Our Happily Ever Aftermath

I'm writing a book. Or more accurately I have written a book and am trying to get it published. I have learned through some training I'm doing that a big part of becoming a published non-fiction author is having a following on my platform.  I didn't even know I needed a platform when I started writing so I'm a bit behind.  I am asking that if you have any interest at all in our journey that you do four things for me , pretty please.  1. Subscribe to my email list to receive weekly email updates and funny stories not shared on social media  sign up here 2. Share the link with friends in your circle.  3. Add me on Twitter and Instagram and encourage your friends to do so as well.  https://twitter.com/Go123Mommy Insta: Mommygo123  4. Pray for me as I pursue a literary agent and  publisher  Thank you for your encouragement and participation in our lives.  ❤ Chrissy 

If  there was a song dedicated the end of myself reliance, to its being lit on a funeral pyre as it floated out to sea, it would  start with a low whispered sticato of no no no no no no. The  crescendo would lift into a loud,  long high pitched wail and fade eventually into soft gutteral sobs of acceptance.  I have always been a pull yourself up by your bootstraps person. Not so much out of choice but of necessity.  I would encourage anyone who listened to get the help they needed while silently, slowly bleeding to death. All of that started to change when we first became foster parents. Being an island just wasn't an option.  Too many people routinely in and out of our lives to do it on my own.  The day, however that I finally broke, that my stubborn will and stubborn heart finally shattered was the day I found out my worst fears had been made real.  My worst case scenario was one of my children being molested. Not only had that happened but the perpetrator was a son I

I get it. It's a weird, kind of long name, and also apparently the name of an episode of a TV show I don't watch. Regardless,  it fits. The aftermath is the part after the storm.  Where you survey the damage and assess what to do next. You are joyful to have survived and frightened about what you may find.  In 2008 Tim and I spent a few months in Mississippi doing post-hurricane Katrina clean up. I remember hearing a story about a house that got absolutely destroyed by the storm surge and hurricane winds. When people were cleaning up they found one perfect China teacup that looked like it had been gently picked up and deposited on  a pile of rubbish. They continued to find odd things. Pictures undamaged in one place but utterly ruined in another. It was all the same storm but it affected every home and every person in different ways.  Adoption is a lot like that. A family had to be broken for my children to be mine.  Their lives were turmoil and pain intersp

  Lately when someone asks how I'm doing I snort and say something to the effect of "surviving" and move on to less uncomfortable topics of conversation as quickly as I can. I used to overshare. Sometimes I might still if I'm close to the person asking. But mostly the question makes me feel uncomfortable and inadequate. Which is kind of absurd, truthfully. I just can't seem to find the balance between oversharing about how hard my life is some days and undersharing so much that people around me think I'm just standoffish. I'm working on it. The real answer isn't much fun. I'm exhausted. I know I'll miss them being little but right now? I just need them to sleep, not hurt each other, stop tantruming over the same thing every day. They are beautiful, sweet, compassionate, loving children. I'm just weary of all the big feelings all of the time. There is rarely a day there are not tantrums and things getting ruined. We are trying hard to

 I n the past 4 months we have celebrated 6 birthdays and 3 holidays. The celebrations looked vastly different. Tim's 40th birthday party was entirely different from Maddie's princess teaparty, the boys low key movie going and dinner out celebration, Sarah's little family party with a few presents and an icecream cake and a stuffed unicorn as big as she is. My birthday Valentines Day, Easter, Mother's day . Such very different days but they all have one common thread. In one way they are all entirely the same. One way or another at least one child worked their hardest to disrupt and sabotage the day. It isn't their fault really. I don't think they wake up thinking "I'm going to act batcrap crazy on my birthday because I really like people in walmart/church/dinner staring at me." I think they have SO MANY ideas built up in their heads, so many expectations, that there is no possible way we parents can meet them all. We are doomed to fail. I still so

  I'm sure most of you know by now. I'm sorry for those of you who don't but I need to break the silence. This past summer my oldest son assaulted our youngest daughter and is now in a treatment program. Because of the nature of his offense he cannot come home for a while, maybe not at all. We are all processing and grieving. Everyone is seeing a counselor and we are trying to live our lives in as much of a normal way as possible. I have tried and failed to write this post a dozen times but then just can't find the words or the strength. We are all hurting, my youngest most of all. Next week will be the first Thanksgiving in 5 years that my oldest boy, my first son, will not be at home. Quickly on Thanksgiving's heels will come the first Christmas in 5 he won't celebrate with us. I am undone. I love my son but his past is so broken and he has so much healing to do, I find myself wondering when the next season of celebration will come with him a part of it,

The other day my littlest asked about her first mommy. Every time this happens I am gutted. It doesn't get easier for me but I'm glad she is comfortable talking about it. Hopefully opening the door to communication now will make it easier later down the road. It has never been a secret. We have pictures of adoption days hung up in the house. We have books about adoption on our shelves. Our oldest sons were 10 and 11 when they were adopted so they very much remember life before adoption. My girl is sunny, silly, and in many ways more mature than her four years on earth should allow her to be. To be sure she is every bit of a silly little girl but she sometimes asks me questions that I know if I blow off will just come back to me later, probably in public when changing the subject becomes more of a song and dance routine. So we have a policy of just trying to, in age appropriate language answer the question. When she asks me to tell her about why she couldn't live with her &

Over the past year I've had the privilege to write for adoption.com Here are some of my favorite pieces I've written so far. https://adopting.org/alabama-adoptions-during-pandemic/ https://adopting.org/choosing-adoption-already-have-kids/ https://adoption.com/all-i-want-for-christmas-is-a-forever-family/ https://adoption.com/how-and-when-talk-to-child-about-adoption/ https://adoption.org/what-is-a-mother https://adoption.org/what-makes-adoptive-families-different Do you have questions about adoption that you'd love answered? Email me or comment here with suggestions. Happy reading!

  Hi, my name is Chrissy. Some of you know me. Some of you invariably don't. I am a wife of Tim, a mom to 5 beautiful, unique children( all of whom we adopted from foster care), wannabe runner, Jesus follower, and actually a fairly boring person. I wanted to create this blog to chronicle our lives because I am sure there is someone else out there that starts the day wondering what on earth they have gotten themselves into with this whole "adoptive family" thing. I know we aren't alone but it sure feels that way sometimes. So, welcome. Stop in sometime and read about our antics. I don't mind if you laugh at me because one of the 4 year olds had the police called on us because she screamed so loudly the neighbors thought someone was being murdered. She was screaming, by the way, because her sock was on wrong. This is our life. I wouldn't have it any other way but some days I admit to wanting to get in the car and drive away where I can't hear the chaos. I ho