I will never again judge people on welfare.

Over the past few months, I have received--unwillingly--a huge dose of humility. And empathy. And some "You don't know my story, but that's ok; you don't need to" attitude.

On three different occasions, I was that lady standing at the cash register with a shopping cart full of WIC items and no idea how to use the card--that lady with the iPhone and designer wallet. Embarrassed that I even had a WIC card. Embarrassed that someone might see. Embarrassed when the cashier saw my groceries and automatically asked, "Is this all WIC?"

"We're not really poor!" I wanted to tell everyone in the checkout line, even though none of them actually cared that I had a WIC card and the chances that I would see any of them again (and remember them) were slim to none. "We're just fostering kids right now and we can use every last bit of help! I also have two stepsons that we support, so it's sort of like we're supporting four kids!"

The first time, I hid my phone in my pocket (because it's not like the iPhone silhouette is obvious, or anything) and tried to keep the card hidden until the absolute last second. Except, then I didn't know how to use it, so the process took about three times longer than it should have.

It was worse when my friend and I stopped by Operation Once in a Lifetime--after all, just a few weeks prior I had called to find out what was needed so I could make a donation. But all of a sudden, I'm filling out paperwork in order to check out the food pantry. I even began to fold up the paperwork, reluctant to hand it over even though I'd filled it out. My conversation with the volunteer went something like this:

"I'd like to keep this and talk to my husband about it, first. We probably won't need assistance within a few days."

"What do you mean?"

"The kids are with us temporarily, and I'm sure that we'll be fine after that."

"Honey, just fill it out. You never know. Not too long ago, I realized that we needed food and we hadn't been paid yet, so I just came in here."

So, I begrudgingly handed in the paperwork ... and walked out with a bag of squash and zucchini, a ham, two tenderloin steaks, and some sausage.

It was enough to take care of the kids until they left.

lessons in pseudo-parenthood

On June 14, I became a stepmom. On March 21, I became a (temporary) foster mom.

I feel like I've been everything but just mom.

Part of me yearns to be "just mom." The little things quicken my clock.

These are my favorite Texas flowers so far. After weeks of admiring them from the Jeep, I was able to look at them up close while taking a walk.

Our friends' sweet 18 month old saying, "Hi!" when I came home from class recently (Alan was watching our youngest foster child and babysitting for our friends) and our youngest foster child climbing onto the couch to snuggle with me--not all moments are difficult.

Shopping for baby clothes with my friend--she's expecting again. Meanwhile, I want to stash them away in a hope chest.

Trying to decide if a jogging stroller and diaper pail would be worth the investment--I need an athletic outlet. I wanted to buy them now with the hopes that we will someday have use for them again, but as far as the stroller goes, I realized I could just wake up earlier and exercise at home. And as for the diaper pail, we're down to UnderJams and about one accident a day.

Potty successes. They seriously make my day.

Heating dinosaur chicken nuggets and cutting up hot dogs the way my aunt used to, even though I'm preparing a vegan meal for myself.

Connecting with our oldest foster child.

Praying on the drive to school each morning, turning on K-Love. Hoping the words minister, praying that something sinks in, wondering if my mom thought the same things when we grew up listening to our local Christian radio station.

Constantly reminding that not all bugs need to be killed, and everything in nature needs to be put back exactly where it was found. Thinking of my aunt.

Cooking with a curious onlooker who ties my apron strings. Remembering my grandmother and her apron, and watching countless meals being prepared in her kitchen.

Remembering to be patient when someone is being independent--I don't ever recall my grandfather being impatient with me.

Hearing my speech revert to the colloquial Pennsylvania Dutchisms my grandparents, aunt, mom, and extended family sometimes use--and realizing that I would totally talk to my own children like that.

          "There's more back."
                    "It's all."
                              "Come here, onst."

I want my own opportunity to train and rear and teach and guide.

A friend's mom blessed us by filling up my gas tank. With my weekly gas budget more than double what it normally is, her act of service was a major blessing.

But, through this experience, I have also learned to be content where God has us.

To never again take for granted the time that Alan and I have together as a couple (or the time that I have to myself).

To be grateful that finishing assignments minutes before I leave for class and turning in work that is far from my best will not be a forever thing.

To continue reading as many parenting books as I can find and to ask for advice from as many parents as I meet.

To be grateful for those times when I can be in the car by myself and go to the store by myself.

By myself.

To understand the vague semblance of attention one sometimes pays while in class (or at work), knowing that there are little ones and a spouse waiting at home.

In the midst of this situation, I'm not quite sure what lessons God has in mind for Alan and me to learn. But, I'm learning to trust in His timing and His plan.

  
EDIT: Oh my goodness, it's not even Monday. What was I thinking?