"Maybe I'm not meant to go back to school full time," I rolled over and whispered to my husband in the early morning darkness. "Maybe God has a different plan for us."
"But this has been your dream for a long time."
We wrestle with decisions. We are in our mid fifties. Our children are grown and doing well. In August, I began a doctoral program with the plan of going to school full time next year. Two short months later, we found ourselves parenting young children again.
These two little girls have wiggled their way into our hearts. There are hard days, days that I want to quit. And yet, I can't ignore that we have been given the opportunity to provide a new path for two precious human beings.
So, maybe instead of embracing the world of academia, I'm meant to let the walls down and fully commit to riding out this adventure where we have no idea what will come next.
"I don't see why you can't still go to school full time while we take care of the girls," he said to me as he pulled me closer.
Anxiety fills me as I imagine juggling my studies with what the girls need and deserve. I don't want to be the foster mom who has her nose in a book or fingers on a keyboard while the rest of the family is out having fun. I don't want to be the foster mom who is ready to throw in the towel when one of the girls has a setback and I am freaking out because I have a paper due.
I know deep in my heart that the safer the girls feel, the more hard behaviors emerge. I want to have the energy to help them through these times.
We snuggled in closer, holding on tightly to each other. "If we can offer the girls even a little chance to break the cycle, it will make it all worthwhile."
As the day brightens our conversation is interrupted by a knock on our door from an eight year old. We hug each other and promise to come back to this discussion. For now, it's time to get up and start the day. We have girls who need us.