Foster Further

So this just happened. Jane got up from breakfast, waded into the mess of toys that were gotten out yesterday (while I was sick in bed most of the day) and never put away, and looked at me and said: "I want fancy toys. I saw them at the store. I wish I could have those kind of toys. Fancy ones like I saw at the store. That's where they are; we could go get them." It took me about 30 seconds of silence to process what she was saying. The little brat was, mere days after getting all new Christmas toys, asking for better toys. Fancy toys. Sparkly, plastic toys. Wow. I seriously wanted to burn it all down. Take every one of her toys and throw it away and leave her with nothing but sticks and dirt to play in. Teach that girl some gratitude. Instead, I calmed myself and led her through the thought process of acknowledging all she'd been given and how disrespectfully she was treating her new toys by leaving them all over the place. But, I gotta say, what a lesson...

Two days ago the most potentially dangerous thing that's ever happened at our house occurred. Jane opened the gate to the goat pen and let them out so they had access to where the three little kids were playing unsupervised (I was inside making dinner). Couple facts...the two goats are Nigerian Dwarf and only 18 inches tall at the shoulder. Yet both are so strong and adept at head-butting that they've knocked me to the ground before (with a sneak attack at the back of the knees). A month ago Kate wasn't listening to me while I was walking the goats on leashes and she got too close--one of the goats hit her square in the belly and, literally, sent her flying through the air and knocked the wind out of her. If I hadn't had the goat on the leash her next move would've been to put her head into Kate's body and kneel her front legs while she ground Kate into the dirt with all the force of her rock-hard skull. It's a brutal move that can kill a small animal. Or ...

Well, it happened. Social workers endlessly drilling the word 'foster' into their minds finally sunk in and Jane began using the word. It's not necessarily bad or a secret. I just don't like them learning a label for themselves if it makes them feel different or bad about themselves. I'd just as soon they transition from daughter in one family to daughter in another family. Not saying that'll be easier, per se...but I do think it's more accurate when describing their life journey. So, today the girls are playing and I realize Jane has decided one of her stuffed animals is "Foster Baby". The baby has to be quickly removed from one place (the couch) and put in a safe place (a box). Over and over again. She seems like she wants to act this out but is kinda stuck on what to do next so I decide to engage with her so I can help give language to whatever she's processing. Together she and I move the foster baby through a series of harrowing even...