Goodbye, Radish

Now that we are foster kid free, and I've sorta cleaned the spare bedroom, added all the junk that spare bedrooms should have, I'm nostaligic and thinking about all the kiddos we've cared for over the years.

Dear Courtney, Coleen, Ashley, Gavin, Nick, Deavon, Derek, Scott, Rich, Dillon, David, Kyle, Verle, Paul, Andrew, and the 1/2 dozen or so respite kiddos....I truly wish you all of life's happiness, and I hope that you are able to find the best in life that God has planned for you. Yes, even the big D.

Seven years ago, we were broke and I was wondering if our home would ever know the pitter patter of little feet. Today, I look around at the scarred furniture, floors, walls, doors, and can say, yes, we've had THE parenting experience. There's the dent in the living room wall from where the Big D used to slam his feet up against doing hand stands. The damaged doors, the grape jelly stains, and the giant holes all tell stories, not unlike the holes I see in my Dad's house.

The ceiling at home bears wounds from where my brother, age 12 or so, said "Hey I bet I can touch my elbow to the ceiling", but his head hit first. Or the ragged carpet that the cats kept scratching at, the burn mark from my tea candles (damn, was I lucky I didn't burn the house down!), and the little dings that kids leave on a house that says it's lived in.

My house now bears those marks. They made me mad at the time, but as I repair them I hope I can say "thank you Lord".