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...
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...
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...
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,...
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 life very differently. Maybe you pictured a mom and a dad, a decorated bedroom, your face in pictures from family vacations hanging, collage-style, on a wall.
I know that this isn’t where you thought you’d land.
You were here for the day and we did presents and cake. We did streamers and banners and singing and chalk art. You got binoculars, a small safe (because you’ve told me a thousand times that your stuff is always stolen in the system), a mug for your morning cup of creamer with a splash of coffee, and some cash.
It was fun, it was your day. When I dropped you off, you said it was “a most excellent birthday,” because you recently discovered Bill & Ted. I think you meant it, but I know it was hard to leave. I know it was hard to get dropped off somewhere that isn’t a home.
I get it. But I want to make sure you saw what I saw.
The kids, Johnny. When I told my son and the neighbor children (who, collectively, we call “the commune”) that you were definitely coming for your birthday, it was like I had announced that Christmas was coming early.
Jax, who only calls you by your full title, MyBrotherJohnny, changed our Christmas advent calendar to a Johnny Is Coming calendar. The neighbor kids, every single bright and early morning of the past week, knocked on our front door to let us know that there were “THREE MORE DAYS until we see Johnny!” “TWO MORE DAYS!” “ONE MORE DAY!”
They hunted for gifts and wrapped and decorated. They woke up talking about you, they went to bed talking about you.
They chose their most important treasures. To unfamiliar eyes, it looked like a bunch of old junk from their closets, but I think you got it, I think you saw it through their eyes. Jax decorated the dents of his favorite airplane and wrapped it up with that Mexican candy you like in a bedazzled fabric wine bag. (I encouraged him to try a box, but the wine bag was “way more fancy” so that’s what you got.)
Matthew gave you his favorite toy car. Of course it was broken because that’s how much he played with it. His little sister wrapped up her favorite piece of art that hung in their hallway, you got well-read books, a magnifying glass, a Nerf gun, and can I just tell you that when Phoebe, age six, handed you the pink gift bag containing her ceramic fairy house, I almost lost it. She said she used to look at it and see magic. She wants you to see magic, too.
The kids wrapped up their prized possessions for you, their absolute favorite things. They wrapped up their hearts and their excitement and their love in tissue paper and entirely too much tape and gave it all to you.
Because, to them, to us, you’re family.
Here’s the thing, Johnny, no one lands where they thought they were going to land. No one.
If you can let go of what you thought 17 would look like, if you can walk just a little bit away from the idea that a family has to look a certain way and be a certain thing, I think you’ll see that this, this right here, in all it’s quirky and kooky and chaotic glory, is your family.
I know this isn’t where you thought you would be at age 17. But personally, kid, I think you’re exactly where you’re supposed to be.
Happy Birthday, Johnny.
Becca
Readers,
A quick note: My year-long experience with Johnny’s life in the child welfare system has been eye-opening and, frankly, heart-breaking. It was a large catalyst for my involvement with a new non-profit, Generation Justice. The goal of Gen Justice is to restore rights to children, starting with those in foster care. It is a labor of love, fueled by our experiences and the simple belief that these kids deserve better. The founder is the mom to the neighbor kids I talk about in this post. Please like us on Facebook, we are very anxious to rally our public support and start changing things up for these children!
Sincerely,
Becca
Absolutely lovely❤️ Your family, the commune, what a wonderful, amazing bunch. So much love❤️
You are such a gift to this crazy world we all never expected. You’re exactly right, No one.