Every now and again we get a phone call. It may come in the
middle of the night, or right after dinner, or on a Saturday. My husband and I
are on the emergency call list for foster care. The ones they call when
children are pulled out of the home not during business hours. The ones who can’t
wait for people to be awake or someone to be in the office. Generally, these
kids come to us with only the clothes they are wearing. Sometimes there are
shoes, sometimes not.
Friday we got a call.
The first call came about 5pm. That was nice. They said they
had four kids who were at the hospital that might need a place for the weekend.
They were looking around just in case. I said I could take the 2 year old boy and
one girl because that’s all the sleeping arrangements we had. Even then the
girl would have to be on the floor or the couch. They said that was okay for
just the weekend. They said they would call again if they needed us. I did some
preparation just in case. We didn’t get a call. At 10:30 lumberjack and I hit
the hay. Just as I was drifting off my phone rang. “We need you.” They said.
They told me I would be taking the boy and the 5-month-old
girl. “That’s fine.” I said. It suited our sleeping arrangements best. We had
an extra bed in the boys’ room and the baby could sleep in the port-a-crib.
Perfect. “Could you come pick them up? I can’t leave the hospital yet, and
someone else is coming to get the other two.” I agree. After we hang up, I look
up the hospital. It’s an hour away. Well, it’s harder on the kids so whatever. Hubby
went up to the shed in the dark to get the infant car seat we keep for times
like this while I pulled out sheets and blankets. I left and he put up the crib
in the girls’ room. Half way there I get a text and pull over to read it. “I
got it wrong,” they said. “You have to take the two older girls, 4 and 6.”
“I don’t have beds for them,” I explain. But I can’t say no.
“Can they sleep on the floor?”
“Just for the weekend.”
I got to the hospital
at almost midnight. They’re waiting on tox screens and bone scans. The kids are
tearing up cotton balls and throwing them everywhere to pretend it is snow.
Frozen is playing unwatched on a tv in the corner. By 1 the tox screens are
back and the three older kids are cleared. They may have to come back for bone
scans later. The baby is five months old and only 8 lbs. Not eating. She has to
stay. I pack up my two, take them to the car and figure out how to pull out the
infant car seat. Fortunately, I still have my son’s booster in the car. The four-year-old
has to squeeze into my two-year old’s car seat. But she fits easily. She’s
small.
They haven’t had dinner. “Can we stop at a store and get
something to eat?” They’re so hungry. Fortunately, there’s a McDonalds near. Drive
through is still open. I order 3 kid’s meals because, come on, it’s 1 am and I’m
hungry. Get curious or judgmental stares directed at the woman taking kids
through the drive through at 1am. I notice, but don’t care. I give the kids
their boxes and they fall asleep clutching them unopened.
We get home a little after two. I take down the port-a-crib
and spread blankets on the floor for them to sleep on, the one bed sits unused
in the boys’ room. The girls wake up and start crying for their parents. My 2-year-old
wakes up and starts crying. By the time I get them all settled and asleep it is
after 3. I stumble to bed. I am woken several times by the 4-year-old crying. I
get up at 6.
For the most part the girls are sweet but It’s still an
adjustment for everyone. I sneak away to the grocery store to buy more milk and
food then dig through the tubs of clothes in the garage for clothes that fit
them. They have flip flops, which are not great on our mountain, but at least they
have shoes. That afternoon we take all of them down to target for school
shopping. We have kids aged 10,9,7,6,4, and 2. Fun times. We teach them how to
brush teeth, give them a bath, stop arguing, explain why we don’t hit, or break
things. Hubby leaves town on a business trip Sunday morning. I take all six
kids to church.
My house is a mess, the kids are great one minute, all
arguing the next. My kids are jealous, the new kids are lost. It’s a roller
coaster and the only goal is survival. There will be time to clean, to sit and
relax, to count my blessings later. For now, the important thing is helping
them adjust to their new situation. I answer countless questions about when
they can see their parents, and where their brother and sister are, and try to get
them to eat and drink enough.
It’s Tuesday and I’ll be dropping them off with the caseworker
to go to a permanent foster home this morning. Part of me is excited to get
some order and peace back. Part of me is sad to see them go. I’ll never know the
rest of their story. Never know if they’re reunited or adopted, if they
struggle or survive. Never see them as competent adults. Even so, I’m a part of
their story. A part that I hope is a good memory. One that helps them adjust,
one that teaches them they’re strong and worthy of love.
