Sibs Not Kids

To P and S (or Hash Brown 1 and Hash Brown 2, as you like to be called)-- I know this is not the life we thought we'd have, but what a wonderful life it is. July came and went, as did the anniversary of us becoming a family, in all its weird and messy and laughter-filled glory. In some ways it feels like the year has flown by. In both the best and worst of times, days quickly became nights which quickly became days. And still we stand together. In this tumultuous year you both have grown in ways that I could never have imagined. Your sister and I are so, so proud of who you are, and constantly think about how lucky we are that this is our life. I don't say this much because I don't want you to feel uncomfortable, but I want to let you know that I love you more than I knew I could love. I look at both of you and all I feel is warmth. I cherish even the small moments, like when I get to drive you to work or a dance, and we just talk about your day or your favorit

Perhaps this is irrelevant content. Perhaps no one in the right position will ever read this, because really, who reads this at all except for Cindy, who I worked with two years ago (hi Cindy!). I want to talk about the importance of recognizing the work that moms do, not just because I'm sort of a mom and this work as a sort of mom has been the hardest of my life. I want to talk about this because moms and women in general can often find themselves relegated to the home, sometimes by choice and sometimes as a result of the society we live in and a culture of male dominance. And the home is an arena of comfort, not often recognized as a battleground of management, leadership, and steadiness. I worked for some time as an advocate at a domestic violence (DV) organization. So often, women find themselves freshly out of an abusive relationship that not only isolated them from their family, their friends, and their ability to make money for themselves, but also left them with an e

"This is our transition period." Over and over, we'd remind ourselves, "this is our transition period." This was our time for learning and adjusting and making mistakes and exhaustion crying in the car because we'd realize it was our only 20 minutes alone all week. This was our time to learn what it means to give grace. To ourselves and to our caseworkers and to our sibs, who, contrary to our occasional thoughts, were not taking two hours to get ready in the morning just to fuck with us. There was a sense of loss in our hearts. When we could finally catch our breath after a day of doctors appointments and job coaching appointments and preparing meals and preparing two people to be more independent, not to mention our own schoolwork, we mourned our youth. We mourned this loss of choice. We grieved this hypothetical life of adventurous twenty-somethings who took spontaneous road trips to the shore. And we were crushed by the guilt of it all. Of not feeding the

I have truly never felt so exhausted. Despite the fact that the sibs are on a normal sleep schedule, feed themselves, and overall are just not helpless newborn infants, I greatly underestimated just how tired I'd be. Over the past few months, I've learned to nap everywhere--buses, social events we went to, the dinner table. Literally anywhere for any amount of time, I take the time to turn everything off, mind, spirit, etc. Even if just for a moment. With a job that requires two hours of commute time a day, and in which the work itself is constantly intense and trauma-filled, I knew that things would need to change if I could continue to offer the best care possible. A manager position opened at my job shortly before I announced my resignation, and a few days after the sibs had come to live with us. The trauma of the work was equally matched with the trauma of the work environment itself. Everything felt unstable--lots of turnover in staff, everyone was trying to gain their

Respite seemed like a Godsend. Trained individuals coming to our home, helping with cleaning, feeding the sibs, introducing them to activities we wouldn't have thought of on our own? Yes, please! The best part of the whole arrangement is that we need to use the hours DSHS had allotted to the sibs; like, okay State, we'll take these moments to ourselves to make calls, run errands, or simply sneak a fast food snack that we haven't been able to have much of since becoming a family, if you insist, DSHS, we'll do you this solid. As life often works, however, this too-good-to-be-true situation, indeed, became too-good-to-be-true about a week into the process. Thanks, DSHS. I thought we could have been something. Though we've finally found a balance with our caregivers, our first few weeks were definitely rough. We encountered two kinds of respite workers: the sloth and the savior. The beauty and downfall of Brother P and Sister S is that they're really easy-going.

A google image result for "diverse family" If we had a housing association, I'm sure they'd be simultaneously thrilled and horrified. Our existence more than likely tripled the diversity cred for our neighborhood, especially since the Asian family moved out quickly after our arrival (I'm sure we had nothing to do with that). ~~~~ I've been told to love myself unconditionally, because love is love or whatever Taylor Swift and Katy Perry say when they're doing their makeup. I'm mostly there, with a few days of not being there at all. It's truly been a journey and I probably can't count on all the hands in the family how many times J has had to tell me over and over again that I can look how I want, how I can change my mind and that I am beautiful. Despite my cute shirts with bananas on them to match my new cute boyish charm, I've had a rough time grappling with this new look since I cut my hair a few years ago.  In all honesty