The way my daughter’s school day is set up, she has an hour and a half break in the middle of the day. Since I’m able to set my own work schedule (for the most part), that break is when I try to get my kids some fresh air and let them run off some energy.

Our latest outing took us to the Cook County Forest Preserve. We packed a low waste picnic lunch, grabbed a therapy swing, and headed out.

We had lunch first, then took to exploring, all while I worked remotely and sat on conference calls.

Low waste hipster lunch

After lunch, we went exploring, collected big sticks, and collected golf balls we found from old dudes who use the forest preserve as an illegal driving range.

The best part about these large clearings is it gives the kids a sense of adventure and freedom to explore without my losing sight of them.

After a little while, we packed up our picnic and hung our swing so the kids could calm down and get ready to return to remote learning.

Afterwards, we left and went to my daughter’s virtual music class, where she was able to focus.

So if you find yourself pulling your hair out with your kids because they are bouncing off the walls, I highly recommend a picnic and some fresh air forest exploring.

If you saw my Facebook page a week ago, you would have seen I put Dyslexia Awareness Month as the frame around my profile photo. A friend, who was labeled dyslexic growing up, vehemently cautioned me about using labels.

I know how horrific school was for him. Now this was mostly in the 1960s and early 70s, and while some things have changed, much remains the same. He made some good points, taught me, and got me to reflect A LOT. So, I want to share some of what I learned with you.

A law was passed in 1975 (PL94-142) that changed things for the better, thankfully. However, sometimes appropriate treatment still slips through the cracks. All children deserve to be treated as individuals with a sense of belonging to the group and respect from all.

BASIC RULES

First of all,

Avoids judgments. Let me begin by saying be careful – VERY CAREFUL – before you ever label any child.

No one has the right to judge a child…EVER.

Labels stick like a bad tattoo and are just as hard and painful as a tattoo to remove.

So, think before you call a child slow, special, unable, or retarded. These are damaging, mean tattoos to give. You may create lifelong issues for that person

Only use terminology broadly accepted by professionals.  If you are going to label a child with dyslexia, autistism, ADHD, or apply any other label that may warrant accommodations, make sure you are following the facts and criteria. Name calling, such as calling a child slow, is being judgmental and has no use.

Secondly,

Think about what the label will accomplish for the child. If you don’t know, do NOT use it.  As far as I am concerned, there is only ONE reason for a label: to get something for the child and family – something that will be supportive and helpful and NEVER something that is punitive or embarrassing. The child and parents must be included in the decision.

The last rule is:

Language is important. The child may have a disability. The disability is NOT who the child is. (I hate the word disability, but that is another post.) Each child is an individual who has many parts to celebrate and some that may create a need for support, such as the teaching of coping mechanisms. For example, I have ADD. That is not who I am.

For I am a mother, a daughter, a wife, and a woman, who works in Early childhood and has ADD, who has published over 50 articles, who loves hiking and a whole bunch more.

So, the child may have autism, she isn’t autistic. She may have dyslexia, she isn’t dyslexic. I think attending to this language reminds us to see the individual as a whole. We all have challenges and gifts. If you want to know what to call the child, I recommend using the child’s name!

Implementation of the Rules

Now, my friend (mentioned in the introduction) and  I were in elementary school before there were  many rights for children who might need accommodations. I was also a demure little girl who quickly learned to hide her learning issues. On the other hand, he was an outspoken tall boy.

Was I lucky to avoid a label and perhaps a stigma and not get services?  He did not avoid services. He got them, and they were done POORLY. Who fared better?

Back then. Getting services could be NASTY, NASTY, NASTY.

Children were not put in the least restrictive environment; rather they were pulled out of the classroom so everyone could see they were special. And, believe me, it was not a special that made them feel good about themselves or made them popular. Instead, the opposite frequently happened. They were ostracized by their peers and called awful names.

Both my friend and I learned to cope and have achieved much since then. However, it has cost both of us. He still sometimes feels people label him. I sometimes still hide who I am. We both learned this behavior from the way we were treated.

The Goal is to Support

Please, remember, if we are going to use labels, make sure they are being used in a way that will support, rather than to hinder, the child.

 I have another friend, about 6 years younger than I, who was pulled out of class for stuttering. He learned to lie (which he still does today, sometimes, out of habit). Lying was a way to save face and look more typical so the others accepted him. Please remember that embarrassing a child by pulling him out of the class can be a big problem.

When I was an adjunct faculty, a few years ago, I did work with a student where a label was applied not as a stigma but to get services. The services supported the student beautifully. She was not identified or isolated from the group. It was up to her who knew about her accommodations. I was alerted privately to give her a choice of specific accommodations . I was never told the label. Why would I need it? It wasn’t who she was. It was for the special needs office to get her the right support. She was given the choice of  accommodations and coping mechanisms to support her learning.

The accommodations provided her with methods she could use to show her knowledge. In addition, taught her skills that she may generalize to real world situations. For example, she was encouraged to take photos of anything on the smartboard or slow down and ask for extra time. A child with a disability IS INTELLIGENT. She needs a method to celebrate her intelligence and feel good about herself

Conclusion

 When my friend, mentioned in the introduction, and I were growing up, having a disability was often full of shame and horrible treatment. Since 1975, due to the efforts of child advocates, laws have and continue to be passed to protect the child and their families. No longer is a child stigmatized and immediately taken out of the classroom. Rather, the child is put in an environment that is as unrestrictive as possible and remains part of the daily life of his classmates and teacher. Thus, that child has a chance to gain a sense of belonging and is not embarrassed. This benefits all, for everyone learns to accept one another.

Each child is an individual. A teacher’s job is to observe the child, see if he needs support, and determine if he meets criteria that will help gain that support. Will the child be able to compensate by himself? With a bit of help at home? Does he need accommodations? How might these accommodations be given in a kind, nonjudgmental and supportive manner? The goal is for the child to walk out of school feeling like a success, not walk out feeling like a horrible label with few friends.

We are living in anxious and stressful times. With all the things happening around us we may not consider that food can help with anxiety. I am not talking about a big piece of cake or a bag of potato chips. I am talking about healthy foods. There are not any foods that will cure anxiety but there are foods that will help you cope. Anxiety can not only impact mental health it can also have an impact on physical health. Anxiety can cause insomnia, digestive issues, irritability, panic attacks, headaches, stomachaches, and skin disorders.

Fruits and vegetables are foods that help calm anxiety and stress. Eating foods for a healthier body can work wonders in dealing with anxiety. Foods that help with anxiety include asparagus, avocado, blueberries, turkey, almonds, kale, salmon, oranges, and spinach. Following a clean eating diet helps with anxiety. You want to eat foods minimally processed. You should eat foods close to their natural state. Read labels and avoid food with additives.

Research shows that gut health helps with anxiety. Consuming probiotic foods like yogurt may promote mental health and brain function by inhibiting free radicals and neurotoxins that can damage nerve tissue in the brain and lead to anxiety. Other foods high in probiotics include soft cheese, kefir, sauerkraut, dark chocolate, and miso. There are supplements with probiotics. I do not take them. I know people who do, and they believe the supplements work for them.

Inflammation can increase anxiety symptoms. It can lower serotonin levels which can lead to feelings of anxiety. Sugar, fried foods, refined carbohydrates, excessive alcohol, and foods with trans fats can cause inflammation.

Coping with anxiety can be challenging. If you are at the point where you cannot function in your daily activities, please seek professional help. There are several places that offer free mental health counseling. Search the Internet for a location in your area.

It seems cliché when people ask, Would you buy a used car from that guy?  Used car salesmen have a bad rep, but do they deserve it?  Are they any worse than new car salesmen?

I recently traded my twelve-year old car with 160,000 miles for a two-year old car with 15,000 miles.  It was a much needed upgrade.

I hadn’t planned on buying a used vehicle, but car shopping in the age of COVID-19 has become even less enjoyable than it was before.  The whole dealership rigmarole while wearing a mask is suffocating.

I’m all for masks, but they make me a bit claustrophobic.

I saw a 2018 model online with only 15,000 miles, which seemed like a pretty good deal, so I arranged a test drive.

Broomhilda and I headed into the city for what we thought was just an out-of-the-house adventure.

Yada, yada, yada, I bought the car.  They beat me up on the price, but that’s my fault.  I wasn’t prepared and I was anxious to get out of there and out of my mask.

Their job is get the most for their cars and they were better at it that day than I was.  I just about gave them my old car.

On the way home, the dashboard indicated that I had a flat, so I drove directly to a Just Tires where we discovered a huge hole in one tire.  A “panel of experts” convened around the tire and decided that there must have been something lodged in the tire that centrifugal force dislodged at highway speed.

Twenty-five MPH OVER highway speed, in fact, but don’t tell anyone.

After a day or two of mulling over the situation, the dealer decided to reimburse me for a new tire, which was reasonable, if not ideal.

Tires should be replaced in pairs, but that’s another discussion entirely.

A few days later, while installing a WOUNDED WARRIOR PROJECT license plate frame on my “new” car, I discovered the license plate was screwed directly into the car body, not attached to a license plate bracket.

Not only that, but the screws were so long that they hit whatever is back there inside the tailgate.

When informed of this really bizarre turn of events, my salesman, previously my best friend in the world emailed me the following:  Our people would have never drilled the holes on the body of the vehicle. They were already there, sorry.

A wise lady once told me that when people say, We never do this or We always do that, they’re probably just covering their ass.

If drilling into a customer’s car is something that is forbidden and NEVER DONE at this dealership, why didn’t someone mention that they found holes drilled into my car?

According to the Carfax report, this car was first sold in Northfield, Illinois and had only one owner.  It’s all but impossible that a car dealer sent a brand new car out with the license plate drilled into the car body.

License plate brackets come with the car.

Someone screwed my brand new license plates into the body of my car AFTER I purchased the vehicle PERIOD

The only question is, who drilled the holes?

The bare metal inside the holes was shiny, with no rust.  Had they been drilled even a month earlier, rust would already have been forming on the bare metal.

At some point, I will have to fix those holes.  Rust, like cancer, spreads.

I don’t know what the dealer should have said when I informed him of the damage to my car, but we never do that wasn’t it.

Pictures of the holes, the screws, etc – which I sent to the dealer – are available upon request, as is the salesman’s name.

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Life as a foster parent is nonlinear.

When you are fertile. When you have biological children, there are certain things you can expect. You get pregnant. You have a newborn. That newborn turns into an infant. The infant turns into a toddler, who turns into a preschooler, who turns into a full blown kid, who turns into a teenager. There are predictable phases and they will be with you throughout.

With foster parenting this isn’t the reality.

We said yes to a call for a newborn Sept. 22 and picked him up from the hospital the same day. We drove two hours into Chicago to get him and sat in the NICU for the three hour discharge process. Nurses bumbled over paperwork – ‘Wait, do foster parents get this form? Are they allowed to know the parents name? Does the social worker need to be here for this?”

He was a beautiful little tadpole but the case was as brand new as he was and we had no idea what to expect. I withheld hope and chose to enjoy our time with him minute to minute.

When you are a traditional parent you can wonder what to dress your baby as for Halloween. When the girls asked me what he would be this year, the only realistic answer I could give was “It depends on if he is still with us. He may not be” as I restrained myself from spending $35 on a newborn dragon costume/swaddle hybrid (the wings were the swaddle. It was adorable.)

His background story is not mine to share, but it was a case of government overreach in my opinion. There wasn’t any real reason to remove him from his biological family. With that opinion from the start, I tread lightly with my emotions as best you can with a 7 pound baby clutching your chest, watching you with wide-eyes and complaining loudly at 2 a.m. As tired as I was, I embraced almost every minute of it, because I knew our time with little love would likely be short.

We were prepared for him to go at any minute, which is why all the congratulations I heard felt so unfitting.

I walked out of the NICU of the hospital, baby in tow and the security guard said “Congratulations!”

I stood with the nurse in the lobby of the hospital with baby in his carseat, waiting for my wife to pull the car around from the garage. “Congratulations!” A woman said, as she walked by with her beautiful box braid adorned toddler in tow.

I stood there, a white foster parent in a Cook County public hospital, taking a Black newborn to my home away from his family because the government decided his young Black mother was too much of a risk to allow her to parent. Before she had done anything wrong.

I had to put aside my fervent desire for a baby to call my own with this case. And it’s hard. But we do hard things all the time in this life.

I took baby out with my family and other foster daughter to a pumpkin patch the next weekend and strangers couldn’t help but comment on the tiny boy wrapped against my chest in a carrier that has held many before him.

“Wow, how old is he? Congratulations!”

“Aw, I remember that age!”

“I brought my baby here too when he was two weeks.”

Most people know that when they have a baby, they can look forward to raising him or her. They can build meaning and traditions. They can plan holidays. They can bring them back to the same places and say, “We took you here when you were two weeks old.”

With foster parenting, every minute is shifting sand and you exist in this limbo of parent but not really.

When I heard “congratulations” or “Oh wow you look great!” I felt the need to explain myself.

Well he isn’t mine REALLY. I’m just playing pretend until the judge sends him home. I’m not a mom, REALLY. Even though I am experiencing the same awe and wonder, the same sleep deprivation, the same worry and frustrations, the same financial outpour for this new life that needs formula and clothes and bouncy seats and sleep sacks and diapers and and and.

But it’s not the same at all, which is too much to unpack after “Aw, congratulations!” So instead I smile wanly, and say “Thank you, or “He’s a blessing all right.”

In the back of my mind – with every child who comes into my home – I know it may not last. I buy gender neutral and keep receipts in case the baby moves. Who has to worry about their babies moving out? Traditional parents don’t have that in their head. They can embrace the pure joy of a new baby. The people around them can embrace the joy of new baby, without qualifiers.

And it stings, when you introduce new baby and hear “oh, well can you keep him?” Or “I thought you were taking a break?” Or “Oh, well what’s the story?” Or “You’re setting yourself up for heartbreak.”

I am at peace with the fact that he went home, because really I have no other choice. And it was the right thing. I am truly trying to be less selfish and more intentional about fostering to foster, without the expectation of adoption, of forever, on this journey and I’m getting better with each loss. Because it’s not about me.

I am worried for my long-term kids, and wonder if I’m selfish for continuing down this road of hello’s and goodbye’s which are hard on them. I wonder if I should suck it up and go for another round of fertility treatment, which I absolutely don’t want to do. I would rather explore any other avenue than more IVF. But I don’t know what the right answer is. I know what I want and after seven children in a year and a half I’m not sure foster care can give that to me. I wonder if my hope is destroying the family I have, as I push for more and more yes’s.

And in the midst of it all is our 8 year old, who has been with us from the start of our fostering journey, likely headed to adoption next year. The wild enthusiastic troubled exhausting wonderful spirited child, younger than her years, who calls me mommy. Our very first placement whom we have formed traditions and rituals with and is as much a part of our family as the rest of us. The child who has welcomed and said goodbye to so many of our other children. I may not have gotten what I wanted…but when I slow down and look closer I feel like I might have after all.

We need a break and I think I need to force myself to take one. I haven’t texted our recruiters or licensing workers to inform them of our new opening, and I think it needs to stay that way for awhile. My fingers are itching but my soul is so tired.

And I think I may need to find the joy in the family I have, even if my baby never comes.