Driving to work this morning I experienced one of those quick-thinking parental instincts. Big sister sneezed and blew a snot rocket all over her face. It was one of those moments when panic sets in. I searched quickly for something, anything, that would soak up the mess. I had NOTHING. Immediately, I began rifling through problem solving skills in my head. Pull over? That won't help. Go back home? That'll take too long. Use the wadded up receipt tucked under the floor mat? Probably not the best option. Gas station!! I could see it ahead of us just a few blocks. But wait, it would be incredibly time consuming and challenging to get both girls out of their car seats, walk them into the store, back to the bathroom, and then use toilet paper. All that snot would most likely be all over my work pants or her new outfit at that point. I can't leave them in the car and run inside to buy a box of Kleenex...Lord knows I'd get turned into the state child protection services. And seeing a how I work for them, I'm sure I'd lose my job.
Then it hits me. As I turn into the gas station, I pull up right next to a pump and see the paper towels from the window washer buckets flapping in the breeze. Perfect! I swipe one, reach back and clean her face, and toss the towel on the back floorboard as I step on the gas. A 30 second detour and we made it to daycare on time.
Now, that's a picture of my brain during this 5 minute episode. What drivers around me and what my girls could see and hear was a totally different experience. I'm sure Sister kept putting her fingers up to her face because she was doing some research. She was researching "what sound momma makes when my fingers get close to this goop on my upper lip." And the drivers around me were probably wondering if they should stop and offer medical assistance. Here's what my person looked and sounded like: "Ew! That's so yucky! <cough> No! Don't touch it! <gag> Ew! No! Put your hand down! No! <dry heave> Sister no! Don't touch! <gagging dry heave>" as my head was whipping back and forth from watching the road to watching those tiny fingers smear that goopy, thick mess down onto her lips and over onto her cheek...with a huge toothy grin growing on her face the entire time. Ugh!
Once we reached daycare, life was back to normal and my stomach was back in it's original setting. We have a little routine we go through when I drop them off and then I escape while they get distracted with breakfast. Today, when I got back in my car I took a quick minute to check Facebook. The first status that popped up reminded me that today my childhood friends, who are also foster parents, would be facing a very difficult day of telling the children goodbye that have been in their home for a very long time. I sent my friends a text and then began my drive to work. I only made it a few blocks before it hit me.
A crashing wave. It hits every once in a while, when you least expect it. The world around you disappears and you don't know up from down. All of your breath gets knocked out of you and you feel as though you're suffocating. The sounds coming out of your body are unrecognizable. When your chest finally opens up, and you suck in air like its the first time you've tasted oxygen, the wave crashes over you again. I've met this wave a few times over the last several months. Sometimes it's just as I'm falling asleep in a very quiet, dark house. Sometimes it's when I'm relaxing on the couch after they're tucked in bed. Sometimes its when I'm sitting in my office. Today, as always, it was least expected. It came with the heavy emotions I was feeling for my friends. Knowing their hurt. Knowing their sadness. It's such a bitter sweet process, telling your foster children goodbye, and it's never easy. I will experience it in a few weeks, and I can hardly breathe when I think about it. Knowing today was their day, reminded me that my day is closer than I realize. When I drop the girls off at daycare or load them into a car that takes them to visit their family, I give them kisses and know I will see them soon. In a few weeks, I will give them kisses and face the reality that I will never see them again. I expect a typhoon to hit. I don't know when, but I know it will.
For now, I will pray for my friends that are hurting. I will find the pride in those quick-thinking moments of parenthood. And I will wipe those gag-inducing little noses.
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