Crazy Thursday

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March 27, 2015 by greenhouse04

Toby is gone for a visit. Mr. Green is visiting a church member. Through the fuzziness of my head cold, I attempt to teach my children their school lessons.

Our foster worker calls and tells me of a two-year-old boy who needs a home. She sends me a photo and lots of documents detailing his case.

In the midst of the craziness of lunchtime, I read the documents, call my husband, look at the photo, call him again.

Mr. and Toby finally return home. In a few minutes of quiet, we decide not to take the little boy. I call Joni. She says “ok, thanks… and I have another question for you.”

She goes on to tell me about three-year-old twin girls who need to be adopted. No, not fostered, adopted. This is what we’ve hoped for – a child (or children) we can simply adopt, without the agonizing months of fostering.

I quickly tell Mr. about it. He’s changing to head back into town to serve at a soup kitchen. He likes the idea, too. I email Joni to say we are interested. She sends fuzzy pictures, which I study.

In the evening, Mr. returns home and joins us for some supper. The kids are already almost finished, and they soon hop down and go play. Once they’re gone, Mr. looks at me and says quietly,

“I saw three of the kids’ birth parents at the soup kitchen today.”

I’m shocked, but still not entirely surprised. (This is why we don’t go to the soup kitchen as a whole family.)

“Which three?” I ask, eager for all the details.

“Eddie’s mom, Emma’s mom and dad.”

I am very interested in Emma’s birth parents; Eddie’s birth mom not so much: we meet her once a year for Eddie’s birthday. We’re meeting her tomorrow, in fact. However, we haven’t spoken to Emma’s birth parents since she was six months old.

“Did they recognize you?”

My husband makes a wry face. “Of course they did. But man, they look… really rough. They look ten years older.”

“Did you talk to them?”

“Yeah, for a long time. They asked lots of questions about Emma. I told them she was very athletic. They laughed and said she got it from them.”

I smile. “I’m sure they’re right. I think she also got a temper from them.”

Mr. smiles back. “I got their phone number and an address where we could drop off pictures of Emma.”

This surprises me. Mr. has always been the more hesitant of us to have contact with birth parents.

“That’d be nice,” I say. “I actually have a letter for Emma’s mom in my purse, in case I run into her.”

“They know where we live now, though. The soup kitchen director introduced us as being from —–. They thought we lived in a different town.”

I shrug. “They could’ve easily found us if they wanted to.”

We mull things over awhile as we finish our meal.

“By the way,” I remind him, “we need to really think and pray and talk about possibly adopting these two little girls. And about the other adoption idea we’ve been discussing.” (Maybe I’ll say more about that later.)

“Yeah, ok.” My husband is always way more nonchalant about these important, life-changing decisions than I am.

He adds, “But wow, they looked rough. And I handed all three of them their meals.”

“That’s amazing.” I imagine my husband serving meals to the parents of our children.

That was yesterday. I’m glad crazy days like that only crop up once in a while!

Postscript: We found out today that we will not be able to adopt the twin girls. We are, however, planning to begin sharing pictures with Emma’s birth parents, and we’re talking and praying about letting her meet them.


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