Strange how isolating ourselves from all social contact has somehow filled our days. Maybe it's spring coming and lots to do outside; maybe it's Theo's scheduled 4-week break from work and the big list of household projects he's working on. Maybe it's both the effort and importance of maintaining social contact now--even a ten minute chat across the fence with a neighbor feels important now, like it's the highlight of the whole day so it fills the day more than it once would have.
For whatever reason, I feel busier now than I did last January when I had nothing to do but stew about how incompetent our social workers were. The only part of the foster/adoption issue that is coming to mind these days is how desperately grateful I am that my girls are not in their birth mother's home during a pandemic. I think there's every chance she would've killed them. I'm not kidding. She was already falling apart, neglect to the point of losing custody is no small thing, in the best of times while living in government subsidized housing, with every service possible available to her.
Imagine what she would've done if there was actual stress upon her? Would she have fed them? Would she have kept them out of contact with ill people? Would she have noticed if they'd gone missing?
I most often think of their lives before they lived here while brushing their hair. I brush each girls hair twice a day. In the morning I brush out the overnight tangles and put their hair up in simple pony tails. Just one quick scoop back to keep it out of their faces while they're playing. It takes me just a minute or two per girl. In the evening I brush their hair while they brush their teeth. Each girl stands on her own stool brushing her teeth over the sink while I stand behind them, taking out the pony tail holder and brushing out any tangles. Again, it's just a few minutes. Easy. Something to do while they're brushing teeth.
But when the girls came to me their hair was dry and coarse, the result of poor diet and living with smokers. I felt scared to even brush it--felt that it could just break off in jagged chunks. Because there were whole chunks missing--hacked off sections so that all of Jane's hair was a different length. Later I was told the aunt would do this "when I got her" because she'd have to cut out knots that couldn't be untangled. Jane had a habit of twisting her hair when she was stressed. She stopped that immediately after coming here.
Their whole lives they had dry, coarse, jagged hair forever falling in their faces. Every picture I've been shown by family members shows dull eyes hidden behind clumps of unhealthy hair. No one even saw the neglect that screams to me from every picture.
At first I tried to make excuses. Blamed the mother. But those pictures I've been given were taken while the girls lived, if even for just the weekend, at a relative's house. If you can't even dress the girl in clean clothes and put a barrette in her hair before taking her to that birthday party.... If this was their life on the best of days...
So, this shut down for me means some inconvenience, yes. Some rearranging and changing of expectations. I am sad Seth won't get his high school graduation ceremony. But, honestly, I'm just so glad the girls are here, and safe, and alive.
Every night while they stand on their step stools, in their footie pajamas, brushing vigorously (they love to brush their teeth--they never saw toothbrushes before they came here) with bubble gum flavored toothpaste, I brush their hair till it gleams. They have gorgeous hair. It is thick and shiny and supple. It's a pleasure to run the brush through it and watch it ripple and wave. In front of me their big, bright eyes smile back in the mirror. They adore this moment of maternal care; they lean into my touch as I brush and smooth. They avidly participate with the wiggling as clothes are pulled off and pajamas squirmed into. They still clap and grin when I get out the toothpaste, then sniff and taste the pink blob on their brush before jamming it into their mouth.
I think this part of bedtime is their happiest 5 minutes of the day (other than eating, that is). It's so easy to do. And no one else used to do it. No one else even thought to do it.
I simply cannot forgive all the adults who still clamor at me, telling me how wrong it is that they don't get to see "their girls" anymore, when they couldn't even be bothered to brush their hair. It is this tiny, simple thing that reveals the truth. What does care mean? What does neglect mean? To me, it's summed up in five minutes with a hairbrush with the smell of toothpaste and shampoo filling a warm, brightly-lit bathroom.
For whatever reason, I feel busier now than I did last January when I had nothing to do but stew about how incompetent our social workers were. The only part of the foster/adoption issue that is coming to mind these days is how desperately grateful I am that my girls are not in their birth mother's home during a pandemic. I think there's every chance she would've killed them. I'm not kidding. She was already falling apart, neglect to the point of losing custody is no small thing, in the best of times while living in government subsidized housing, with every service possible available to her.
Imagine what she would've done if there was actual stress upon her? Would she have fed them? Would she have kept them out of contact with ill people? Would she have noticed if they'd gone missing?
I most often think of their lives before they lived here while brushing their hair. I brush each girls hair twice a day. In the morning I brush out the overnight tangles and put their hair up in simple pony tails. Just one quick scoop back to keep it out of their faces while they're playing. It takes me just a minute or two per girl. In the evening I brush their hair while they brush their teeth. Each girl stands on her own stool brushing her teeth over the sink while I stand behind them, taking out the pony tail holder and brushing out any tangles. Again, it's just a few minutes. Easy. Something to do while they're brushing teeth.
But when the girls came to me their hair was dry and coarse, the result of poor diet and living with smokers. I felt scared to even brush it--felt that it could just break off in jagged chunks. Because there were whole chunks missing--hacked off sections so that all of Jane's hair was a different length. Later I was told the aunt would do this "when I got her" because she'd have to cut out knots that couldn't be untangled. Jane had a habit of twisting her hair when she was stressed. She stopped that immediately after coming here.
Their whole lives they had dry, coarse, jagged hair forever falling in their faces. Every picture I've been shown by family members shows dull eyes hidden behind clumps of unhealthy hair. No one even saw the neglect that screams to me from every picture.
At first I tried to make excuses. Blamed the mother. But those pictures I've been given were taken while the girls lived, if even for just the weekend, at a relative's house. If you can't even dress the girl in clean clothes and put a barrette in her hair before taking her to that birthday party.... If this was their life on the best of days...
So, this shut down for me means some inconvenience, yes. Some rearranging and changing of expectations. I am sad Seth won't get his high school graduation ceremony. But, honestly, I'm just so glad the girls are here, and safe, and alive.
Every night while they stand on their step stools, in their footie pajamas, brushing vigorously (they love to brush their teeth--they never saw toothbrushes before they came here) with bubble gum flavored toothpaste, I brush their hair till it gleams. They have gorgeous hair. It is thick and shiny and supple. It's a pleasure to run the brush through it and watch it ripple and wave. In front of me their big, bright eyes smile back in the mirror. They adore this moment of maternal care; they lean into my touch as I brush and smooth. They avidly participate with the wiggling as clothes are pulled off and pajamas squirmed into. They still clap and grin when I get out the toothpaste, then sniff and taste the pink blob on their brush before jamming it into their mouth.
I think this part of bedtime is their happiest 5 minutes of the day (other than eating, that is). It's so easy to do. And no one else used to do it. No one else even thought to do it.
I simply cannot forgive all the adults who still clamor at me, telling me how wrong it is that they don't get to see "their girls" anymore, when they couldn't even be bothered to brush their hair. It is this tiny, simple thing that reveals the truth. What does care mean? What does neglect mean? To me, it's summed up in five minutes with a hairbrush with the smell of toothpaste and shampoo filling a warm, brightly-lit bathroom.
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