I glance right, scanning the parking lot of the Used Car Motor Mall as I ease through the intersection. A red Honda Civic is sitting in the spot that has housed a yellow Corvette for the better part of the last month. About a block away I look for the hummer that recently showed up … Continue reading Five Points
The first spring I had T, I panicked. I wanted to foster a school-aged child because, as a single woman who works full time, I needed a kid who was occupied during the day. But with summer looming and school-free days quickly approaching—I wasn’t sure what to do. I searched for daycare providers and started … Continue reading Judy
I wrote a version of the following article for a magazine about two months after T came to live with me in 2016. I stumbled on it tonight and am shocked (and grateful?) for how naive and hopeful I sounded. I’ve been a foster parent for about ten seconds. But as a single woman turned … Continue reading A Different Kind of Free
When T first came to live with me, he would preface a lot of his actions by asking, “Will that make you happy, Amy?” If I told him to brush his teeth he’d ask, “Will that make you happy, Amy?” Or if I said it was time to pick up his toys he’d wonder, “Will … Continue reading What Makes You Happy?
T came to live with me just after the 2016 election. One of the first stories he ever told me was about the mock election at his previous school. “I voted for Donald Trump, of course,” he explained. “Oh?” “Yeah! Because I know Hillary just wants to kill all of the babies and start world … Continue reading Building Walls and Making Friends
A few weeks before school wrapped up, I had to leave work early to get T. After numerous texts back and forth with his teacher, I got a call with the final verdict: he was too dysregulated to get on the bus. Apparently, it started when someone offered him a piece of candy. He wanted … Continue reading Angry Advocate
T and I had a rough morning recently, and it was entirely my fault. He was flipping out, for sure—screaming and punching himself in the head because I asked him to fold his laundry. But that’s not what made it rough. What made it rough was that I tried to use logic against a traumatized … Continue reading The It