I am not much of a blogger anymore. I don't think it is a time issue but more of a motivation issue.
I am definitely doing things---raising four kids, preparing to become a high school teacher, trying to keep my family physically and mentally healthy throughout the Covid-19 pandemic and recent Black Lives Matter protesting.
But I find that I am more likely to sit on the couch when we are home because I have become more addicted to my phone to try and connect with the outside world in whatever way I can.
I'm not proud of that. It's just a fact.
When the Coronavirus hit the United States and stay-at-home orders were put into place, I had recently become the foster parent of Baby Ry and was in the middle of my student teaching. In those first few weeks, I regretted taking in a new foster child because I was struggling. I was scared. But I honestly had NO idea that we would end up in quarantine. I had no idea that I would be inside my home with four children on my own, trying to juggle my own life with homeschooling and virtual foster care visits. It. Was. A. Lot. And that's ok because we figured it out and I am grateful for Baby Ry being in our home.
In January and February, we were still chuckling over the panic that would sweep with the word "coronavirus". Remember when everyone was so scared about H1N1? I figured this would be like that. And my goodness, I was wrong.
As the country started opening, I heard about the murder of George Floyd. I watched the video and cried. I watched part of the video of Ahmad Arbery and cried. I watched videos of riots and buildings burning down. I didn't know what to do or how to make sense of everything.
I tucked Nixon in to bed at night and cried. I turned on America's Got Talent to take a break from the emotional exhaustion and an amazing black singer came on who had been wrongfully imprisoned for 34 years. More crying.
The weekend where most of this was happening, I was home alone with the two babies and Nixon would watch me cry and just squeeze my cheeks and snuggle into me. I know it was confusing for my 2-year-old to watch me cry so much but I was crying for him. I was crying for everyone like him.
I look at my son---my beautiful, black son---and see all of the good within him. I want him to live in a world that sees his goodness. I NEED him to live in a world that will treat him equal to his brother and sister, even if he makes mistakes in his adult life.
You see, I am not going to turn this into an argument of whether George Floyd or Ahmad Arbery had clean records. The truth is, I don't give a damn if they did or if they didn't.
I keep looking at my son, a child who will grow up with some trauma associated with foster care and adoption and in-utero drug exposure, and I will not promise that he will live a perfect life. I will spend my time teaching him right from wrong, expressing all of the positive qualities within him, and hope he makes good choices as an adult.
BUT IF HE DOESN'T...
And this is the key point here
I want to trust that my son will be given the same treatment and opportunities that his older brother and sister have. I want to trust that he isn't abused or murdered if the police are called on him.
I am scared for my son. I would give my life so he could live in a world that celebrates the color of his skin, rather than feels threatened by it.
I get daily compliments on how adorable he is---that blonde hair and those green eyes are uniquely Nixon---but I need people to celebrate those things about him when he grows up too.
I can do everything in my power to teach Nixon that he is loved and wanted but the truth is, if he goes out and the world tells him he is less worthy than the rest of our family because of the color of his skin, he is going to internalize that.
The past few months have been hard. I have felt isolated and scared. I have struggled with anxiety.
Luckily, I have found ways to ease some of those dark feelings through tik tok dances (not kidding) and making sure I get some sunshine every day. Before this quarantine, I had never really let the kids play in the driveway because we have a backyard. Now, we spend a lot of time in our driveway, eager to wave and talk with neighbors as they walk or drive by.
I am grateful for the good times but I am exhausted from the hard stuff.
Being a mother is everything I've ever wanted and I hope my kids understand that on the days I'm overly emotional or struggle with my lack of patience, I am still trying. I am still showing up and trying to figure this all out. And I'll never give up on that because they mean everything to me.
