It's a little ironic that on one of my more sour and exhausted days, I write about wanting to add another child to the mix. 

Since Ty discovered that the two little stubs below his waist actually took him places much faster if he stood on them, he has been relentlessly curious, determined, and stubborn.  He examines, tugs on, topples and deconstructs pretty much anything within his reach and line of sight.  This morning, I watched him careen around the living room, one compact bundle of energy and drool, stopping periodically to screech out something that could have been (if I didnt' know better) "don't you do that!", but it came out more like "dondooodooodat!"  He then moved on, full of purpose.  In a span of maybe two minutes, he had managed to investigate an outlet cover, the dog crate, a cabinet full of CDs, the doorknob to the sunroom, his activity table, and Mika's nose. I finally scooped him up and put him in his playpen.  All that motion might not tired him out, but I get beat just watching him.

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I am a runner and a racer.  Normally by this time in the season I would have competed in at least five or six races and might have even won a trophy.  I'd be in full-bore training mode--that is if I hadn't had my wonderful son last October.  It has taken some doing, but in the last two weeks I have finally figured out how to carve out some time for myself.  This post is about what happened when I tried to resuscitate the running season that I have tried so hard to start this year. 

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How do you stretch a three hour nap over a four and a half hour flight...you don't

 

 

It has taken some time to get this down on paper.  I think in reflection it is easier to find some humor in it.  My predictions of an ill-fated plane ride home though dramatic, were pretty much on the mark.  But really, what's a vacation without a little traveling drama?  It makes the story a little more interesting for everyone.  I would much rather hear about the crazy taxi driver who almost killed everyone, or the sudden thunderstorm that threatened to wash our beach hut into the bay, then "we had a wonderful, relaxing time." 

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Wishing my son could grow-up around my family

On the last day, I think we were all ready to head back home.  It was a good trip--the first time in recent memory that I had ever thought of moving back home.  In those seven days I got much more than I expected out of being with family, not that I had low expectations.  I felt their warmth in a different way than I ever had before.  After forty some-odd years of being their son, brother, uncle, friend, I was now a dad.  I don't know how that made me different or how it may have made them different towards me.  In any case there was so much good in what I and my little family felt from them. 

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There is no time in my life other than this one as Ty's foster dad when I have been so acutely aware of strangers and their potential impact on our lives.  Juan and I have encountered what seems like an army of people, many who claim to have his and our interests in mind.  We've met others who, on the surface, seem to have the best of intentions and give us no reason to believe otherwise.  But who are these people?  What roles do they play?  What power do they have to shape our lives?

Friend or foe?

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I admit it. This is the lazy blogger's post.  It's my turn to write something, but it's late and all this thinking is making my head hurt. I'm trying to focus on writing but find myself getting distracted by one thought..."Should I pack chicken nuggets or peanut butter and jelly for Ty's lunch tomorrow?"

So while I pull it together, here's some pictures from the west coast trip of Ty and The Animals.

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 The first two days of our trip saw Ty in rare form. Like some curly-haired, stubby Energizer Bunny, he just kept on going and going and going. On his first full day, he woke up early and hit the ground running.  Words that come to mind to describe what we saw – frenetic, giddy, zany, loopy…drunk. 

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Airlines Use Giant Baby to Push Back Plane from Gate 

 

So I don't have any horror stories yet to tell but we are only through day two of a seven day trip.  I was so wound up by the time we were ready to leave for the airport that I wasn't sure I could handle screaming baby / evil passenger drama...surely we weren't ready, would forget something, would regret not taking more time to pack.

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Somehow I have this fear and dread about our trip.  Did we mention that we're going out of town?  Finally, we have decided no matter what Ty's future is with us, that we are going to make this little guy officially a part of our family.  He will be introduced to our extended families, thus the non-stop flight to the West Coast.  Later this summer we are planning an up-state New York trip to hit Darrow's family.

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Regal. Loyal. Quiet. Territorial.  Mika is a facilitator, life-changer and life-saver. She has seen and experienced much, yet remains steady as a rock. And at 12 years old, I know her remaining time with us is short, but I have a hard time imagining life without her.

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Crying.

 

 

 

I hate to cry.

 

 

 

Hate.

 

My son cries at the drop of a hat.  Periodically I notice tears on his face and remember that just 30 seconds ago he was trying to tell me something, some unfortunate thing I had done or failed to do for him: need food Da-da, need sleep, need diaper changing, need you to pick me up, don't need anything just felt like crying, Da-da. 

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I don't like it when my son is afraid.  What parent does?  I remember the few times that I inadvertently frightened him and made him cry.  I am kind of a softy so it was a little mortifying.  But I quickly learned that I could turn his fear on its ear. 

 

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I am not really worried about our son's speech development, even if I am reminded by physicians that statistically speaking, he's behind.  I live with the little guy everyday.  If his vocalizations were not growing more frequent and more complex over time, then I might be concerned, but it just isn't the case.  The latest demand of him is to acquire at least a ten word vocabulary by June.  What if he only has eight, or five or.....two.

 

 

"My son, the world is collapsing all around you without these ten words.  You will never amount to anything if you don't pipe up.  And no, I'm sorry but ‘gukum blik grlikm' does not count as three words."  Now that it is May, I am beginning to feel his pressure--just 30 more days and counting.  Ohmygawd, maybe I can bribe him with candy or massage his brain; practice verbal calisthenics; tell him that daddy will spank if he doesn't start spouting off a few choice phrases!

 

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 The weekend was great. I don't think I could have asked for anything more, except maybe for a slightly warmer Sunday.

We packed up the car early Saturday (Day 6) morning and headed to the Rainbow Families Annual 2008 Parenting Conference. We were a little concerned about keeping Ty up and out all day, but he did really well. He got cranky later in the morning, so he and I went to the quiet room (a room for parents and their 2 1/2 years-or-younger kids) and took a nap.  Actually, I laid on the floor on my back, and he took a nap on me. 

Ty played...

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Ty woke up around 1:30 AM.   I swear, if he wakes up much earlier, he'll have succeeded in traveling backwards through time.  He must be stopped before he disrupts the space time continuum...and before we go stark raving crazy.

The previous night, Juan gave the time traveler some juice and that seemed to work, so juice it was again.  We didn't bother trying milk. Ty had been having trouble all week keeping it down, and we didn't expect things to be any different this time.

With the bottle finished, we put him between us and hoped that sleep would return for all. Instead, we got the usual bad manners - kicking, flopping around, whimpering, crying and smacking in the face.

And then the battle began.

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Our day started out way too early. The little one thought it would be cute to wake up at 3 AM and whimper his way out of his crib and into our bed.  His strategy worked...kindof. Unfortunately for Ty, he  has no bed manners yet. He kicks. He slaps. He flails. Ty is the ultimate bed hog. How can one little person take up so much room?

We kicked his little butt out of the bed and sent him back to his crib at around 3:25 AM.

The rest of the day passed without drama and that was alright with me. I had enough of dead rabbits, vomit and the dark, mysterious world known as the Department of Social Services.

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 Day 3 kicked off less dramatically (and less messy) for me than Day 1 and Day 2. Juan again took on the morning shift, allowing me to get to work early and get some things done. Ty handled his first drink of the day well, in part because Juan decided to give him a couple of ounces at a time instead of an entire bottle.  Also and hopefully, Ty's illness is subsiding.  We think we've narrowed down the cause of some of his issues of the past week to an ear infection in both ears.

So two things happened on Day 3, one of which Juan has some comments on.  I'll set the stage...

Ty was scheduled for an outpatient procedure on Day 3. On the afternoon of Day 2, Ty's worker informed us that she had notified the parents about the procedure and told them we (Juan specifically) would call them to provide time and location info to meet at the hospital. The suggestion was that Juan, Ty and Ty's mother were on their own.



Other than a brief introduction 4 months ago when Juan met the parents, we've had no interaction with them.  None at all.  In fact, I've never met either one.  I'm not sure how things play out between parents and foster parents in other cases in the system.

To say that we were a little incredulous about Juan being asked to contact and meet up with them at the hospital (without a social service resource being there) is definitely being kind.  The request felt like a setup for a very uncomfortable and awkward situation.

Enter Juan, stage right:

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 I had a lot of work to do this morning, so Juan took on the early shift and dropped Ty off at daycare.  I was up at 5:00 AM and at work by 6:10 AM.  On my way out, I caught the tail end of our continuing saga - Ty and the Resurging Liquids. I felt bad about leaving Juan with the mess, but he pushed me out the door. I  really didn't put up much of a fight to stay.

At a little after 1:30 PM, I Ieft work early (yet again) and made my way to the courthouse to meet up with Juan for the 2 PM disposition hearing. This hearing was to determine what's next for Ty.  From what we've been told and learned on our own, the court's options were:

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I should set the stage and say that A Week In The Life (AWITL from now on) starts off with Ty not feeling so hot. He spent the weekend alternating between deep sleep (and lots of it) and a strange, almost giddy behavior.

Despite his relatively happy disposition this weekend, it was clear that he wasn't feeling well.  Friday night was the worst. We went out to eat with some friends. Ty was sick at the restaurant and then two more times on the way to the car.   Saturday (above) he fared better and managed to hold down some fluids.  And Sunday, he seemed to be on the mend. Ty held down some french toast for breakfast, a couple of bottles, and some dry cereal. Late Sunday afternoon, he seemed to be getting worse, but then he perked up when one of our neighbors, who happens to be a physician's assistant, came by to check things out. We put him to bed Sunday night around 8pm and hoped that he was through the worst of whatever he was experiencing.  If not, one of us would need to take off work and get him to the doctor the next day.

 

So that brings me to this morning...

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I was one of those kids with the Vienna Choirboys kind of voice.  I loved to sing.  In my little elementary school every teacher had me perform for their class.  At the pinnacle of my fame, I was the target of ridicule from classmates but more so from my siblings who were mortified by the fact that their little brother was "performing" in our school.  Then I hit puberty and not only did my voice change, but I didn't even get so much as a baritone or tenor voice out of the deal.  It basically went nasal, lacking completely in depth and struggled to remain on key.  Even as an adult I can remember a friend of mine (that I haven't spoken to in more than a decade) who after happening to hear me sing, proceeded to ask me what I had done with the money that my mother had given me for singing lessons.  So between the loss of my voice and taunting from others I pretty much put a cap on the old singing thing. 

 

Well having a son has in essence brought my singing voice out of the closet.  You see he doesn't mind that my voice isn't very good.  In fact one of the things we have really enjoyed together is sitting down in front of my laptop and having a sing-along with one of our favorite videos.  Here are a couple of our favorites in reverse order:

 

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We are Darrow, Juan and Ty.  We are two Dads and a pre-toddler.  We are an interracial couple with a bi-racial baby and three hodge-podge breed big dogs.  We are as close to married as the law allows.  We are diaper changing, baby food flinging, bottle juggling newbie dads who sometimes trip up one another in our effort to care for our son.  We are a family like every family, but just a little different.  And yes, we are foster parents, sort of unwittingly, but fosters nonetheless. 

 

We are fun and games dads of the silliest kind.  We have no problem making strange faces and odds noises in public in an effort to entertain our son.  We revel in his beautiful smile and his hearty, infectious laugh.  We cannot imagine our life without this amazing little boy.  That is why we also periodically turn to one another in tears, because as fosters we find ourselves from time-to-time in a fragile state, knowing that his future with us is uncertain.  So we live in the yin and the yang, the one side making the other side that much sweeter and poignant.  And if we write about happy, silliness one day and sound like we are drowning in our fears the next, we hope that if you choose to read our posts, you will forgive us for sounding a little crazy.  Sometimes that is the reality of the Fosters--welcome to our world.

--D, J & T