Clearing Out and Opening Up
admin February 14th, 2011
We have reached the attic in the great clean-out. That should imply that the whole house is clean. You are free to imagine it that way 
. The reality is that my house gets un-clean much faster than it gets re-cleaned, so no. The attic is an exciting place. The kids found a giant magnifying glass (used by Eric’s grandfather to read in late life), a cribbage board made by their maternal great-grandfather, a 1980s electronic chess game of Eric’s that still works…. It has been an exciting adventure so far, and there’s clearly more to discover as we sort through the more prosaic finds “do we know anyone who need’s Grandma’s walker….”
My afternoon’s work was to sort through the bins of clothes I haven’t looked at in well…a while. Eric’s grandparents died in the winter and spring of 2005 At the time of their deaths, my kids were 5, 3, 18 months and in utero, we were running our CSA, and sorting out their possessions was a major project that just seemed overwhelming and exhausting in that long, hot summer before Asher was born. Some things got shoved in the attic for lack of time and attention. Then, before the project was done, Asher burst into our lives, we had four kids 5 and under, none of them 100% toilet trained, weren’t sleeping much and were *still* cleaning out. So more stuff got shoved in the attic, and well, some of it I’m just getting to now/
Around 18 months, I started getting rid of Asher’s things, determined, despite my body’s habit of getting pregnant around birth control methods that are supposed to have negligible failure rates, that he was it. But I never went back and looked at the baby things, the stuff that ranged in size from a few preemie outfits worn by tiny Isaiah (who arrived 4 weeks early and after a placental abruption that thankfully healed itself) to 18 months. I have a gap between 18 months and size 5 in which I have very little, but it turns out that through an accident of planning, I have a lot of baby stuff. I’d forgotten how much.
Over the years I’ve given away boxes and boxes of baby clothes, but still, there were always enough. That’s the thing about baby clothes – everyone loves to buy them, even if you don’t need them. Everyone has them to share. So even though I gave several friends on the verge of first babies huge boxes full of stuff, there was always plenty more – it seems to sprout in the boxes and in corners.
Now my original plan was to allow myself one very small box for sentiment’s sake, the favorite and beloved outfits – the bris outfits, the gown with the bumblebees that is my most vivid of tiny baby Eli, the tiger outfit that a friend’s newborn son wore to Eric and my wedding, and then was worn by each of my boys in turn, the sweater, knitted on tiny needles by a best friend. The rest of it, I’d assumed, would go – and the crib, the high chair with its permanent coat of grime, the baby car seat, all off to pregnant friends, the local mother’s shelter, Goodwill.
Except that we’ve decided to adopt, and we are readying our lives and house for foster children. Although we have preferences about age and sex, I also know that few things are set in stone – it is possible that for a short term or a longer one, a baby could enter our lives again. What a thought…we could really have a baby? Oh. I hesitated and stopped. I might really need this stuff again – the thought hit me like a ton of bricks.
Now I know my family – I know that my mother and sisters are only waiting until the day I call them with ages and sizes to go shopping. I know that these children will get not just us, but an entire extended family who will be thrilled to help clothe them, to scour the resale shops and pass on the baby things they’ve saved (some even passed back to me from other children), and to buy the precious new things that will be part of the lives of these children. I know I have friends with children hanging on to clothing in the hopes that I may someday need it. And this is enormously valuable to me – because despite all I saved, it is not a complete supply. There are seasons I do not have – I never had a baby born in warm weather, for example. There are colors I do not have with four boys – no, the baby may not care, but it gets old answering “no, she’s a girl, I just like blue…” I have that gap, remember, and nothing for older girls.
This whole process of preparing for unknown children of unknown age or size is a good reminder of how much I need my community and its support – and we’ve already been flooded with help – babysitting for the MAPP classes, offers of furniture, clothes and toys, good advice from foster and adoptive parents who have been through the system. I feel very fortunate, and I know I’ll rely further on them.
Children in foster care arrive rapidly, unplanned. Sometimes they leave again, even if you don’t want them to, and they take things with them – I know myself well enough to know that children that arrive with nothing or a few battered things in a garbage bag will go home or to the next place with more, because well, they will. I don’t plan on babies. I don’t dream of babies. But if the right children include a baby, we’ll enter the world of babies again. I’m keeping the baby stuff.
There’s so much, though – how to sort it out and pare it down? Well, some of it is easy – the things I shoved, exhausted, into a bin because I was too lazy to sort it, the stained bibs, the clothes with permanent spit-up stains (or worse), the ones that went through four kids but were only built to last three – those are out. If I were expecting a baby the old fashioned way (G-d forbid) I might keep some of them. I could easily let my own cruddy 6 month old roll around in his brother’s ancient clothes. But kids who have little of their own, that’s different. I can’t precisely articulate why it is, but it is. The baby may not care, but I do. I know myself well enough to know I will simply never use the rattiest of the baby clothes on children who already have felt stigma from poverty, who have already known plenty of dirty and broken and not enough fresh and attractive. It doesn’t have to be new – I’m not passing up my values, and there’s enough baby stuff in the world to not need that, but it does have to make them look loved and cared for when they put it on.
Finally I develop a system – anything in bad shape goes, unless it has strong sentimental attachments. Anything in gender neutral colors – light green, yellow, white, purple…stays. Snowsuits and winter coats stay – those are expensive and harder to find. The soft sided baby shoes I love stay – expensive. The baby blankets stay – even bigger kids might like a blanket to cuddle. The ugly things go. The polyester goes. The things that I never let my kids wear – the undershirt with the inappropriate joke, the camo stuff that someone expensively bought and still has the tag on it, out. The weird French outfit that seems designed for a baby gorilla with freakishly long arms, but was carried lovingly from Europe by a friend stays…goes…goes. The rocking horse sweater made by a great aunt definitely stays. The dry-clean only baby outfit is out of here.
It is a very strange thing, to sort through these clothes, and pack together everything I own to 24 months in two deep boxes. I was surprised at how moving and strange it felt. It is quite possible that these boxes will never be used – no babies may come our way. I may open them again in five years and wonder what made me think I needed to keep these things. The children I anticipate and dream of are bigger, older, louder (you’d think our life was loud enough ). But there is a small piece of me that holds these clothes and says “Oh! A baby!” I can touch them and remember how babies smell and feel in your arms. I know if we take a baby the child will not be legally free for adoption. I know babies cost time and energy and sleep and go home to parents that might still mistreat them and break your heart. In principle, I am done with babies. But my boxes say otherwise. The crib says othewise, my faint attempts to scrub the accumulated stains from the tray of the high chair says otherwise.
Or rather it says we do not know, that we are not closing doors. I still don’t really want babies – I feel like with four kids I’ve been there and done that. I like bigger kids. But I know that I did not choose my children – they came to me as they came, and that foster children will come that way too. My hope is only that our experience is in some sense the same as our experience as parents – the sense of revelation, the discovery, the fear, the anxiety, the delight, the joy, the recognition that you who come into my life are not of my choosing and I am not in control here, but welcome, and please come in, we are waiting for you, who we do not yet know.
Sharon
- adoption
- Comments(15)
I started reading this laughing, and ended trying not to cry. Your family and any other children who join you will bless each other.
I love this post. And I love reading about your process, and the joy of finding that you’re beginning the process just as we are (we just finished MAPP. Why is it MAPP for you, anyway? Isn’t that Massachusetts? Aren’t you New York?) We’re hoping for a baby–but the uncertainty is still there–the what to keep, what’s too much? Can’t wait to read more.
As the eldest of 13, (ten adopted) I know all too well how that works! My parents planned to stop at 4 children ( 2 boys, 2 girls- 2 adopted, two homemade). Then my mom found out she was pregnant again…and we were offered a baby from Vietnam, and then another baby needed a home, and another and a pair of sisters, and so on! When I was 24, my parents went away for their 25th wedding anniversary and brought my youngest brother back with them!
Currently they are raising a grandchild and my mom still has bins of clothes marked by gender and age. Several times a year I make the trip home and we sort through clothes and give many away and yet the pile never seems to diminish. I get the feeling that it never will as long as she is alive.
For the record- I wouldn’t change a bit of it.
I cant help sharing my grandmother status at the old age of 45! As a parent of 4 children you will more than likely hold babies again : ) as a grandparent and, in this role, I can whole heartedly say that you bond and attach (almost) in the same way as your own : ) : ) Good luck xx
We adopted four baby girls in 3 years. If I lived closer, I could provide you with all the pink you’d ever need! Enjoy this brief respite before you begin fostering, life will never be the same!
Re adoption/fostering – take a deep breath and read
http://www.darcypadilla.com/thejulieproject/intro.html
I have been, thanks ET.
Sharon
I have the crib & high chair stashed in the basement & a box of baby clothes in my closet. My “baby” is almost 7 but…I always want to be able to say “come right over–you can stay with us; I have everything you need”.
Sharon, I am so full of good feelings after having read your recent post. It’s a wonderful decision for the right family, which yours certainly seems to be.
This is a fostering Facebook friend of yours who has been chatting with you recently about your upcoming foster care adventures – I am guessing you can probably figure out who I am ;-P Anyhow, I appreciated this so much:
“But kids who have little of their own, that’s different. I can’t precisely articulate why it is, but it is.”
Thank you for understanding this. So many of my friends and family (esp those who have a crunchy, anti-consumerist and/or anti-conformist POV) do not understand why we are so picky about making sure our (Black) boys’ hair looks good before they leave the house, why we don’t let them wear anything that is stained, why we.
The thing with foster care, especially with a transracial placement, is you not only have society as a whole looking at your family through a magnifying glass (one that is coated in a nasty grimy film, usually) …but you have the birth parents scrutinizing you (and frequently reporting your every misdeed to CPS due to their lack of control over their own lives and powerlessness about their children being out of their care)… you have CPS who no matter how nice your specific caseworkers are will be scrutinizing you and your kids’ appearances… the school the children attend which will be waiting for you to mess up. So on and so forth. I don’t mean to make it sound all negative, it’s not. But there are negative associations with foster parents and we do feel the need to show that there are foster parents who don’t put their kids in ratty clothes, who know how to do their kids’ hair (even kids of another race), who value their children putting their best foot forward each morning when they leave the house. More importantly, it’s also a question of giving kids who are often from poor backgrounds (and where I live, often Black) tools to cope with a world where they will have more to prove, and a harder time doing so, than a white, middle class, non-foster child. In addition, I can tell you that from personal experience foster kids often come into the foster care system with all kinds of hygiene-related issues… Parents who never brushed their hair, being “that smelly kid” at school, bedwetting issues (if they didn’t have those before foster care, they will once they’re removed from their families), and so on. Some may have even used poor appearance and hygiene as a way to keep perpetrators away from them. It is extra difficult and extra important to teach those children the importance of looking and smelling good.
So, my foster kids wear clothes that fit and aren’t stained. I repurpose or give or throw away clothing that has holes or stains, when I would just patch them if they were my own children. And it’s ok – I am still teaching them that looks aren’t all that matters, showing them about reusing and repurposing everything we can, etc. Their clean, new-looking, frequently quite fashionable and never out-of-date clothing comes from our awesome local consignment shops, EBay, Freecycle and friends.
hi sharon.
I read “Independence Days” several months ago, and have referred to you in conversation as “my friend sharon” ever since. between you and carla emery our family is making our way abundantly and independently.
today was the first time I’ve read your blog, and I am thrilled to see that “my friend sharon” is embarking on a foster care adventure. we have been foster parents for six years now, before we even had biological kids of our own. our kids are now 2 and a half (bio son), 11 months (bio daughter), and 16 (foster daughter. raising my kids is the greatest adventure I’ve ever been on. doing it all “the hard way” just adds to the fun.
we’ve just decided today to add a dozen chickens to our brood. it is our first leap into raising animals. we finally decided to say “bunt to the whee!” and take the plunge.
just want to let you know that you have a fan in the mountains of north carolina admiring you, being encouraged by you, and praying for you.
wendy
Is it fair to your four boys? How much of your time will be used on the Cuckoo birds babies? Having been a “biological” in a family of five “biologicals” that started out fostering four others, then adopting three of them, I often wonder how things would have turned out for the better if Mom and Dad had not started taking in strays. Out of the five natural born I am the only one that regularly talks with both parents, and that not very often. I know I sound selfish, but I have thought about this for forty years and with hindsight have come to believe that my parents made a grievous mistake. I have been reading you for about five years and I think this is the second time I have commented.
I can understand your frustration had having a less than happy childhood, and feeling that your parents and some of your siblings were to blaim, but I think it rather harsh to call them and your foster-sib cuckoo bird and strays. Whatever the circumstances, how could it have been the children’s fault they were placed in your family.
Less-than-ideal families can also be homegrown. Sometimes it is due, I think, to poor choices made by the parents. I have a friend, who, at the age of 18 was made guardian of two much younger brothers abandoned by their mother. Years later, her mother decided, to have a child by AI (because she’d missed so much) and died at 55 leaving my friend with an 18 months old half-sister to raise. Of course, you could argue that my friend was the one who made poor choices by agreeing to raise her siblings…
Should add that I have no intention of adopting or fostering children becuase I believe that don’t have the energy to do even the barely acceptable job I manage with my own. This doen’t mean that someone young, with more energy and an equally fantastic co-parent shouldn’t adopt more children.
Steve, actually we think a lot about this, and we do worry about it. And I do to some degree understand what you mean, although I admit, I don’t like the language. I grew up with foster siblings, four of whom stayed with us for several years. As a teenager, I resented them some of the time, and liked them some of the time. As an adult, I’ve always been grateful for the experience. I also had two teenage step-siblings gained in mid-childhood, both of whom were in the throes of adolescence. I loved them and was grateful for their addition to our family. We had five on one side (divorced parents) and 7 on the other, and I wouldn’t trade those experiences for anything.
So I guess my experience is very different from yours – I remember for the most part that these were enriching experiences. That doesn’t mean my kids will experience it that way, and both Eric and I do worry about it and think a lot about what we have time and energy for. At the same time, our lives allow us to be home most of the time – that’s the advantage of the farm. We think we do have time and energy and resources for this.
Will we make a mistake? Possibly, I honestly don’t know – I know I worried every time we had a baby, what if this was another child with autism, what if it destroyed our family life, what if we made a mistake, shouldn’t we just have have quit while we were ahead. At the same time, I can’t regret a single child, or not stopping. We want additional children – and the only way to do that is to take a risk.
I think you are right to remind me that it is a risk – and that’s scary to me. At the same time, I guess my life history suggests that most of the time, doing the crazy thing works out pretty well for everyone!
Sharon