I’ve been waiting on myself to begin. I knew it was time to get back to this and I knew it was time for a shift. I shut down the old blog, bought a new name, and created a new site. A new chapter. But how to begin, Becca, how to start. The pressure. Y’all are like,...
My mom died on April 1, just a little over two weeks ago. I don’t know which cliché to use – does it feel like yesterday or years? Both, I guess. My mom was a young 74 and did all the healthy things – the exercising, the kale, the vitamins, the check-ups. I look like...
Well, it had to come. Some of you readers have been with me for a while now. You’ve read these random blogs and followed along on Facebook as Jax came home from China, was diagnosed with all the things, and proceeded to grow up into a teenage boy. He’s gone from...
So we’re homeschooling over here. It’s going really well, I’d say. We have great people, Jax’s anxiety is at an all-time low, he’s happy, he’s inquisitive, and importantly, he’s learning things that are relevant to his 14 year-old-life and skills he’ll use for his...
I have sucked as a parent lately. Truth. 'Tis the season for holiday lights and wrapping paper and for mom to be a stressed out asshole. That should be a Christmas carol. “Jingle bells, jingle bells, jingle all the waaayyyyy. My mom’s annoyed at everyone, please bring...
Dear Jax,It's Gotcha Day, little dude. We adopted you eleven years ago today. I love this day, but this year's celebration is bittersweet. Your grandmother died on Friday night. Your dad's mom, Grandma Mary. This year's Gotcha Day will be a little less inflatable...
A day or two ago, Jax had an appointment with a psychiatrist. Jax has never met this man before, but I have, and I like him a lot. He regurgitates mountains of stuff from memory, has a Harvard degree, and is smart, smart, smart. All good stuff when you’re a mom...
Johnny, I've been down at the Capitol this past week fighting for a bill that would expedite the adoption of older kids. I'm pretty invested in it because you and I went through this. We had nine months to make your adoption happen, and had I not already had a giant...
And I quote: "And after fourteen years of foster care, Johnny was getting all As and Bs in school, happily helping around the house, had checking and savings accounts, and looking for his first job - all within just a few months of being adopted into a family. "...
I've spent the last few days outlining an open letter to the person who hurt Jax. A real doozy of a piece, cleverly called "Dear Person Who Hurt My Child." I was going to write and publish it this morning, throw it all out there and let the internet lovelies react to...
The adult who hurt my son will not be charged. I'm a lawyer. I get it. There are no witnesses, no physical evidence, and Jax ...well, Jax isn't the best witness. At 13, Jax still believes that Noelle the Naughty Elf stole my car keys and tried to take my...
I am a Helicopter Mom. No shame here, no self-deprecating humor, there is really no other option for this child tornado of mine. Maybe helicopter isn't the right word, I think I'm more like the car with the flashing lights that travels behind the Wide Load truck on...
I was coming out of an Ace Hardware the other day - feeling super handy, I might add - and on the way to my car, I saw a woman standing by a table raising money. It was a legit 100-gazillion degrees in Phoenix and I was entirely prepared to do the polite smile...
I was sick this week. Throwing up throughout the night, curled up in fetal position at the base of the toilet, not sure how clean the bath mat is, I do not even care, I will never eat blue cheese in a salad again, SICK. Being sick as an adult is lousy. Being sick as a...
Dear Johnny, I know this isn't where you thought you would be at age 17. Still in the foster system, a day pass on your birthday, preparing to be shuffled around again, and then again and again. I know. As a child, you must have thought ahead to 17 and pictured your...
Last week, a family asked about adopting my foster son, Johnny. A family. Adoption. This was a big deal for a sixteen year old foster kid who moved in with me last month because he had nowhere else to go and had every intention of aging out of the system as an orphan....
I had a moment recently. My son, Jax, and I had been in the car running errands for a few hours. I was singing along to the Beatles channel when Jax said, "Mom, I'm hungry." Well, yeah, breakfast was a hurried cup of yogurt three hours ago so that's reasonable....
A teenage boy is coming to live with me. Today. In eight hours, I will be an official foster parent. It's been only a few months, but I have notes upon notes about my short experience so far with this child welfare system of ours. I can't wrap my head around how we...
Last week, I was in my favorite place in the world with my 15-person family. Every few years, we head to a ranch in the mountains of Colorado. We've been going here since I was a little girl, and there is truly no place I would rather be. I told my clients I was out,...
I volunteered to go to an education meeting last week with a foster kid. This kid was in high school and not too interested in me at first. I didn't blame him, I'd never met him before and this was a child who lives in a constantly-changing world with...
It was late-September of 2008 when we brought my son home from China, just two months before December and our sparkly, over-the-top, American-style Christmas season. My little boy had no idea what Christmas was. He had no idea who Santa was. Hell,...
This time of year, man. It’s stressful and chaotic and my annual intention of providing a Pinterest-perfect Christmas lasts about a day and a half until I decide that F-bombs will definitely help me assemble the gingerbread house. Ahhh, December. This year, the...
Jax’s eighth Gotcha Day is coming up. “Gotcha Day” is the anniversary of Jax’s adoption from China. It’s the day Jax became our son, and like good adoptive parents, we celebrate. Jax gets a few presents, we decorate, we eat pizza and cake, we participate in general...
I was at a Ross the other day. I love Ross. There is one by my son's school, and on the days I don't feel like laptopping at Starbucks, I walk around in their exceptional summer air conditioning while having riveting conversations with myself about my need for their...
"To girls everywhere, I am with you." This is how a woman who was assaulted and raped behind a dumpster at Stanford University ended her statement to her attacker at his sentencing hearing. My admiration for this woman is seeping out of my pores. If this were me,...
Johnny made it to his Army base on Monday.
Other moms are messaging me tips to survive boot camp, linking me to Facebook groups, introducing me to people who can show me the ropes. It’s lovely, but I’m in a different sort of situation.
“Hi Martha with your #ArmyStrongMama tank top, thank you for the hug. But I’m actually losing my shit because this kid almost broke me and I didn’t realize the stress of it all until he got on that plane.”
Smile and nod, people. Smile and nod.
It was two and a half years ago that I met Johnny at that school meeting, two and a half years ago he told me his graduation plan was prison. I listened to him, tough exterior belying a very wounded, very traumatized child, and realized he was right. After thirteen years in the foster system, 40-something placements, and next to no high school credits, prison with its regular meals, GED program and stability looked like a pretty decent option.
My goal was to keep him out of prison. He didn’t go to prison on Monday, he went to the United States Army.
I’ll be damned.
I take no credit for Johnny’s accomplishment – this is his and his alone. I am not even patting myself on the back for a job well done, because looking back, I don’t think I did that great.
In an ideal world, Johnny needed a calm and patient and permanently nonplussed mom. He needed open-armed, it’s going to be ok, Little House on the Prairie Mom. Instead, he got a sarcastic, Type A, always on the go-go-go Claire Dunfy type of mom. On more than one occasion – ok, fine, on many, many occasions – I reached down into my well of patience for this kid to find it empty. Bone dry, that stupid well. I feel bad about that.
I wasn’t a perfect fit for Johnny, but maybe he learned something from me. I hope so.
On my end, if we’re being frank, Johnny came to me with PTSD, but like a trauma contagion, I’m pretty sure I’m walking out with it. I have been threatened and sworn at and cornered. My sleep is a mess, I’ve gained a chunk of weight, and my finances will take a hot minute to level out. I sacrificed more than ever should have been on the table and I’m a bit of a wreck, truth be told.
Adopting Johnny and being his mother is, hands down, the hardest thing I have ever done. And it needs to be the hardest thing I will ever do, people, because My God.
But I put my money where my mouth is and I’m proud of myself. We did the best we could, the two of us.
Not all stories have Hollywood endings. I know you want to read that when we said our goodbyes at the Army processing place, he teared up and told me how much he appreciated that I took a chance on him and I told him he fit into my family as seamlessly as grocery delivery.
Neither of these things happened. Neither are true.
When I gave Johnny that final hug, we both felt the exact same thing – relief.
I don’t think that’s a bad thing. It’s not Hollywood, but with what this kid and I have been through, we’re lucky to have landed softly at all.
Johnny and I have lots of time – and now we have some distance. We needed both.