Chosen

April 2014:

Kingston was a month and half old when he was carried through our front door with just a small bag that held a few smoke-filled onesies and a blanket or two.  He was the fattest baby I had ever laid my eyes on.  In fact, the bottle beside him in his car seat resembled a chocolate milkshake more than it did formula because of the cereal in it. His eyes were vacant. His body was mushy like he had no muscles at all.  My heart ached as I held him and tried to imagine what his first 45 days of life had been like.

August 2014:

For 3 1/2 months, we got to love on him. Before the start of a new school year, Kingston left us to go to relative placement.  In the short time that we had him, King had already stolen our hearts and we loved him, but we knew being with family and closer to his mom was in his best interest. I prayed over him and drove him to daycare for what I thought was the last time.  

September 2014

The call came a month or so later when the relative could no longer care for him. I said yes without checking with Ben. In fact, I didn’t even call to tell him the news.  He came in late from a ball game to see me rocking King to sleep. The look on his face said it all- he wasn’t happy with me.

See, as I cried- as secretly as possible- the days before and after King left, Ben noticed. He wanted us to take a break. Not really. He wanted to stop fostering because he saw his family hurt each time a little one left our home. To care for them, you must love them. If you love them, it hurts when they leave- even if it has been only a few months.

But I reminded my sweet husband that we knew it wasn’t going to be easy. We wouldn’t--we couldn’t-- close our doors to children who needed us to spare a little heartache on our end.  He realized that I was right (which I wish he did more often), and we settled in to having a baby in the house again. 

Seven months passed with King a part of our family again.

Thanksgiving 2014

Kingston's 1st Christmas

 

King turns 1!

April 2015:

I remember that evening like it was yesterday.  It had already been a tough year with the sudden death of my dad in January.  Now I sat across the living room from the caseworker learning more loss was coming my way.  I listened in disbelief as she told me they were reunifying in a few weeks because we were at the one-year mark. Not because mom completed her case plan- but because King had been in foster care one year. That translated to me as  “we need to close a file so there is no more paperwork to do.”  I was angry. I felt like King’s best interest was not being considered. I knew reunification was coming within months if mom kept being consistent, but this seemed sudden. There was nothing I could do but pray.

So I did. I prayed for him and his adjustment, for our family dealing with more loss, but I prayed mostly for his mom. I prayed for her success as a mother. I needed her to be successful because I longed for him to have a happy, healthy life.

 April 16, 2015:

And then the day came that Kingston left us. I packed up his clothes and toys, I hugged him tightly for what I thought was the last time, I buckled him into his car seat, and I watched as he was driven away from our home. He had been with us a year, and I loved him so much. I was not prepared for how painful it would be.

I still wanted to be a part of his life in any way that I could. I wasn’t sure how she would respond, but about a week after King left, I reached out to his mom. She didn't have much of a support system, so I could be that for her.  We established a relationship, I helped when she needed it, and before long, King spent weekends with us.

Picking him up was heaven. He raced to the car with the biggest smile on his face. Dropping him off was hell.  He cried, I fought back tears until I was in the car, and then I cried all the way home. Every Sunday afternoon for about 2 months we endured these painful separations, and I longed for Fridays so that I had him in my arms again.

July 2015:  

In early July, I took my daughter on a cruise for her high school graduation present.  We only had wi-fi in ports, and I looked forward to seeing the messages and pictures Ben and the kids sent me. Mexico was no exception, but this time I had a message from Kingston’s mom: “How is King?”  Strange, I thought, since Ben wasn't planning to have him while I was away so that he could do a DIY project at the house. I couldn’t reach Ben at all that day, so I sailed home still curious about the text.

When I walked in the door from our trip, Ash and Liv were giddy with excitement. They grabbed my hand and pulled me toward my room. I opened the door to see King sitting on my bed grinning at me.  On his right arm was the smallest little cast I had ever seen. I began to cry- both kinds of tears.

I remember picking Kingston up after his first visit with mom following the second removal. His mother and I talked briefly about what she was doing with her case plan. She cried as she talked about how bad she wanted him back. I remember the last thing I said to her: "Kingston is going to know one of us as his momma. It is your choice who that will be." Visits didn't happen consistently after that, and by October, they weren't happening at all. 

So we continued to live life with Kingston a part of our family.  

Family Vacation in Gatlinburg TN

King turns 2!

May 2016: 
King was no longer our foster child in my family's eyes, and he hadn't been for a while. My kids thought of him as their brother, and I loved him just as much as I loved my other children. My heart was set on him staying with us forever. TPR (termination of parental rights) would soon come. There was nothing for our family to discuss when his goal was changed to adoption: we all wanted King to become a Kimbrough.

However, after two years of being in foster care, King had a relative show interest in adopting him, and she would be completing the process at the same time we did.  My prayers were that God would put King in the home that was best for him. Selfishly, I wanted that to be our home, but I prayed the prayer nonetheless.

King at the 4th of July Celebration

August 2016:
Both parental rights were terminated. However, King's father appealed the decision. He was incarcerated before King was ever born, and he wouldn’t be out for another 13 months- King would be 3 1/2 years old. I sympathized with his situation, but I also loved King with all my heart, and I could not imagine losing him. With our adoption paperwork already complete, we waited for two things: the decision on the appeal and the relative to finish up the adoption process.

December 2016:  

A few days before Christmas, we got word that the appeal was denied. I cried happy tears as we were one step closer to King legally being ours, but my heart ached for a father who may have purely wanted a chance to be a dad to his son. The relative made no progress on the adoption classes or the home study, so we had to continue to be patient and wait.

King turns 3!

 

April 2017:  

I have tried to stay positive and be patient over the last 8 months as we waited for the relative to finish the adoption process, but I have become frustrated and annoyed. She has had almost a year, yet she has not completed any part of it.  My prayers have changed; I no longer pray for God to put King in the home best for him, but I pray that King stays in our home-because this is where he belongs. I am also praying that this process comes to a close soon because my sweet boy has been in foster care over 1100 days of his precious life. 

April 24, 2017:  

We finally got the news we had been waiting months for! The relative was eliminated from the process, and we were the family being chosen to adopt King.  I couldn't imagine my life without him in it, and now I don't have to! Possibly before the next school year starts, Kingston will be a Kimbrough.

August 1, 2017:

Two weeks ago, we learned that today would be the day that Kingston officially becomes our son.  Last week, the Lord laid the word chosen on my heart. I looked at shirts for King, cake ideas, signs- all with chosen as part of it, but nothing felt right.  Then on the morning of July 31st, as I prayed over another situation, God revealed that the word wasn’t meant for King, but it was meant for me and our family.  We didn’t choose Kingston; instead, God chose us for Kingston. 

Today, King is three and a half years old. He is smart. He is going to be athletic because he already is fast with a mean right arm. He loves the beach and swimming in the pool. He loves to dance around the house and sing. He loves his brothers and sisters with all his heart, and if you asked each of them, they all would say that he is their favorite sibling. He is definitely spoiled, and I am to blame for that. When he looks at me with those beautiful brown eyes and sweet little smile and calls me “momma,” my heart feels as if it may explode.  

Kingston doesn't understand what today is about right now.  Unlike Olivia at the time of her adoption, King doesn't know any other family but us.  He is more excited that there is a cake on the counter that we will eat later. However, today I have cried all morning- good tears- because I recognize God's grace and blessings in my life, and King is one.  Today, Kingston is officially my son forever, and I am honored that God chose me to be King’s momma. 

Two Ruschmeiers and a Renovation

Marriage itself is a daily adventure, but you throw a home renovation in the mix, and you will find out quickly just how compatible you really are.  I’m not going to say that my husband is lucky to have me, but I really am pretty awesome, if you can look past the raging ADD and occasional (read frequent) selfishness. The selfishness really isn’t my fault, though.  I was an only child, and I did get my way A LOT. Thanks for that, Mom and Dad.  Nonetheless, despite my self-proclaimed “awesome wife” status, it turns out that I am not, in fact, an awesome construction helper, and through this experience, I have discovered that my husband, despite his inability to put a garbage bag back in an empty can, really is a saint. 

This man singlehandedly put new flooring in our entire house.  Note:  He actually has two fully-functioning hands, so I have no idea why anyone uses that expression, but I digress.  He would work all day at his regular job, then come straight home to work for hours on our new flooring, and while I am proud that I am not married to one of those men who drags his feet while doing projects, I have to admit he was wearing me out. Mama needs her sleep.  The sad part was that I wasn’t even working during the day, so I really had no excuse for any of my complaining, but I’ve never let that stop me before, so why start now?

 Yes, I tried to be as helpful as possible, but anyone who knows me knows that my attention span is virtually non-existent, and we were working at a time of day when my ADD meds had long since worn off.  And it was not my proudest moment, but there was at least one occasion when I gave him the wrong measurement and then blamed it on his penmanship, knowing good and well I’ve been teaching high school for fifteen years and can read anything short of hieroglyphs or Mandarin Chinese.  You see, another problem with only children is that we hate to be wrong.     

There was one thing I was not wrong about, though, and that was marrying David Ruschmeier.  I have yet to find too many things that the man can’t do.  Not many men would stay up until 3:00 in the morning to put a bedroom back together if they had to work at 7:00 the next day. I don’t tell him as often as I should how much he impresses me (mainly because I always want him to think he married up, so I can wear the pants), but every time he pulls off something like this, I am in awe—in awe not only of his ability to do things that a lot of people would never even try, but also in awe of his patience with his well-intentioned, but spastic wife, who tends to be more of a hindrance than a helpmate.  I love you, babe.  Thanks for simultaneously putting down flooring while putting up with me.  I know it was no easy task.  

Musings from the Brink of Insanity

I look forward to summer break just as much as my students do. In April, I start my countdown to the days of no alarms or work clothes, and I make a to-do list that is a balance of deep cleaning and outings with the kids. During this time off, the house stays neat and tidy, Pinterest-inspired dinners are cooked, and everyone has clean underwear all the time.  Summer makes me feel like a modern-day June Cleaver, fueling in me the desire to be a stay-at-home mom (a desire usually snuffed out by mid-July.)  This year was no exception as I eagerly awaited the end of May, marking the close of a great school year and the beginning of an even better summer.

However, June is now almost over, and nothing from my summer to-do list has been checked off. In fact, summer break has been the complete opposite of what I had envisioned.  The rain has been incessant all month, so beach trips and other outdoor excursions have been replaced with inside activities. Trips to the grocery store have been few and far between, so lavish meals have been replaced with sandwiches and chips, fish sticks and tater tots, or anything else I can find in the pantry that will keep the family alive another day.  

When he gets bored, he climbs walls.

For some moms, rainy days at home inspire productivity, but rain acts as a sedative to me.  When it is rainy, I don’t fancy changing out of my pj’s or brushing my hair- much less scrubbing toilets and organizing closets. In fact, I wrote on my to-do list “binge watch a show on Netflix” just so I could mark something off. In the last two weeks, I have become a fan of Survivor since Amazon Prime has 20-something seasons for me to watch, and I now know exactly how I would make it to the final three if I am ever chosen as a contestant. (Wouldn’t a season of mothers against their teen children be fun to watch?! Tribe names could be exotic sounding words that translate to ungrateful and under appreciated.)  

VBS kept us busy a few nights!

Many moms would use these rainy days to spend much-needed quality time with their children. The first three days were exactly that.  We cooked together. When I did my Bible study, Olivia read hers. We hung out on the couch and watched movies, and Asher even did chores with no complaining at all.  But just as fruit rots and milk spoils, the harmony in our little tribe soon turned to discord. The bickering and complaining began and I longed to leave camp for some peace and quiet. If only I could be voted off the Island. 

At this point, my momming now resembles less of June Cleaver and more of Rosanne Conner. Dysfunction has reached new levels in our home, and I don’t know how many more rainy days I can take before I enroll them ALL in daycare.  I came to this epiphany a few days ago when my three-year-old, wearing only a pull-up and a superhero cape, stood at the back door licking the glass like it was a cotton candy flavored sno-cone (his favorite).  As I yelled, “stop licking the door!”, I knew that if Mother Nature didn’t lay off with the rain soon, delirium was going to overtake me.

 Here are some things that I never imagined I would utter this summer, but ashamedly I have:

• Stop trying to light your sister’s hair on fire.
• You can’t put the dog in the dishwasher.
• Have you bathed this week? 
• Why do you have lip gloss on, son?
• Did you just scratch your butt and then grab watermelon out the bowl?
• Please stop feeding the dog your boogers.
• Who put coins in my glass of water?
• You can’t go to the mailbox in your underwear. Put on pants before you open that door!
• Do not put another Ramen noodle up your nose!
• Stop asking your brother to smell your feet while he is eating tacos! He can smell them after dinner. 

Luckily, the forecast shows a little sunshine heading our way, and nothing will help me regain my sanity like salt water in my hair and sugary white sand between my toes.  But I know that, although our shenanigans may move outdoors, the craziness that makes us us will continue, and I look forward to it with a mixture of excitement and anxiety.

As I sit here on the couch at two in the afternoon- still in my pajamas with unbrushed hair- my toddler is sweetly nestled up beside me watching the Spanish version of PJ Masks, which neither of us understands, and he is eyeing a booger on the end of his finger that he discovered on his cheek from a recent emotional meltdown he had over having to share a toy with his sister…..and the list of ludicrous things I must say to my children this summer continues. 

About Mom...and For Mom

She loves Jesus. She loves her family and friends. She is humble. She is patient. She is selfless. She is kind and caring. She is strong. She is thoughtful. She is wise.

I am sure she looks back and remembers where she failed and wishes for some do-overs, just as most moms do. But honestly, I can’t remember any time that she disappointed me. (Well, other than killing my kitten with flea powder when I was a little girl, but it was an accident and I am more of a dog person anyway, so I recovered quickly.) 

I don't remember her getting angry much with us. (I do remember that she had a mean swing with the flyswatter and her flip-flop, but I deserved every swat.)

What I remember most is her sacrificing for us, giving to us, and loving us.  Her family was her priority. 

Mom and my brother (Easter)

Titus 2:4-5 says that younger women must be trained to "love their husbands and their children, to live wisely and be pure, and to work in their homes, to be good, and to be submissive to their husbands." She taught me this by example. She lived out this principle every day for me to see. (Not sure that I am #winning with the submissive or housekeeping part, but she tried!)

Kelly (my awesome SIL) with Mom and me

Since Mother's Day is nearing, I wanted to say a few things to the most important woman in my life: 

I am sorry.  I am sorry for all the sleepless night that I caused you. I am sorry for being disrespectful and taking you for granted. I am sorry for acting like a spoiled brat. I am sorry for anything that I ever did that has caused you pain. 

I admire you.  You embody all the qualities that I long to possess. You are 1 Corinthians 13 and Proverbs 31 bundled all neatly into a petite Southern Belle.  Your servant heart and meek disposition inspire me daily, and I long to be the wife and mother you have been to our family.

I thank you. Thank you for all that you have done for my family and all that you continue to do. Thank you for loving me when I was unlovable. Thank you for believing in me and supporting me. Thank you for being a role model. Thank you for showing me what being the hands and feet of Jesus looks like. Thank you for being my mom and my friend.

I love you. 

"Her children arise up, and call her blessed." Proverbs 31:28

Dad and Mom on their wedding day!