Sounds a bit like a band of wanted fugitives, doesn't it? Well, it has felt that way a bit this weekend.
I think I have found my limit...and it isn't eight, it is a number less than eight...like six. Everything is harder with eight. Feeding them, showering (one shower, remember), getting them to bed, keeping the decibels low enough to prevent the cranky neighbors from complaining, keeping someone from getting pushed, or bumped or trampled. I can't even imagine making our McDonald's run now...it was great with seven of us, nine seems impossible. (And I suspect it isn't just the numbers: the dynamics have changed dramatically.) We have had more tears (from very unlikely sources, ie not the American kids) in the last few days than in the month previous. One person is threatening to move out, and it isn't me (though I think I did dream about it).
I am not giving up, and I am not letting anyone move out. But it's hard. Really hard. Way more like an older child adoption than it was coming here and adding three. Those three were like an old comfortable slipper that we hadn't worn in awhile...still fit just fine. The new two are like a brand pair of dress shoes, tight in all the wrong places. Tomorrow is another day, and I am confident that each day we will find new ways to make this work...blisters and all.
1 comment:
Hi Donna, I'm sure that adding two new kids who've just been through a lot of upheaval and possibly trauma (how did they lose their parents?) has been VERY rough! Are they with you for the long haul? Why you?--isn't six enough?
You are doing an amazing thing but don't overstretch yourself.
Our thoughts are with you.
(I can't seem to sign in to my regular Google account so ignore if this seems to come from "bha bookprize"!)
Post a Comment