Life at the Eight One Eight One

It's been a while since I've written.

I've been a bit overwhelmed.

I'm going to rant first.  Then Praise.  Because, well, I can.  It's my blog

And my LIFE COACH (i suggest everyone get one) tells me I should "Self-care."

BAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH
BAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHgaspBAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA
BAHAHgaspBAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA

(wiping eyes)  So, I've decided that writing is my self-care.  (and my love of cookies in my room)

Newbie #2, if you recall is female, 7 yrs old going on 12 and full of sass and fire like no other, has really taken a turn and become one of my favs.  She is hilarious, and just enough sass to appreciate now.  She suffers zero fools and will tell anyone like it is.  I do have to tell her to take it down a notch when she feels slighted but WHOA, that girl.   She watched bio mom beat every one up in her path her whole life, so I'm guessing that would color relationships a bit for her.  She is learning and I am learning, and we are settling into a routine.  She is much more content now that newbie #1 (her brother) is gone, and seriously, this kid rolls me. 

She does visits every other week with sibs and mom.  Last visit, Gina had tried a new hairstyle on her, and I have to tell you, it wasn't our best work.  Our mornings around here rival a stampede, and that morning, we failed her on her hair.  She left semi ok, but when I went to pick her up from mom at the visit, she had managed to give herself a full out fro on one side, and the other side was still arranged the way we had worked it that morning. 

In other words, kid looked like a hot mess. 

And in addition, she had put on something other than I had laid out for her to wear, and in the rapid fire of assault that is our mornings at the Eight One, Eight one (my new name for our house), she slipped out dressed in mismatched clothes, her high heels shoes and a hot mess hair do.

Her last home she lived in took immaculate care of her,  made sure she had the perfect hair, the perfect clothes, the right "look".  I mean, kid has CLOTHES FOR DAYS!  And for this particular day, she dragged out clothes I had NEVER EVEN SEEN and picked those to wear.  And buzzed by me so fast for the bus, I didn't see that little stink for her final approval before hitting the door.

So, fast forward to me going to pick her up at visit.

I'm sitting here typing, deep breathing because my heart is palpitating so much.  Lamaze breathing, people.

My little sassafrass is sitting on her mom's lap, with her hair looking like Girls gone wild, wearing clothes, I didn't even know she had, and where she dug them out of , it's still a mystery to me, just laying such a line of "Poor me" to her, it still makes me sizzle. 

In these visits, the bio and sibs stay in one room, and you and the case worker stay in the adjoining room with a one way mirror so you can watch the goings on.   It's really awesome.  (Can you hear the sarcasm?)

So imagine my delight when I got a load of her.  Just imagine.  I turned around in horror to her caseworker and said,  "What the absolute HELL?" and he, I'm not kidding, rolled on the ground laughing at me. 

He told me, "I figured you didn't know she looked like that"...  I just shook my head, with my mouth hanging open.

THEN, mom asks case worker to speak with him away from the kids.  And of course I can hear everything and she tells him she is NOT happy with Sassafrass's care. 

OH REALLY??????

I walked in the room, and everyone (especially Sassafrass) went silent.  I walked up to her and said, "So you picked your own outfit today?" and "What did you do to your hair?" as I pulled the ponytail holders out of it, and pushed it to a bun on top of her little sassafrass head.   "I am figuring out how to do her hair" was all I managed to say to mom, when inside of my head......

I wanted to say,  "Well I'm not happy with your inability to GET YOURSELF TO YOUR CLASSES for the LAST TWO YEARS"

but WWJD  ???

So we left the premises and I didn't even bring it back up, except to tell her that I expected her to wear the clothes and ONLY THE CLOTHES that we AGREE ON and we lay out the night before. 

Bro. 

I'm tired. 

HOWEVER. 

I got Kid #6 (newbie #5, if we are keeping count) and she is a 13 yr old female, taken from a hoard.  Sewer backed up in the home, food sent home with her from school on Fridays to keep them fed until Monday.  That kind of bad situation.  Came with zero clothes. 

Imagine, if you will, her wide eyed wonder of the Eight One, Eight One.  (remembering Gina's "I can't live in this mansion" her first day at Norman home).    Multiply Gina's overwhelmedness by a million.  Humbling, heart breaking. I know I still look around in wonder at my new home, so I.  can't.  even.  imagine. 

This kid.  I got her clothes from the closet at the ranch,and a quick trip to TJ Maxx, and you would have thought I had taken her to Neiman Marcus and bought her designer.   New shoes, a bra (imagine that) and girl clothes.  She's lived with grandpa most of her life and has zero female influence.

Gina took her over and now it's a different story.  Plucked eyebrows (ouch), clean hair, fixed in a stylish little messy bun and her "designer" clothes. 

God is good.  I don't expect to keep Kid #6 very long, grandpa is doing all he can to clean up the place, but she has already expressed that she would like to "Stay" and "live here". 

Slap my face and call me shirley.

It's hard, friends.  This fostering life.  It's brilliant, and humbling, and  sometimes, HORRIFYINGLY EMBARRASSING and amazing and life swallowing and did I say, brilliant?? 

God calls us to be more than ourselves.  He calls us to be missionaries on a battlefield. 

My battlefield is here, and I WILL win this war at the eight one eight one. 

For He is Good.