Sibs Not Kids

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...

My earliest memories include serving as an interpreter for my brother to the rest of the world. I used to think I had superpowers, that maybe he spoke a language that only I understood. "He says he wants lunch," "He said he wants mom," "He's saying 'Fuck Christmas.'" I've always been a fan of accuracy and authenticity. Brother M is two years older than me, so I'd never known anything different than him and his muddling speech that over the years has evolved into a gruff mumble. Though I'm not a fan of the phrase, even in those days, I knew I was my brother's keeper.  ~~~~ She came into siblings in the kind of way that TLC makes shows about. One biological child (her), 8 brothers and sisters adopted from all around the world, many with disabilities. They were as dysfunctional as they were loving. They were the Brady Bunch on meth. In ways, she was Marsha Marsha Marsha, Jan and the housekeeper, whose name I can...