My Triathlon Story

This January was a turning point for me. After 3 years of trying to conceive and 2 devastating miscarriages, my husband and I agreed to stop putting ourselves through the pain and inevitable disappointment that became more and more difficult to bear as each month went by.

It was time for me to let go of this dream that I had so desperately wanted, wished and prayed for. For years I had put off so many things thinking that caring for a life growing within my womb was just around the corner. The most significant thing I put off was training for the Tri-For-Life, a sprint-triathlon that benefits a ministry near and dear to my heart—Options Pregnancy Resource Centers.

Over the past several years I have watched many of my friends train together and compete in this worthwhile event. I have cheered them on one-by-one as they crossed the finish line with well-deserved pride. All the while I couldn’t bring myself to give that much time and effort into training for something that I might never be able to finish. You know, since getting pregnant was certainly just around the corner.

When I turned a corner in my life and thought process this January, I decided to reach for the stars and attempt to accomplish the one thing I had put off for so long. I determine that I would do everything within my power to finish the Tri-For-Life in June. Mentally, physically and emotionally I needed to invest my time and energy into something that I could have some measure of control over. Something tangible. Something I actually had a hope of accomplishing.

And so I have. I dusted off my bike. I bought a new pair of running shoes, and I elicited the exercise companionship of my nearly 10 year-old daughter, Leeann, who set out to accomplish this feat with me.

Just a few short months ago I could barely get from one end of the pool to the other without quite literally fearing for my life. I’ve had a fear of water in my face for as long as I can remember. I’ve never been athletic. I’ve never been fast. I’ve never had much in the way of endurance. Swimming 500 yards—I knew that would be a stretch. I was hardly any more confident on the bike, or in my running (er, fast walkingish) skills.

In just a short time my confidence in the pool has skyrocketed. Though it’s still not easy, I now know that I can make it from one end of the pool to the other and back again without fear of drowning or choking on water (which I was all too accustomed to!).

Today this non-athlete had the strength and endurance to not only swim 500 yards, but then to hop on my bike for a leisurely 12.4 mile ride, followed up by a 3.1 mile stroll through town on my own two feet. It sounds so easy, doesn’t it? Today this non-athlete has become a tri-athlete!

All the while, during this season of healing in my own life, I got to train along side of and encourage my daughter as she set out to achieve an amazing goal at her young age. Not only did she finish the race, but she did so with ease and she raised an incredible $1,273 for a cause near and dear to both of our hearts.

And perhaps together we will be able to help a woman or two realize that the unplanned child growing within her womb is indeed a blessing—even if at the moment the blessing is still in a blessing in disguise.

20 Kids and Counting… Foster Care Style- FAQ’s

 

Today marks a monumental day for me. I can now say I’ve had more children than Michelle Duggar.

Well, kind of.

We are caring for our 18th foster child now. Plus we have two kids. So, technically, I can say I have 20 kids and counting… right?

Of course, the most we’ve ever cared for at one time is five, and that was just over night. So really, I suppose I can’t really claim to have anything on a woman who cares for so many children at one time. But still, it’s fun to think that I have something in common with a woman who’s mothering I respect in so many ways. I mean, really, to have 19 kids and never lose your temper or yell? Oh, how I have so much I could learn from her wealth of experience!

Here's a little background on our status as a foster family:

In the past four years we've fostered 18 kids (a few on more than one occasion). They've ranged in age from 3 weeks old to 17 years. Typically we just care for 1-2 extra kiddos at a time. Our shortest placement has been 3 hours and our longest has been just over 6 months. Some placements have been incredibly easy and some of been terribly trying. Most are somewhere in between.

In honor of caring for our 20th child, I have decided to answer some of the most frequently asked questions we receive when people find out we are foster parents.

FAQ's

1.) What made you decide to do foster care?

Honestly? It's a God thing, plain and simple! We had taken the classes to get certified several years ago because we had reason to think my two (very much younger) half siblings might come into care someday. Time went by however, and we decided to pursue adopting a teenage girl through the foster care system when our kids (now 7 and almost 10) were just 2 and 4. That didn't end up materializing, but we did end up being relative foster parents to my siblings who eventually did end up in care. Because of pursuing an adoption and doing relative foster care we were fully certified foster parents, though we weren't actively seeking out other foster care placements. About 8 months after my siblings left our care our adoption Certifier asked if we'd consider fostering a pregnant teenager that had recently come into care, since she knew our home was a good fit for teenage girls. On a bit of a whim we decided to do it, and found out that we enjoyed getting to provide for a kiddo in need in this way. We had room in our home and in our hearts so we decided to keep up on our certification just in case we could fill other occasional needs as well. Over time the calls became more frequent and before we knew it we were an official foster family. So really, for us there never was a day that we "decided" to become foster parents. It just kind of happened.

2.) When it comes time for them to go home (or in some cases, to another family), how do you let them go?

I wrote extensively about this topic a few months back, because it's probably our most frequently asked question when people find out we are a foster family. You can read my heartfelt answer here: Parenting someone else's child: Falling in love and saying goodbye

3.) How do you keep yourself from getting too attached?

You don't. But getting attached is actually a good thing! When kids build healthy attachments to foster parents (or anyone else) it helps them to be able to transfer those attachments later in life. However, when a child doesn't form attachments, it can be quite difficult for them to form healthy attachments throughout their lives, which can lead to a host of problems in their future. The downside is that our family forms attachments with these kids and it often hurts to let them go. However, if doing foster care were about us, our needs and our comfort, we wouldn't do it. The truth is, it's not about us. 

3.) How big is your house? Does every kid have to have their own room?

We only have a three bedroom house. In our case our two kids have almost always shared a room and we've had one room available for foster care. Each kid in care needs a bed and a dresser and adequate space and privacy, but not necessarily their own room. Our foster care room currently has one large dresser and one small one, a shelf of toddler aged toys, a pack n’ play, a set of bunk beds, and a toddler mattress stored underneath. That way, we’re set up to take any age of kids on short notice.

4.) How do you keep yourself from getting bitter at the parents/family members of the kids you care for?

This is an interesting question. We are under no obligation to meet the parents of the kids who we care for, but I usually make it a point to meet them for several reasons. One of the reasons is to (hopefully)  help them know their child is being cared for by a fairly normal, loving family. I would be beside myself if I had no idea who was taking care of my children! Another significant reason is to gain some perspective. The majority of the kids we've had in care have been neglect cases due to drug abuse and/or mental health issues. When you meet a parent and realize that they're a human being who is struggling with addiction or mental illness, your heart begins to go out to the parent(s) as well. Sometimes they're able to do what it takes to get their child back. Sometimes they are not. Ultimately though, the choice isn't mine to make... and I have to keep that in mind.

5.) How do you deal with kids being returned to parents who you don’t think you should go home?

These kids have caseworkers, supervisors, Court Appointed Special Advocates, therapists, attorneys and judges who work together to decided within the confines of the law whether or not a child should be returned to their parent(s). Ultimately I'm contracted by the state of Oregon to care for a child while their parents cannot. As much as I might want to make decisions on behalf of the child, it simply is not within the parameters of my position as a foster parent. I could choose to become bitter when things don't turn out like I think they ought to, but ultimately it wouldn't change anything. On one hand I have to love these kids as if they were my own. On the other hand I have to hold them with an open hand and keep the perspective that decisions regarding their cases are not mine to make. Sometimes, admittedly, it’s easier said than done however.

6.) Does the amount of money you get actually cover all of a child's expenses?

Different people have different spending habits. This is as true for foster parents as it is for anyone else. The state gives us a specific amount of money per child per day to reimburse us for the typical expenses that are involved in caring for a child. How we choose to spend the money however, is ultimately up to us. If I were to go out and buy a brand new wardrobe and bedroom set for a each kid that came into my care I could easily outspend what we are paid. However, we've found that if we're frugal and resourceful we can easily provide for all of a child's needs within the amount that we're paid, often times with plenty left-over.

This depends on a number of factors, however. If we get a child as a shelter care placement (perhaps in the middle of the night or on a weekend until a Certifier can find a good fit for the child to be placed in long term) and they come with nothing but the clothes on their backs, then we could easily outspend what we are eventually paid. A pair of suitable pajamas, a tooth brush and one set of clothes can easily cost more than we'll receive for just one night.

However, some kids come into care (or come from another foster home) with everything they need which requires very little expense upfront and only a minimal amount of money in providing for basic needs and some wants along the way. 

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These are our most frequently asked questions about foster care. Hopefully it gives you a small glimpse into the life of a foster family. I'm open to answering more questions about foster care if my readers have any. Do you have a question about foster care that I didn't answer here? 

Giant Cupcake Bouquet

 

This is a giant cupcake bouquet I made for a Teacher Appreciation Lunch at my kids’ school yesterday. I can’t tell you how many people walked into the room completely unaware that these flowers were not real flowers. Better yet, they’re edible!

I could kick myself for not taking any pictures of this creation with my DSLR camera. AND, for not taking pictures of the process to give you a proper tutorial. My sub-par iPhone picture and your imagination will have to do… because, well, that’s all I have.

I wasn’t planning on posting this, I was simply planning on experimenting to see if my brain child would actually work out. And it did, and I’m bummed I didn’t take the time to take pictures to show you every step of the way.

However, since I have been unable to find a proper tutorial for a giant cupcake bouquet online that doesn’t cost a fortune in hard to find fake flower foam pieces, let me try to walk you through the process without pictures, so you don’t have to try to recreate the wheel like I did! You know, if you have an occasion that requires you to serve a ridiculous amount of cupcakes in a pot that makes them look like a giant bouquet of flowers.

What You Need

Time (don’t try to throw this together in a day, it simply won’t work)

A Giant Pot

Multiple cans of spray foam (depending on your pot size)

Tooth picks

Cardboard or solid cork board

Something to weigh down the bottom of the pot with if needed (rocks, marbles, bags of powered sugar…)

Plastic Wrap

Tissue Paper

Fake flower pieces (like baby’s breath)

Cupcakes, frosting, food coloring, tips, bags and supplies to create your desired flower(s). I used three boxes of cake mix to create approximately 34 mini cupcake flowers and 38 regular sized cupcake flowers. However, I did have a fair amount of cupcakes left over.

Here’s How You Do It

I bought a large plastic pot from Wal-Mart. Really, you could make this in any size or shape of pot using this method. I believe this one has an 18inch diameter.

I also bought 2 cans of spray foam, the kind that fills cracks around pipes, windows and such (the bottles I used stated they filled gaps larger than 1 inch.). I wish I could show you the bottle, but again, I wasn’t planning on doing a tutorial originally.

I was able to locate a round piece of cork board that fit perfectly on the inner rim of the pot just a few inches down from the top, so I didn’t have to fill the entire pot with spray foam. I think you could use cardboard just as well. I used two bags of powdered sugar to weigh down the bottom of the pot. If I had thought ahead a little better I might have used rocks, or some other heavy object to keep the pot from tipping over when covered with heavy cupcakes. But hey, sometimes you have to make due with what you have!

I sprayed both cans of spray foam in a circular pattern to cover the base of my cork board situated a few inches from the top of my pot. Then I continued to go around and around until the foam resembled a giant cupcake. Then I let it sit overnight and by morning it had significantly expanded in size. Really, I’m sure I could have used a can or a can and a half for this project, though it might not have ended up quite as large and dome-like as it did.

When morning rolled around, a few hours past the suggested 8 hour set time, I went out to my garage to find a HUGE dome on top of my pot. Most of it had set, but part of it was still tacky. I touched that part with my fingers which was a huge mistake. It turns out, you really should wear gloves when working with the spray foam. When it gets off your skin, it simply does not come off. And it’s sticky. And yucky. And it tears off your skin even if it’s been drying for 9+ hours. So I left it in the garage and waited until early evening, approximately 24 hours after I first sprayed the foam.

Then I used a serrated knife (a junk one, NOT A GOOD ONE… I don’t think it’s ever coming clean) to carve the foam down to the size of dome shape I wanted.

Then I set it outside to let the newly exposed foam air out. I would give this process several hours as well, because you don’t want your cupcakes smelling or tasting like spray foam.

Just before I assembled the bouquet, I covered it in plastic wrap set in place by tooth picks. Then I set tissue paper over the plastic wrap and set it in place with tooth picks as well.

Finally, I arranged the cupcakes where I wanted them using round toothpicks that are sharp on both sides. I stuck one side into the foam then pressed the cupcake onto the other half of the toothpick that was sticking out.

At this point, you could either decorate them on the bouquet, or take them off one at a time, decorate it, and place it back on the toothpick. It’s totally up to you.

There are a bazillion tutorials for making cupcake roses or other flowers, icing and cupcakes recipes, etc. in the land of Pinterest and throughout the Blogosphere, so I’m not going to get into that on this post. I will tell you that I used a 1M tip for the roses and followed a simple rose technique to get the look of the big cupcakes. I’m not sure which tip I used for the little ones.

Once the bouquet was complete I filled in the gaps with some little white fake flower pieces, to resemble baby’s breath.

This is a picture I took just as I removed the last of the cupcakes, if this helps give you a little bit of a visual as to how it’s constructed.

Once disassembled, I am sure this dome and pot can be used over again many times. Or at least it appears that this will be the case. I’ll make sure to let you know if it turns out that I’m lying.

You can see alternate methods of making smaller cupcake bouquets by clicking on any of the pictures below to see some of my previous posts:

I hope this helps. If you’re looking to make a giant cupcake bouquet and have any additional questions, please let me know. Also, if you happen to make one and have a picture leave a link in the comment section. I would love to see how they turn out!

Naming a daughter I will never know this side of Heaven

I wrote this post one year ago today, on what would have been my due date, but chose not to publish it at that time. This year has been a year of healing and moving forward for me. I can honestly say that I'm in a good place, having come to terms with the fact that my body is done making babies. It's been a long, grueling and heart-breaking process at times, but it's reality. I can't change my circumstances but I can change my attitude. 

Today is May 8th. It was supposed to be my due date.

I was supposed to be holding my baby in my arms today.

I was supposed to be surrounded by the sights and smells of  brand new baby stuff.

I was supposed to be mesmerized by every little feature on my new baby's tiny little body.

I was supposed to be anxious, nervous, excited, fearful, emotional, hormonal and sleep deprived.

I was supposed to be experiencing the joy of bringing another life into this world.

We were supposed to be a family of five after so much wishing, waiting, wanting and praying.

But instead, today is just another day. It says May 8th on the calendar, but my husband went off to work as normal, my kids went off to school as normal and I'm sitting here on my couch as if it's just another day. And it is just another day... but it's not supposed to be. It's supposed to be my baby's birthday (or very close to it). It's supposed to be the day that our family has looked forward to for so many years. Oh how I wish it were that day instead of this one.

I wanted to be taking our first family pictures. I wanted to be holding her in my arms. I wanted to be sharing her with the world. I wanted to be making public the name that we'd so carefully chosen for her.

Instead I'm grieving. I'm grieving the loss of a child that I will never truly know this side of heaven. I am sad for all of the moments that I know I am going to miss.

Through this process of pain and healing I am learning to take joy in the fact that my child had a life (albeit an incredibly short one here on Earth) and that she currently has a life, an eternal one in Heaven. I am trying to take comfort in the fact that I'm not actually missing moments with her, they simply weren't meant to be in the first place (I think, though I'm still trying to wrap my mind around that one honestly).

She was born into Heaven without ever knowing the heartache, sin, pain and suffering that she would have known if she'd been born here on Earth. She was born into the glory of eternity. She was greeted by the loving arms of Jesus. So why am I sad? I'm not sad for her. I'm sad for me. I'm sad for us. I'm sad that I have more questions about her than I will ever have answers. I am sad that my arms feel too empty and something feels like it's missing. I'm just sad. And I'm learning that it's okay to be sad.

As part of reading about and learning about the healing process Rob and I continued to come across the idea that we should give our child a name. At first I thought this was kind of silly (after all, we don't even know the gender). Over time, however the idea just imprinted itself on my heart and there was a name I couldn't shake despite the fact that it was one Rob and I had never even talked about.

The name was something that I would be able to come across in nature and be reminded of her. The name was one that I would constantly be reminded of as I saw the beautifully carved figures that represent our family on our mantel, including the one where an angel is holding a sweet baby in her arms. The name was one that will forever be etched in our hearts as the sleepy little town on I-5 in the middle of California that brought the most painful and terrifying hours of losing her.

When Rob and I began the discussion of whether or not to give her a name in the weeks after the miscarriage Rob told me that he kind of already named her but he wasn't sure if I'd like it, because of the painful memories it would remind us of. At first I was shocked that he'd given her a name without discussing it with me first. But then I was amazed when he told me what it was, because it was also the name that I couldn't let go of. It was so clear to us that it was meant to be her name. And if we get to Heaven and find out that she's a he, we'll just shorten it! But the fact that we both wanted to give her the same name without ever mentioning it out loud to each other cemented in our hearts that it was the name she was meant to have. It was her name. Without question. And in a strange instant it made her real to me. It gave her an identity that I could wrap my mind around. For me, it was the start of the healing process. My child has a name.

It's a beautiful name.

Her name is Willow.  

Just a day in the life of someone getting rescued by some life guards…

 Let’s say one day you’re just going about your business as normal. You’re slowly dragging your body through the water at a Master’s Swim Class reminding yourself with every stroke to breathe air, not water. You’re training for a sprint triathlon with well seasoned athletes in the lanes beside you. They go fast. You look like you’re trying not to drown. Which is true.

Then imagine that your swim instructor urges you to do a 25 yard (1 length of the pool) as quickly as you possibly can. You have fins on your feet, so really, you can actually go pretty quickly. “I can do this,” you think to yourself. Determined to give it all you have you set out with gusto. “One, two, three, breathe,” you chant over and over again. “One, two, three, breathe,” you repeat, recognizing that if you don’t tell yourself to breathe you may very well forget.

Then, let’s imagine you get a little more than half way down the lane (just past the point that you can reach the bottom of the pool because you are, say 4’11.5” tall…) and you unknowingly find yourself inching closer and closer to the lane line.

And, for grins and giggles, let’s imagine that as you glide your hand into the water you ram your poor little pinky into the hole of the lane line with such skill and force that it gets jammed more than halfway down your littlest finger. Stuck. Unable to be removed.

You pop your head out of the water and don’t even notice the pain in your arm from trying to unsuccessfully pull the entire lane line out of the pool as you attempted to pull out your pinky and just keep swimming like you’ve (blush) done before when you’ve gotten the same pinky caught (but not stuck) in the same line.

Because you’re cool like that.

Instead you realize that no amount of grace and composure is going to get your pinky out. It’s stuck. And throbbing. And turning deep purple.

You look at the life guard, trying not to cry. You start mumbling something about your finger being stuck. Then you start communicating louder. And louder still. Then the tears fall and the nice lady in the lane next to you turns around and comes over to find out what’s wrong. You’re trying to tread water but the fins are making it difficult. She holds you up while another lady comes to get your fins off of your feet at your request.

Perhaps at this point you don’t totally remember what’s going on around you because you’re imagining your pinky falling off in the pool. One of the ladies tries to pull your pinky out but it won’t budge. You scream, “Stop, it hurts. It really hurts.” As if that wasn’t already obvious.

Through huge tears you feel the lane line start to move. The life guard has detached it and jumped into the pool. He drags you, your pinky and the lane line that’s still attached to it to the side of the pool. Then he informs you that he’s going to lift you onto the deck. In one fell swoop this young life guard with muscly arms the size of your head (I’m not gawking, you would have to be blind not to notice) hoists you out of the pool and into the arms of, I kid you not, 3 other life guards who all just happened to be there (two off duty, one coaching swim team). Oh, and another swim coach who has, I believe, also been a life guard in the past.

Then, shivering on the pool deck you look down, starting to feel woozy. As one of the swim coaches call out quietly, but within ear shot of you, “I think we need to get some help.” Then a little more loudly she shouts to someone, “Go find SOMETHING we can cut this off with.”

Then you really start to panic. You look down. Your pinky is purple and visibly throbbing. You’re not sure how long your pinky will stay attached with this much pressure on it. It’s swelling more and more with every second. More swelling means less chance it’s going to slip out on its own.

You’re wondering if someone’s going to have to put you through horrendous pain and just pull your stupid pinky out, perhaps breaking it in the process. Or maybe someone else is going to come at you with a device strong enough to cut hard plastic. Or maybe fire men are going to have to come work their magic. Because getting rescued by four life guards isn’t a sufficient story to tell.

Then, in some random moment of clarity while everyone around you is trying to figure out the best course of action to take you think, “Maybe if I can get some of this blood out of the tip of my pinky, maybe it’ll shrink enough to allow me to pull it out.” So you start massaging the tip of your pinky. You’re not hopeful since it already feels swollen.

But eventually after 123 8-10 minutes or so into this endeavor, something gives and you are able to release your poor, pathetic little pinky finger from the mean terrifying grip of this horrible, awful lane line.

As you breathe a sigh of relief the wonderful life guards get you some water. And your glasses. And a towel. And some gauze and tape to control the bleeding. They take good care of you. They assure you that you’re going to be alright. After a few minutes they change the bandages and reassess the wound. Your pinky is bruised and bleeding and cut all the way around, but it still bends. And best of all, it’s still attached to the rest of your hand.

You realize you’re going to be okay. You wipe the tears from your eyes and try to compose yourself. Then you drive home and part way down the road you burst out in tears again. The pain is still horrible. And honestly, you’re a bit embarrassed.

Then you get home and after a few minutes your husband realizes you are home early and asks what’s wrong. Then he gives you a hug and you start bawling like a baby about the emotional roller coaster you just went through over a pinky. A PINKY!

After you take some pain medicine and spend a few hours resting you text your good friend, fellow pastor’s wife and swimming buddy to let her know that Mr. Muscles had to literally pluck you out of the pool today. You get a good laugh when she asks if you were actually drowning or just faking it!

You realize through all of this that you are a potential danger to yourself when attempting to do any sort of athletic endeavor. Despite your best attempts, you’ve never been much of an athlete—and it’s becoming more and more obvious that this fact is not likely to change anytime soon.

Perhaps this is best illustrated by reflecting back on the time just a few months back that you somehow not-so-gracefully managed to fall of a STATIONARY bike during a spin class.

Clearly, you are a woman of high class. Hypothetically speaking of course. Because really, stories like this would never really happen… right?