warp speed ahead!

Tonight, I went to watch baseball with my first niece and her family. That means her husband was there, as well as their three foster children, ages 11, 9, and 7. She also had two other little boys in tow, giving a break to another foster parent. My nephew Michael (her brother) and his girlfriend was there, too, as well as my out-law with the yellow sports car (her mother).
As it so happened, last night was a double-header at the ball park, as well as the final fireworks night for this summer of baseball. We had all arrived an hour late, not knowing of the early start, so the Sand Gnats were already in the bottom of the fourth while we were still out front. We were still there when the "7th inning stretch" song came on after the top of the fifth. I have a little pantomime I perform for the song and tried to show the kids, but they were too busy trying to get someone to buy them some Kona ice.
Shortly after, we entered the stadium and took the girl, my nephew, and his girlfriend to meet Mr. Willie. I introduced my nephew as "Clark Gable's son" and Willie knew immediately I meant my middle brother. Of course, he would, as he was the one who gave Ronnie that moniker! My nephew got a kick out of it and I expect he looked up Clark Gable to see who he was.
We stayed there in the stands and watched the last bit of the game. I explained to the 9-year-old girl what was going on and I think she was paying pretty close attention. She also got a kick out of my cheering for the team! After that inning and a half, the Gnats won and we headed to the playground to reunite with the rest of the family.
That was the most cohesive stretch of game I was able to watch. I think I may have caught about four innings, total, of the fourteen innings in the two games. Well, I guess that isn't so bad, as we missed the first four innings of play.
I'll go tomorrow and watch the game. For sure!
Anywho, this isn't about baseball.
It's about being parents.
When Mama was the age of my first niece, she had a ten-year-old daughter and three sons: eight-years-old, six-years-old, and a baby. I have no idea how she handled it. I guess it's as my bff told me some years back: she did it because it had to be done and she was the only one who would do so. As much as I was a Daddy's girl, he was there for fun times and as the back-up enforcer. Mama ruled the roost and made sure the bills got paid and meals were made and laundry was done and everyone made it to where they were supposed to be every day, including herself. After all, she worked full-time as a department clerk at the paper mill and had for several years.
Now, my first niece and her supportive, loving husband have three foster children. The eldest, a boy, is eleven years old. The girl, as I said, is 9. The younger boy is seven years old, but is mentally a couple of years younger than that. They have all been together for about two months, maybe a little longer.
My niece and her husband have been providing a safe home for children since May of last year. Since that time, they have been experiencing parenthood at warp speed, so to speak. Their first charge, made official on my birthday, was an infant girl, only about six weeks old and fresh from the hospital. The baby had been born with encephalitis and had an implanted shunt in her head for any future drainage.
She was adorable! She had this tiny white scar, like a cross, above her ankle on her dark leg, and her soul shone through her sweet chocolate eyes. We had all thought she might be adoptable, so we allowed her to steal our hearts. It didn't matter that she might have developmental issues down the road. We would deal with that issue in its own time. Plus, that would not be a challenge for my first niece, as she has experience with those special challenges.
For five months, we had that little girl, watching her grow and flourish. Alas, the adoption never happened. Even though the little girl's mother had signed off on it, her mother would not allow it, eventually convincing the baby's birth aunt to become her guardian.
We were all heartbroken.
Soon, though, they were fostering two little Near East sisters. They were four years old and about fifteen months old; the younger child had a broken leg. We all knew the girls would soon be reunited with their parents, who were both working hard to complete the tasks of the Department of Child and Family Services. The children were gone in only a few weeks.
My niece and her husband then had respite care of a toddler boy for a week or so before their next long-term children came to their home. They knew before the children arrived that they would eventually be going home to their dad. The little girl was five years old; her brother was a year younger. It was thought that the children would only be there for two or three months. No. The dad's progress through the DFACS program was slower than anticipated, but he did finally finish and received the children in early June.
Still, we all enjoyed each other, going to movies and out to dinners and lunches. As the girl was in kindergarten, there was also the new experience of having children in school. This meant more organized home life, with enforcing of bedtimes and helping with homework and having morning routines. Definitely, this was a different level of parenting skills than previously needed, but those skills were attained!
Now, they have these older children. School-aged, but more advanced. Since they're siblings, they CONSTANTLY pick at each other. If one has something new, then they ALL have to have something new. Constant checking of each other's status, constant monitoring of each other's perks, constant vying for the center of attention. CONSTANTLY.
If you're unaccustomed to it, it can drive you crazy. There simply is not enough energy in the world to combat that sort of nonsense. Nor is there any way to stop it from occuring over and over and over. Because it is constant, except when the children sleep.
But it's just what siblings DO. I remember my three brothers, in particular, going at each other what seemed all of the time. I became quite adept at tuning them out by diving into a good book.
I think Mama was able to handle their bickering by tuning it out, too.
The time to worry was always when there was silence around the house. That meant the boys were doing something they knew was a bad idea. So, noise was okay. It meant: situation normal.
My niece and her husband are good parents and are becoming better ones all the time. They're getting on-the-job training and, though it's rough sometimes, I know they wouldn't change a thing.
The kids are bickering and whining again?
Good.
Situation normal.