Superheroes have Sidekicks

When the kids were little, people often said to me, "I don't know how you do it?" I had four kids before I was 25 and stayed home full time to care for them. My response was usually something like, "I have the stamina for it. Instead of cramming for finals, I'm staying up nights with infants and spending my days making macaroni art and potty-training."

I still get asked this a lot, especially with four teens and pending foster kids. But today, I want to tell you a couple of secrets.

Thing one. I'm proud of my work. If I ever judged you internally or openly for being a working mom, I apologize. It's the hardest freaking job in the world! When kids have dentist appointments, sick days, and forgotten lunches, it's rarely my husband who volunteers to double up on parenting duties and work. If you know my husband, you know he's amazing and extremely supportive. But I've recently read reports that working moms work up 100 hours per week. That's a lot.

I'm fortunate to work from home as a virtual executive assistant. I regularly start my days at 5 or 5:30am to get a jump before the kids all have their morning routines. I try to take a walk if it's not raining and get in my first cup of coffee. Then there is hair to be braided, dinner prep, lunch prep, and carpool. When I come back home, I'm dressed and prepared for video calls and complete attention to work. I may throw a load in the laundry or vacuum my room if I have time. In the evening after dinner, I'm washing dishes, finishing up the laundry, and preparing for the next day. But I like working. I can't imagine what I would do with myself at home alone all day.

Thing two. I pay someone to clean my house. It took me a long time to accept this as ok. When I stayed home and home schooled, I liked cleaning the house. It was something new and different to do. Plus, I got to enjoy the cleanliness first hand. Now that I'm working, the kids help less, and we are gone most evenings, it's totally worth it to have a tidy house. I don't feel guilty about this. At all. In fact, I see it as an opportunity to help out someone else and live in the kind of home I prefer.

I had a major surgery this past October. I knew I wouldn't be able to keep up or help my family achieve my standards of cleanliness, so I hired a bi-weekly cleaning lady. I kept it a total secret from the kids. They didn't catch on at all that the main level of the house was spotless every other Tuesday! I kept the secret until a couple of weeks ago when she showed up and they were all home on summer vacation. I didn't want them becoming entitled or thinking that they can just make messes for other people to clean up so they still have to do their own rooms/bathrooms. It's only fair.

Thing three. I no longer clip coupons and spend hours at the grocery store. I get my groceries delivered from Publix via Instacart. I paid for the yearly membership ($99) so for a minimum $35 order, I get free delivery. That means I get groceries delivered for free twice a week. I keep a running list on the app on my phone, and when it's big enough or I need something ASAP, I submit the order. In less than two hours, or at the appointed time I choose, my bagged groceries arrive at my door. I don't have to drive to the store, pick the groceries off the shelves, put them in the cart, put them on the belt, load them in the car, or unload them into the house. Now, because of this great system, my kids answer the doorbell and put the groceries away. I've actually found that we spend less this way because I don't impulse shop or fall prey to my hunger pains.

Thing Four. I take myself out to lunch once a week. I make the weekly menu, shop for the groceries, go to Costco (I haven't found a service for that yet) and keep everyone fed. So sometimes, I take myself out for sushi or Greek because I deserve to have a meal prepared without having to do the dishes. It's a small thing, but it helps me keep my sanity.

Thing Five. Having kids in public school opened my eyes to the constant permission slips, forms, and checks. So I opened a checking account for school stuff. I require my kids to fill out their own forms, fill out the check, and all I do is sign. It's life changing! They pay for haircuts, field trips, and other miscellaneous expenses and I don't have to do more work. Just sign.

So now you know, I don't do it alone. I have help and helpers. And I try to be kind to myself so I can be kind to others. This phase won't last forever, but at least I'll be sad to see it go instead of resenting the time.

You Choose Color

Every time we move, I end up painting a little bit. Or the whole house. It just depends. I’m not moving now, but our life is about to shift. One of my wise foreign-service friends once said to me, “I will live in this house for 104 weeks. If I spend two weeks painting it on the front end and two weeks painting it back at the end of our tour, I will have enjoyed 100 weeks of a homey, warm environment.” She was right. Paint matters.

One particular week was super weird for me. Number 1 graduated. Shortly after, I dropped her off at the Metro station to go to ATL so she could go to Europe for eight days. Number 2 went to Parris Island for MCJROTC boot camp. While he was gone, I painted his room. He’ll be moving out of it and into a smaller room to make space for Foster kids. Like many times before, I was painting the walls thinking about the people who will sleep in there. I consider their dreams, their mornings, and their quiet sobs on pillows. I do not yet know the history of those who will inhabit these beds, but I am already caring for them. It’s like pregnancy and different.

Number 1 will move to college in August. She will inhabit a dorm downtown, but in our home, she will lay claim to a top bunk in her sisters’ room. Her old room may also inhabit unknown faces. I painted over the coffee shop themed, burnt orange walls with a gentle, neutral beige.

For whatever reason, I seem to always remember the names of paint colors. In one house it was Brazil Nut and Summer Sage. It’s been Sahara, Lemon Cake, Unicorn, and Pumpkin. When the previous inhabitants of one of our spaces has left walls with unlabeled paint cans, we name them ourselves. Some we remember not so fondly are Smog, Toothpaste, and Bowling Alley.

The color in one of our new rooms is called Pebble Gray.It’s a very soothing color. It feels fresh and clean and has a little bit of blue.

Several months ago, I moaned to one of my kids' mentors saying, ”She’s going to leave me!” This wise woman who has been gently guiding my 17 year old said to me, “Oh, dear one. That’s what you raised her to do!” It’s true. I should blame myself. Helping them to become self sufficient was the easy part. Realizing that they don't need me as much is a bit harder to swallow.

(The one in the cap and gown is Number 4. She's going into 7th grade. The real graduate is wearing the striped dress.)

I can’t tell you anything about the kids we will house except that they will be teen sibling groups, but I can tell you what I’ve done so far to prepare. We’ve attended 26 hours of parenting classes complete with tests and role-plays. We’ve been CPR certified, had drug tests, bought fire extinguishers, and CO2 detectors, We’ve purchased extra beds, sheets, and towels. We’ve filled out references and gotten physicals. I think we are more ready to parent than we were 17 years ago when we brought home our firstborn and made her a bed in a laundry basket.

How Is It Supposed to Feel?

We have a high school graduate. She's currently in the French Riviera celebrating her freedom. Jokingly, one of my husband's co-workers said to her, "Don't get kidnapped!" Really, moron? Really? This will be her second time to Europe without me since we've been back in the States. I'm completely jealous and yet totally happy for her solo adventures.

People keep asking us the same question; "How does it feel?"

How did it feel having four kids under five? How did it feel moving my family to Russia? How did it feel when my kids fired me as their home school teacher? Exhausting? Terrifying? Incredible? All these things and more.

Today my husband and I took an American Heart Association First Aid/CPR class which is a requirement for our foster journey. I was required to watch a brief video of this in order to take Number 2 home from the NICU 15 years ago, but other than that, I've never gotten certified. I sure am glad none of my kids have needed it because I wasn't equipped. Sheesh, my house is safer now than it has ever been!

"Are you ok? Are you ok?"
Begin 30 strong chest compressions to the tune of "Stayin' Alive."
Two breaths.
Listen.
Use the AED.
Repeat as needed.

It feels like that. It feels like I have to keep breathing. Keep counting. Keep living.

In the Blood

I like John Mayer. I'm not ashamed. He's one of the great modern day poets. Listen. Really. Here's a song that's got me choked up lately:

How much of my mother has my mother left in me?
How much of my love will be insane to some degree?
And what about this feeling that I'm never good enough?
Will it wash out in the water, or is it always in the blood?

How much of my father am I destined to become?
Will I dim the lights inside me just to satisfy someone?
Will I let this woman kill me, or do away with jealous love?
Will it wash out in the water, or is it always in the blood?

I can feel love the I want, I can feel the love I need
But it's never gonna come the way I am
Could I change it if I wanted, can I rise above the flood?
Will it wash out in the water, or is it always in the blood?

How much like my brothers, do my brothers wanna be?
Does a broken home become another broken family?
Or will we be there for each other, like nobody ever could?
Will it wash out in the water, or is it always in the blood?

I can feel love the I want, I can feel the love I need
But it's never gonna come the way I am
Could I change it if I wanted, could I rise above the flood?
Will it wash out in the water, or is it always in the blood?

I can feel the love I want, I can feel the love I need
But it's never gonna come the way I am
Could I change it if I wanted, can I rise above the flood?
Will it wash out in the water, or is it always in the blood?

In our parenting class for prospective foster/adoptive parents, we were making a list of positives and negatives about foster/adopted kids. One I hadn't thought of is that a child who isn't biologically your own won't share your worst behaviors, traits, or family tendencies. You know what I'm talking about. When your kid looks at you with a snotty face and says some cutting remark and it seems familiar, because you've said it and done it in the same way.

But it's also scary. Scary to take on a new person who you don't know. Their origins, their history, their perspective. We've always told our kids out loud, "I'm glad God made you a Goudy." If I believe that, if I really do, then I have to believe that God put me in my family, too. And that God put kids who will come to our home in their families. Obviously, it didn't work out for a time, but it doesn't mean they aren't who they are meant to be.

Family's a tricky thing. It can mean everything to some people, it can mean nothing to others. It can be the beginning of pain or it can be rememberances of deep joy. I won't pretend that my family or my kids are perfect. They aren't because we are people. But they're pretty good at loving and welcoming others in. They're good at putting extra beds up and moving things around to make some space.

Loaded with Expectation

I don't really like Mother's Day. I never have. When I was a kid, it meant that we had to behave properly during church to "honor" our mother and that dad would try a little bit harder to make things easy on mom that day. It meant obligatory flowers and lunch. I always thought that requiring kids to make moms feel special was kind of inauthentic.

As a young mother, it meant that any three out of four years, my kids threw up on me. In my bed. "Happy Mother's Day! Blechhhh." I'm not kidding. I actually quit planning to go to church on those mornings. I also hate the expectation that for one perfect day, my kids are supposed to pepper me with sugary compliments and flowers because that's what everyone else is doing. And Hallmark said so.

One year, some friends of mine were comparing what they were getting for the holiday; diamond necklaces, flowers, a day at the spa. One of my friends said to my kids, "What are you doing for Mother's Day? What does your mom want?" Number 1 said calmly, "All my mom wants, all she's ever wanted, is a quiet day alone."

She's right. I don't want the flowers, the brunch, or the plastered on smiles of small children. I want peace and quiet. A day to ponder.

I'm in Boston as I write this. My husband and I came up here for the weekend to catch a Red Sox game and since I work remotely, for me to visit my office to meet some colleagues face to face for the first time. I forgot it was Mother's Day until I looked at the calendar. When we lived overseas, we didn't really celebrate Mother's Day. They have instead, International Women's Day. I like this much more and here's why.

I know a lot of incredible females. Some of them will never have children. Some have lost children. Some are in custody battles and won't see their kids today. Some are insecure about their parenting and aren't really sure they should have had kids. When I got on the bus in Boston today, the driver asked every female rider if she was a mother. I wondered about their stories. Do they have a child who has died? Maybe one in prison or lives far away? Maybe their kids were placed in Foster Care and they never got them back. I'm not unbiased about this holiday situation. I think Father's Day is equally difficult.

So I'm not going to write about my own motherhood. As I think about new kids coming into my home, I want to minimize my successes and instead cherish what other people teach me. So on that note, I'm going to share a few life lessons that I've learned from my non-mother friends about life and humanity.

One has taught me enthusiasm for the unknown. One has taught me that diving in head first to social justice requires more than 40 hours a week. That having hobbies isn't a crime. That your closet needs well selected quality items to look your best. That traveling alone can be an invigorating experience. That being an aunt/neighbor/mentor is really fun and has great benefits.

Hello, Can You Hear Me?

It's been awhile. A long while.

Since my last post in November of 2015, we moved within the Northern Virginia area, then moved to the greater Atlanta area, quit homeschooling, took new jobs, and settled down. We've been in the same house, same school district, same jobs for two years. Which is when we start to get an itch. The kind of itch that causes complete uprooting, shifting, boxing, and changing everything.

But we made a promise to our kids that they could all (ALL) finish High School in this district. That gives us six more years.

So we are starting a new adventure. One that made me dust off the ole' keyboard and get up at 6am on a Saturday to deliver the news to you. Who am I kidding? I get up every Saturday at 6am. It's quiet and I can sip my coffee in silence.

Foster Care.

When I said that, did your heart skip a beat? Did you start cold sweating? When we mentioned this idea to our kids, they were unanimously supportive. One child said, "Hey, at least we aren't moving!" But wait, let me go back. There's more to the story.

When we moved to Georgia, I asked my husband to buy us a house. He and I have moved together 11 times. He knows what I like. He also knows that most of our houses are temporary and I'm not too fussy if it's not going to last forever. But this time, wow, he nailed it! Each person got to pick one thing they might like in a home. Here's the list:

Husband: An unfinished basement so he could have an eternal project for weekends that adds value to the house.
1: A fireplace where she can curl up, read a book, and drink her tea. Her spirit animal is a cat.
2: The same distance or less than we were to the school in Virginia (2.6 miles) for easy activity participation. His spirit animal is a dog.
3: Her own room. The only TRUE introvert in our whole family. Trust me, we did the Myers Briggs and tested everyone!
4: A flat driveway where she could roller blade with EVERYONE in the neighborhood.
Me: A Gas stove. I've lived in enough places to know that electric is a pain in the butt, and frankly, I spend a majority of my life in that location.

He found all this and more. He built me a library. The house had four bedrooms, but he built a fifth and a sixth. At Thanksgiving, when 20 people are here for the week, it feels right. But most of the time, the house is just too big. As you are reading this to yourself, please do not think, "What a complainer! Who thinks a house is too big?! What's her problem?" The thing is, I know our capacity. The six of us have cozied up in a three bedroom apartment, in tiny townhouses, and shared a single family home. We know how much space we need and this house has an excess.

Also, if you know us well, you know that we rarely collect "stuff" and instead collect people from our various homes. Which brings me back to our greedy house. In the quiet of six people living here, it groans. It whines and complains that spaces aren't getting used and noises aren't being made. Please understand, I'm not pining for babies or wishing for the old days. I just like to see happy faces gathered around a kitchen table playing games, eating food, and sharing laughter.

So we're doing it. Foster Care. We've been wanting to for a very long time, but didn't have the stability. But it's finally happening. We have completed background checks, submitted applications and references, and finished 28 hours of training. We are rearranging rooms and beds and making things safe and welcoming for some new kids. Not kid. Kids. Actually, we're on the list for teen sibling groups. Because nobody else is. And they're people who need support. So, I'm back. To update, to share, and to invite you along our journey just like I did so many years ago when we moved to Russia. Hang on tight. This is going to be a wild ride!

A Bouquet of Freshly Sharpened Pencils

I've seen your pictures on Facebook. Your kids are back in school. Mine too. Or at least they are lying around in their pajamas reading banned books like Call of the Wild and Uncle Tom's Cabin while I dutifully categorize our personal library and straighten up the glue sticks.

They have entered 3rd, 5th, 7th, and 9th grades. I am the teacher of all subjects. And the secretary, the principal, and athletic director. My salary is unprecedented because it is zero.

As we dive into our sixth year of homeschool, I am often asking myself, "What am I doing?" Usually the curriculum is purchased in June, ignored in July, and begun in August so we can take a vacation in September. This year is entirely different. I forgot to buy curriculum. Or maybe I meant to forget. Whichever it was, there aren't any math books on the shelf with labeled names. Today I bought folders. Not sure yet what they're for but I bought them. I may need them.

I've got four very different kids. Some love math and science and others loathe it. Some are found sneaking books to church, in their beds late at night, or at friends' houses. Some think books make great coasters. Some are dyslexic and good with their hands. Others have soaring vocabularies and brilliant reasoning skills. They are all dangerous. And beautiful in their own way.

I never thought it would last this long. As I am writing this, Number 1 is doing high-school biology in her room. Number 2 is disassembling a bike tire and re-installing a tube. Numbers 3 and 4 are singing the names of the United States while hot-gluing boxes together to make....something. This morning we read poetry and books about early civilizations. Some of the people in the pictures were topless (there wasn't censoring in BC) and nobody seemed to notice.

It's worth it. Beyond the struggle, the planning, the pep-talks. It's worth it.