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I often wonder what my dad would think about my life. About my parenting. About the choices I’ve made or the kids I’ve fostered. I wonder what kind of encouragement he would offer when I’m exhausted and overwhelmed from sitting with someone else’s trauma. I wonder how he would help me celebrate the everyday victories—how … Continue reading They were enough

Have you ever had one of those weeks where you’ve thought: Well, it can’t get worse than this! only to find out it can, indeed, get way wo­­rse? That’s the kind of week I recently had with L. At 9:20 a.m. Monday morning, his school’s number popped up on my phone. I was in a … Continue reading Foster Care + COVID

Since T moved, I’ve done respite a handful of times. I’ve given other foster parents a week or so to regroup. Most of the time it’s been fine. I tell myself I can get through anything for a few days. After all, I survived two and half years navigating life with T. But I wasn’t … Continue reading Remembering to Remember

T moved a year ago, and so much of my life looks different now—in good ways and hard ways and ways I never could have imagined. At times it seems impossible that I raised a traumatized child for two and a half years—like it never even happened. And then there are moments that the reality … Continue reading A Year Later

Dear T, I love you. So, so much. You are, far and away, one of my favorite people in the entire world. But it hasn't always been easy, has it? Thanks for always forgiving me when I mess up. Thanks for extending grace on the days I didn't do everything right. I hope you continue … Continue reading Whisper it if you have to, but shout it if you can

T is a slow eater. Painfully slow. To the point where I rush him through the end of his meals far more often than I’m comfortable admitting. He talks nonstop and takes small bites. Which, is good. When we read Thich Nhat Hanh before dinner, the excerpts often embody T’s slow, mindful, communal eating that’s … Continue reading A Picture of Health

There are certain things I want to remember, because on my very worst days I feel like the biggest failure to ever grace the world of foster parenting. And maybe I am. But even if that’s true, so is this: T couldn’t tie his shoes when he came to live with me, and now he … Continue reading Certain Things

T mumbles quietly and quickly to the endless frustration of most adults. And I love it. Our conversations are an exercise in mental gymnastics and detective work that I find very enjoyable. I happen to be fluent in mumble. I’ve spoken it my entire life, and I pride myself on being able to understand kids … Continue reading The Face on the Space

The first time T lowered his chin, narrowed his eyes, clenched his fists, and called me a dirty, fucking cunt, I cried. I honestly didn’t know what else to do. Nothing could have prepared me for the string of profanities coming out of his mouth. Then he started punching himself in the face, and I … Continue reading A Girl-Cat Named Simon

I shifted in my chair, trying to figure out how to sink into yet another uncomfortable situation. I was on the sidelines of T’s first game, and I had no idea what it meant to be a soccer mom. For the past two years, I had been more of a sleep-in-on-Saturdays-and-then-consume-lots-of-bacon-and-coffee-in-our-pajamas kind of mom. Looking … Continue reading Participation Awards