.

Me: And this one?

Him: Aunt Patty. I love reptiles.

Me: That’s right! What about this one?

Him: Oh, Nina got me that before I was even born!

My husband and I may often read on our tablets instead of holding a paperback, but our children have inherited our love of reading. But I have to back up and point out that we didn’t start the cycle… it’s been passed down. We are so blessed to be in a family of readers. That particular blessing always makes me smile when I read books with my kids.

It’s so special to me that my sons know where their books have come from. It gives me a giggle when I hear the 6yo tell the 3yo, “Be careful with that one, it was daddy’s when he was a little boy and it’s very, very, VERY old.” (Yep, just like Daddy, it’s being held together with six layers of scotch tape!)

We use our books hard, and of course there have been the occasional tearing incidents that any kids go through that make me angry… but the truth is that books don’t really get old. The story is always there, frankly, even if the middle spread where Thomas finally gets to the bakery and picks up the milk is missing. You can just sort of figure it out and keep going. (Plot points in children’s books aren’t that hard to improvise.)

Looking through my children’s bookshelves, I found at least one signed book from basically every living family member (except my one sister doesn’t sign her books!), plus books from those who are already with Jesus. I found books inscribed to my husband on various childhood occasions plus books inscribed in my amazing aunt's childhood cursive (the original Curious George book), one inscribed to my brother-in-law (#sorrynotsorry, Mike), and one addressed to my cousin from our mutual uncle with a note dated 1977 (In the Night Kitchen by Maurice Sendak). I was particularly pleased to find one my husband received on his first Christmas from his Great Aunt Naomi who just went to heaven this week. A legacy that lives on...

Thinking about all the little hands who have read these words makes me so happy. The legacy of reading in my family is such a blessing, and I’m thrilled to be able to pass it on to my kids.


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