He Belongs…

So today was one of those days…the days where there is absolutely no reasoning with your toddler who is doing theee most, raising absolute hell with no regard for your sanity or schedule.

So let me give you a little bit of the backstory on our oldest toddler (by ten months). Big boy U is three years old, meets no stranger and if by chance, you even thought of telling him that I wasn’t his mama, you’d definitely have a fight on your hands. We brought Big boy U home with our family when he was just three weeks old. I know his biological mom and you can say throughout the years, I have tried to be a mentor/big sis to her. Unfortunately, she has had some struggles. Growing up in foster care, mental health, teenage pregnancy, drug addiction/abuse, and homelessness are just a few. So when we got the call that she had given child services our contact info due to her newborn needing a home or would be placed in foster care, I knew that we would be loving on this little baby.

But what I didn’t know was all that would come with him; the unexpected world wind that comes with dealing with foster care and the twist and turns that happen to a child who was exposed to illegal drugs and alcohol while in the womb. The first few months I literally had to put him on my chest to put him to sleep. He would cry and shake uncontrollably. After the first few days of this happening, I took Big boy U to the doctor. With a look of sympathy and a voice filled with confidence, the doctor told me that this was normal due to Big boy being exposed to drugs and alcohol throughout the pregnancy. He told me to hold him close to me, tightly, throughout these tremor episodes and eventually they would pass.

Honestly, these three years have been a little rough. Listen, I am so not used to all that goes in to this. Yes, we have a total of six children, but let the record show that I am the mom that can give my children the “look” and hey get their lives together. So for me to have to be in the midst of the extreme tantrums, anger, screaming, disobedience and sometimes hurt that can come from my sweet boy, I have totally been out of my hook-up. I’m not used to this. I’m not used to dealing with so much from such a small package….

So, I’m learning.

I am learning to be patient. I am leaning to be calm and consistent, even when my guy is in full meltdown mode.

I am learning to hold him close and allow him to adjust to my heartbeat when his is racing.

I am learning to speak in an even, kind tone although there is so much screaming happening all around me.

I am learning to redirect negative behaviors.

I am learning to advocate for my child, the ins and outs of IEP’s and to not take the stares and uncomfortable looks of others personally.

But most importantly, I am learning that there were no mistakes made. Without a doubt, I know that Big Boy U being our son is God ordained. He was meant to be with us. So learning to teach, love, discipline, advocate and redirect him with love, and without breaking his spirit, is my mission…not easy, but for sure, it belongs to me.

Silo Living??

Wednesday morning, as I was getting ready, I had a thought…”no more silos”.  At first, I didn’t think too much of it but then I started pondering it.

Have I been living in a silo?? Do I isolate myself?  If I’m being completely honest is that silo living is easy for me.  That’s how I grew up.  There wasn’t too much community, it was just us.  It was always the underlying life lesson that “what happened in this house, stays in this house”.  There was no doing life together.  Even if something wrong or out of the ordinary happened it was never addressed and as if people turned a blind eye to whatever it was going on.

Before November of last year silo living was my thing.  My comfort zone. I am a introvert and being alone is my sweet spot.  Going through things and pushing past the pain and/or hurt to keep up a sense of normalcy is how I grew up, it’s what I seen all my life. All that I was used too.  Then tragedy hit…my older sister, who shared our home with us, died unexpectedly.  It was like my silo could no longer survive…I needed people, I needed community.  Looking back, I don’t know if I would have mentally/emotionally survived without the love and care of others.  People came in and did the things that I just did not have the capacity to do; cooking, cleaning, taking care of my children…just being there to catch my tears and pray healing over my heart.

My silo living has so shifted to communal living…and I’m okay with that because I seen all the good that came through the people in my community.