Apparently therapeutic parenting is like riding a bike. This time around I don't have to ramp up to the skill set so that's a plus. I am however hoping that the crying at the dinner table is a short lived thing. One of my favorite parts of the day is sitting at the table talking with my kids about our days. The eldest dropped into tears instantaneously when she was teased about a boy. Yeah. The tears at dinner need to go.
Oh and have that pesky Foster Mama Drama going on. (Yes still. This time we were accused of being hurtful regarding our lack of contact compared to the other foster mom- even though the kids hadn't moved in with us. My last kids had a saying. Nunya. As in Nunya business.) She can go also. This is one of those times where I wish being the petty, vindictive person was an option. I'd really enjoy telling her where she can stick her thoughts about this situation. BUT, I was not raised that way, I wouldn't want that to be the example I set, and I do understand where she is coming from. So I will put on my big girl panties and allow the kids to call her if they ask. And delete the equally forward and not very nice email I prepared in response to hers. And repeat to myself that I will kill her with kindness and be the more fabulous foster mom because this isn't about me. It's about the kids. And the kids might need her still.