So we've all been living together, in various locations and in various stages of disarray, for a little over a week now. Not that I thought it wouldn't take adjusting, but I think it's been a bigger challenge than any of us expected. That being said, none of us have been working--so I'm hopeful that once everyone gets into their regular routines, things will get a bit easier.
Living with a teenager is tough. Especially when you're used to your own personal space, not having to worry about or account for anyone but yourself. All of a sudden, there's rap music blasting through the walls, the shower runs for 45 minutes, and the cell phone becomes an appendage of the body. I try my best to understand, and to listen when he rattles on, because I know it's important that I can show I was listening later on.
So, we're all adjusting. Brandan started his new job today, I'm still working on the unpacking and disaster that is the house, and Joel got a job offer this afternoon working at the King Street Grille for $9/hr, and they are willing to work around his school schedule. He starts tomorrow at 10am, so hopefully that will go well. I have a medical test tomorrow for employment with the city, and a psych test on Wednesday. My parents come to visit next Tuesday, and we are toying with the idea of going to Bald Head for New Year's Eve with the whole family. I start with the CPD on January 3rd--perhaps after all that, some normalcy will come into our lives.
Tonight we're off to see the Festival of Lights at James Island County Park. In between the nagging and the reprimanding, I'm trying to throw in some fun, normal, family-like activities--we got a tree and decorated it together with Christmas carols playing, I hung 3 stockings on the wall, and we're going to see the lights tonight. All very cliche, I know, but Joel has never had anything like that in his life before. He's actually started wearing clothes that fit him, so I know we're having at least a small bit of influence. :)
Monday, December 20, 2010
Monday, December 6, 2010
Life Lessons
I'm struggling here. In trying to teach Joel how to be someone who both gives and gets respect, Brandan and I advised him to give his employers 2 weeks notice. Their response? Giving him zero hours on the schedule. At both jobs. After sitting at home for a week, they call him in yesterday to cover shifts when others didn't show up--and then proceed to again, give him zero scheduled hours the second week.
I realize this is an issue of poor management skills on their part, but it affects Joel directly. He needed the money from those 2 weeks, and told them he was leaving out of respect. What they are teaching him is he should just stay until his last day, without giving notice, and walk out, which is the complete opposite of what I am trying to teach him.
I know we should all just move on and let it go. I know it's not my place to say anything, or to get involved. But when I hear a voicemail left by his boss, on his phone, that begins with, "Hey Douchebag..." I can't help but be a bit angry at the way he's being treated. Had he been a crummy employee, fine, but he's not. He's dedicated, he shows up for work, he pulls double shifts when they ask him, and covers for others or comes in when they call him in at the last minute.
So, I continue to tell him that he did the right thing, and they are the ones at fault, but it isn't a very convincing argument at this point. I'm sure this will not be the last time I deal with this, but how do you teach what the right thing is, when the right thing brings the wrong results??
I realize this is an issue of poor management skills on their part, but it affects Joel directly. He needed the money from those 2 weeks, and told them he was leaving out of respect. What they are teaching him is he should just stay until his last day, without giving notice, and walk out, which is the complete opposite of what I am trying to teach him.
I know we should all just move on and let it go. I know it's not my place to say anything, or to get involved. But when I hear a voicemail left by his boss, on his phone, that begins with, "Hey Douchebag..." I can't help but be a bit angry at the way he's being treated. Had he been a crummy employee, fine, but he's not. He's dedicated, he shows up for work, he pulls double shifts when they ask him, and covers for others or comes in when they call him in at the last minute.
So, I continue to tell him that he did the right thing, and they are the ones at fault, but it isn't a very convincing argument at this point. I'm sure this will not be the last time I deal with this, but how do you teach what the right thing is, when the right thing brings the wrong results??
Thursday, December 2, 2010
Our Story
When I began volunteering at Wake House in Raleigh, NC in 2009, I had no idea what to expect. I had sought it out on a whim--I had seen multiple reports of children running away, and my curiosity got the better of me. When I first showed up on the door step, I didn't even know what it was. My boss had mentioned that it was some type of foster care facility, but even Google didn't have a good idea. Most of the employees were either confused or suprised, as none of them had ever heard of someone wanting to volunteer there. And the kids? They were convinced I was there for some other reason--to fufill school requirements, as part of my job, or they just thought I was getting paid to be there. They couldn't understand why anyone would spend their spare time hanging out with them, when I could have been doing so many other things. I wasn't so sure myself, but it didn't take very long for me to become convinced I was in the right place.
Wake House is a foster care group home owned by Wake County in North Carolina. It is a temporary housing facility, meaning the residents can only stay for a maximum of 90 days before they must be placed somewhere else, be it a foster family, another group home, or a theraputic facility. This particular property houses only boys, from the ages of 8-18. There are many shortcomings of the foster care system, some that have, at times, brought me to both extreme anger and to tears. There are also many other children in that facility, whether there for 9 days or 90, who have touched my heart in different ways. But this blog is not about them, and I am going to do my best to stick to the reason I'm writing in the first place.
I am a firm believer that everything happens for a reason. Not in a religious way, or a crazy "your destiny can't be avoided" kind of way, but I have realized that everything always works out in the end. I'm reminded of a quote, although I can't recall who said it...."Everything is always alright in the end. If it isn't alright, it isn't the end." I think we are faced with choices everyday, and I'd like to think that I made the right choices, as they have brought me to this moment.
When I began my first day of volunteering, I met Joel Noble. I could go on for pages about Joel, and how he came to be such a signifigant presence in my life, and I in his. I could tell you story after story about how we got from my first day of volunteer work to where we are now. I could tell you about the lying, the drugs, the days spent in court. I could tell you about the love, the forgiveness, and the space in my heart I didn't know I had. But no matter how many stories I told, you probably wouldn't understand how we got to where we are, simply because I don't understand it myself.
When I first met Joel, he was on house arrest. I of course only got his side of the story, and in working for the police department, I have learned to take the criminal's side of the story with a grain of salt. Yet Joel seemed truly dedicated to turning his life around, and he was just 2 months away from aging out of the foster care system. He was terrified of ending up homeless, which is what happens to childen in foster care who age out at 18 and have no family or friends to turn to. As Joel asked for my help, my husband's voice resonated in my head: "You can volunteer there as much as you want, but don't bring them home with you."
I threw myself into helping Joel. I decided if Joel wanted it for himself, then I was willing to help him. We spent endless evenings driving around town, trying to find employment for him, filling out job applications. After 3 weeks of searching, a new burger joint called Uncle Fatty's offered Joel a position as a cook, flipping burgers. With his newfound employment, we went on the hunt for an apartment, and by some miracle found a small studio for $400/month, all utilities included. I went with him to meet the landlord, who decided to give Joel a chance. So many people, taking chances on someone. Had just one of them hesitated--he wouldn't have made it. Joel moved out of Wake House and into his apartment on his 18th birthday, November 11th, 2010.
It's only been a little over a year since that day, but it feels like a lifetime. We have been through so many ups and downs, so many experiences. Joel has crossed me and lied to me, and I've said I was throwing in the towel every time. And every time, I forgave him. I found a little more space in my heart that I didn't know I had, and I realized that most of these issues were tests on his part, wether concious or unconcious. When you come from a family where you can trust no one, and everyone else looks out for only themselves, it is probably quite difficult to believe that there is someone, who is essentially still a stranger, that is looking out for you. It has taken its sweet time, but through the highs and lows, I think Joel has finally realized that family isn't always blood, and blood isn't always family.
On December 15, 2010, my husband and I are moving to Charleston, SC--and we are taking Joel with us. (Yes, we may possibly have lost our minds. And no, we don't know what we're getting into.) I made the decision that at the end of the day, I have to be able to say I did everything I could do within my power to help him. If I leave him here in Raleigh, with no family, no support system, and no one to expect anything of him, then I didn't do everything I could do.
Joel becoming part of our family was extremely unexpected. Every time my head told me to walk away, my heart told me to stay. From this point on, I only hope that I can show him what a family SHOULD be like, what love SHOULD feel like, and what a truly happy life is. The support from friends and family has been astounding to me, and I hope this blog will help them follow the next part of our journey, as we continue on our adventure.
Although this post should probably end there, I feel a need to recognize my husband for his support and dedication. We started this experience with "don't bring them home with you," and are now opening our home and hearts to Joel. My husband is not outward with his emotions, and can often be hard to read--but it is obvious that he cares about Joel. Perhaps he tolerated my initial dedication to helping Joel turn his life around, but it is plain to see that he has grown from tolerating it to embracing it. He deserves some sort of award for his patience and understanding with me.
My mother always told me I couldn't save the world. She was probably right. But I can sure try, one person at a time.
Wake House is a foster care group home owned by Wake County in North Carolina. It is a temporary housing facility, meaning the residents can only stay for a maximum of 90 days before they must be placed somewhere else, be it a foster family, another group home, or a theraputic facility. This particular property houses only boys, from the ages of 8-18. There are many shortcomings of the foster care system, some that have, at times, brought me to both extreme anger and to tears. There are also many other children in that facility, whether there for 9 days or 90, who have touched my heart in different ways. But this blog is not about them, and I am going to do my best to stick to the reason I'm writing in the first place.
I am a firm believer that everything happens for a reason. Not in a religious way, or a crazy "your destiny can't be avoided" kind of way, but I have realized that everything always works out in the end. I'm reminded of a quote, although I can't recall who said it...."Everything is always alright in the end. If it isn't alright, it isn't the end." I think we are faced with choices everyday, and I'd like to think that I made the right choices, as they have brought me to this moment.
When I began my first day of volunteering, I met Joel Noble. I could go on for pages about Joel, and how he came to be such a signifigant presence in my life, and I in his. I could tell you story after story about how we got from my first day of volunteer work to where we are now. I could tell you about the lying, the drugs, the days spent in court. I could tell you about the love, the forgiveness, and the space in my heart I didn't know I had. But no matter how many stories I told, you probably wouldn't understand how we got to where we are, simply because I don't understand it myself.
When I first met Joel, he was on house arrest. I of course only got his side of the story, and in working for the police department, I have learned to take the criminal's side of the story with a grain of salt. Yet Joel seemed truly dedicated to turning his life around, and he was just 2 months away from aging out of the foster care system. He was terrified of ending up homeless, which is what happens to childen in foster care who age out at 18 and have no family or friends to turn to. As Joel asked for my help, my husband's voice resonated in my head: "You can volunteer there as much as you want, but don't bring them home with you."
I threw myself into helping Joel. I decided if Joel wanted it for himself, then I was willing to help him. We spent endless evenings driving around town, trying to find employment for him, filling out job applications. After 3 weeks of searching, a new burger joint called Uncle Fatty's offered Joel a position as a cook, flipping burgers. With his newfound employment, we went on the hunt for an apartment, and by some miracle found a small studio for $400/month, all utilities included. I went with him to meet the landlord, who decided to give Joel a chance. So many people, taking chances on someone. Had just one of them hesitated--he wouldn't have made it. Joel moved out of Wake House and into his apartment on his 18th birthday, November 11th, 2010.
It's only been a little over a year since that day, but it feels like a lifetime. We have been through so many ups and downs, so many experiences. Joel has crossed me and lied to me, and I've said I was throwing in the towel every time. And every time, I forgave him. I found a little more space in my heart that I didn't know I had, and I realized that most of these issues were tests on his part, wether concious or unconcious. When you come from a family where you can trust no one, and everyone else looks out for only themselves, it is probably quite difficult to believe that there is someone, who is essentially still a stranger, that is looking out for you. It has taken its sweet time, but through the highs and lows, I think Joel has finally realized that family isn't always blood, and blood isn't always family.
On December 15, 2010, my husband and I are moving to Charleston, SC--and we are taking Joel with us. (Yes, we may possibly have lost our minds. And no, we don't know what we're getting into.) I made the decision that at the end of the day, I have to be able to say I did everything I could do within my power to help him. If I leave him here in Raleigh, with no family, no support system, and no one to expect anything of him, then I didn't do everything I could do.
Joel becoming part of our family was extremely unexpected. Every time my head told me to walk away, my heart told me to stay. From this point on, I only hope that I can show him what a family SHOULD be like, what love SHOULD feel like, and what a truly happy life is. The support from friends and family has been astounding to me, and I hope this blog will help them follow the next part of our journey, as we continue on our adventure.
Although this post should probably end there, I feel a need to recognize my husband for his support and dedication. We started this experience with "don't bring them home with you," and are now opening our home and hearts to Joel. My husband is not outward with his emotions, and can often be hard to read--but it is obvious that he cares about Joel. Perhaps he tolerated my initial dedication to helping Joel turn his life around, but it is plain to see that he has grown from tolerating it to embracing it. He deserves some sort of award for his patience and understanding with me.
My mother always told me I couldn't save the world. She was probably right. But I can sure try, one person at a time.
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