lovemakesroom

Since April…

On April, we became foster parents for the very first time.

Not parents who had slowly eased into parenthood. Not parents who had years to prepare for three different ages, personalities, needs, schedules, appointments, activities, and emotions.

We went from being a two-person household to a family of five overnight.

Three kids.
Three, seven, and sixteen.

Keith, Kendra, and Kyron.

And somehow, in the middle of all the chaos, we built a life.

A loud, messy, exhausting, hilarious, beautiful little life.

We’ve learned that fostering isn’t just about the big things. It’s about the thousands of tiny moments that happen between them.

It has been parks, restaurants, shopping trips, tractor rides, hot tubs, petting zoos, birthday celebrations and family events.

It has been the Space Needle and the Seattle Aquarium, riding trams, going to work with Michelle, riding buggies with Grandma at her work and with Wiley at his.

It has been ice cream runs, holidays, cousin time, daycare friends, school events, movie nights with popcorn piled in the living room, and pizza dinners to officially ring in the weekend.

It has been bumps and scrapes from running outside and exploring the world.

It has been dancing at block parties, planting flowers, playing dress-up, watching storms roll in together, staying up too late, and having those wonderfully lazy mornings where nobody is in a hurry.

It has been dance, track, basketball, a little soccer, and somehow always another activity to get everyone to.

Parades.

Candy.

Glow sticks. So. Many. Glow sticks.

Fireworks.

Funny Snapchat filters.

New hairstyles.

Dance parties.

Bounce castles.

Imaginative play.

Arguments with Alexa.

Changing bedrooms and decorating them until they felt a little more like theirs.

Seasonal decorating.

Holiday decorating.

Baking sweet treats to share.

And watching three kids slowly add their own personalities and fingerprints to our home.

There have been plenty of firsts.

First fishing trip off the banks of Blue Lake.

First catch.

Boating and swimming on the Columbia.

Being brave enough to kick and swim around a 10-foot-deep pool.

Running through sprinklers.

Slip-and-slides.

Pools.

More sprinklers.

Western wear.

First pair of “poop kickers.”

Church.

A first concert at the Gorge — in a fancy cabana, because apparently we don’t do things halfway.

Opening gifts from another country.

Haircuts.

Countless laughs.

And the kind of ordinary afternoons that don’t seem important while they’re happening but somehow become the memories you know you’ll keep forever.

There have been family reunions and loving on everyone, including Great Grandma C.

There have been daycare friends and school friends.

There have been movie theater nights and living-room movie nights.

There have been birthdays, family celebrations, and holidays.

There have been dance classes and acro tryouts.

There have been track meets.

There have been new school-year SHEIN hauls — because apparently looking cute for a new school year is a requirement.

There have been foster kitties.

There have been sitting in police cars, fire trucks, and ambulances.

There have been classroom visits and meeting teachers.

There have been new experiences, new places, new people, and a whole lot of “let’s try it and see.”

And then there have been the hard things.

Ear infections.

Staph infections.

Pulled teeth.

A tonsillectomy and adenoid removal.

Medical appointments.

Therapy.

Speech appointments.

Big feelings.

Arguments.

Sibling fights.

Tears.

Behavior that doesn’t always make sense until you remember the lives these kids had before they came through our front door.

There have been nights where we were exhausted beyond words.

Days where I wondered how I was supposed to keep everything moving.

Days where Wiley was gone for work and I was trying to juggle three kids, a full-time job, activities, appointments, meals, bedtime, laundry, the house and everything else life decided to throw at us.

There have been moments when fostering has felt incredibly hard.

And moments when it has felt incredibly simple.

Because sometimes the whole point is just sitting beside a kid during a movie.

Making popcorn.

Taking them for ice cream.

Watching them laugh.

Helping them pick out something for their room.

Listening to a ridiculous story.

Taking them swimming.

Holding them when they’re hurting.

Cheering from the sidelines.

Showing up.

Again.

And again.

And again.

We’ve learned that being a foster parent isn’t just providing a bed.

It’s creating space.

Physical space.

Emotional space.

Family space.

It’s making room for another person’s routines, fears, preferences, memories, questions, moods, traditions and personality.

It’s letting them rearrange the bedroom.

Pick the movie.

Choose the hairstyle.

Plant the flowers.

Wear the ridiculous outfit.

Try the new activity.

Eat the ice cream.

Stay up a little too late.

It’s giving them opportunities to experience things they may not have experienced before.

But it’s also giving them something much less glamorous:

consistency.

A home where someone knows they’re coming back.

A place where dinner will happen.

A place where somebody will notice if they’re quiet.

A place where somebody will cheer when they catch their first fish.

A place where someone will take them to dance.

A place where someone will sit beside them after a hard day.

A place where someone will remember their favorite snack.

A place where someone will tell them, “I love you,” even when the day was hard.

And somewhere along the way, something happened that I don’t think either of us fully expected.

These weren’t just three kids living in our house.

They became our kids.

Not because fostering erases where they came from.

Not because we replace anyone.

Not because every day has been easy.

But because love doesn’t require a perfect story.

It just requires showing up.

We didn’t know what we were doing when we started.

We had never been parents before.

And somehow, our first experience of parenthood was:

three kids at three completely different stages of childhood, all at once.

We’ve learned how to pack snacks for three different appetites.

How to remember three different schedules.

How to referee sibling arguments.

How to celebrate three different accomplishments.

How to comfort a three-year-old, encourage a seven-year-old, and give a sixteen-year-old space — sometimes all within the same five minutes.

We’ve learned that motherhood can look like a dance recital.

Or a doctor’s appointment.

Or a fishing pole.

Or a popcorn bowl.

Or a wet swimsuit tossed on the bathroom floor.

Or a late-night conversation.

Or cleaning up another mess you absolutely did not have time for.

Sometimes it’s glamorous.

Usually it isn’t.

Sometimes it’s magical.

Sometimes it’s exhausting.

Usually it’s both.

Since April 3, we’ve collected an unbelievable number of memories.

Some huge.

Some ridiculous.

Some difficult.

Some completely ordinary.

And every single one has become part of the story of our first season as a family.

We started this journey thinking we were opening our home to three children.

Instead, three children opened an entirely new chapter of our lives.

And six months later, our house doesn’t look the same.

Our schedule definitely doesn’t look the same.

Our grocery bill is a whole different story.

Our patience has been tested.

Our hearts have been stretched.

Our home is louder.

Our weekends are busier.

Our living room has more popcorn.

There are probably toys in places toys should never be.

There are shoes everywhere.

Someone is always hungry.

Someone is always looking for their charger.

Someone is probably arguing with Alexa.

And somehow…

I wouldn’t trade the memories we’ve made for anything.

Because this season has taught us that family isn’t only built through biology.

Sometimes family is built one ordinary Tuesday at a time.

One bedtime.

One ice cream run.

One scraped knee.

One dance recital.

One fishing trip.

One movie night.

One doctor’s appointment.

One “look what I can do!”

One hug.

One laugh.

One hard conversation.

One adventure.

One day at a time.

Since April 3, we’ve been learning how to be a family.

And maybe that’s what these first six months have really been about.

Not being perfect.

Not having all the answers.

Just making room.

Showing up.

Trying again tomorrow.

And loving these three kids through every beautiful, chaotic, exhausting, hilarious, unforgettable day.

Our first kids.
Our first chapter.
Our first season of fostering.

And what a season it’s been.