I’ve always believed that family is not just a matter of blood-relation. Our foster kids, for however long we have them, become our family, and we become theirs.
Our two placements now have become part of our family and I can say that with these two, they are definitely “my” kids. In that I think God sent them to me as pay back for whatever I did as a child to annoy and frustrate my parents. Now, in my memory, I recall nothing about my behavior as a child that would be deemed ‘difficult’. Ok sure, maybe I did lie during my first communion, but come on, surely that’s not a big deal?
The other day the toddler and I were going through his books. We have a TON of kids books, over 100, and we were just going through them and looking at them. He dug around and pulled out “The three little pigs” and asked me to read it. This book had actually been mine as a child and I recall insisting on it being read to me on a near daily basis. I remember my older sister and Mother being quite sick of that book when I was a kid.
So I read the book to the toddler. “Read it again!”the toddler says. I read it again. “Again!” He says. I read it a third time. At the request for a fourth reading I tell the toddler I need to go do something and he can look at the book himself. He ‘reads’ it to himself on and off the rest of the afternoon. In 72 hours I read it 19 times. We play-acted it out half a dozen times, and we talked about it NON-STOP. Each time we read it he reacts like it is the greatest book EVER, and I recognize that feeling because I felt it, for the exact same book, 25 years ago.
When I called and told my mother this all I heard over the phone was non-stop laughter.