And now, the top ten moments from my cruise to the Bahamas, most of which will only by hysterically funny to me and the three girls who went with me (I apologize for the amount of inside jokes you’re about to read).  Also, some random pictures for your viewing pleasure.

10. Being stopped by a police officer (“OFFICER WEBB!”) at 3 a.m.  “So, ladies, what you’re trying to tell me is that your license plate says North Carolina, your driver’s license says Arizona and you’re headed to Florida?”  “Yes, sir.  Sir.  Sir.  Sir.”

(Cara and Caroline in the straw market.)

9. Hennie, the cruise director, every single time he came on over the intercom: “I said bye bye!”

(The ship’s water slides which we conquered.)

8. My dancing to “Low” with our waiter; Cara dancing with a 12 year old boy.  We each take what we can get.

(Caroline and Cara, in Freeport.)

7. Jay, master of karaoke on the ship: “No one wants to see that!” and “Absolutely BRILLIANT!”

(My hands in the ocean!)

6. Caroline having the ability to go to the bathroom whenever we were about to say something important, especially about Rihanna and her nation of birth.

(Kimberly and Cara’s reactions right after I told the waiter

our room number in case he wanted to stop by.)

5. Kimberly: “SERRRRRRRINNNNIIIITTTTTYYYY!”

(Me and my crazy beach hair.)

4. Watching imitators of the entire Jersey Shore cast drink themselves to oblivion and then attempting to get in and out of the hot tub while we sat back and watched.

(Cara, Caroline and Kimber getting low, low, low, low, low.)

3. Meeting this older couple who had brought their middle age son on a cruise for his birthday.  The son looked like he would rather be eaten alive by jellyfish.  Therefore, every single time we saw him on the ship, “HAPPY BIRTHDAY!”

(Cara, beach goddess.)

2. Getting physically beaten by the ocean waves in Nassau and living to tell about it.

(Ocean 1, girls 0.)

1. FREE PUTU!

You know what is “fun?”  Being 26 year old and having a 17 year old foster daughter who has a boy after her.  Thus, finish this sentence for me in the comments of this post –

“If I had a teenage daughter, the rules about dating her would be…”

So far, here’s my list:

1. He must have a job.

2. He must ask me for permission to take her out.  If I say yes, then he can ask her.

3. He must be in good standing with his parents.

4. He must love Snuggles y Cuddles.

5. He must fill out my 18 page application for dating my daughter.

Your thoughts?  Also, any tips on what type of weapon I should be cleaning when he comes over for “The Talk?”

The last couple of days have been an awfully rough re-entry to reality, especially in my little home.

While I was gone, Miss Seventeen’s parents’ rights to her and her siblings were terminated.  The court case was scheduled long after my vacation was scheduled and, up to the minute before I left on vacation, I swayed back and forth between just canceling my vacation all together so I could be here for the court case.  In the end, after talking to Miss Seventeen, the case workers, lawyers, etc. the pros of me not being in the courtroom while her birth parents testified outweighed the cons and so I went on with my vacation, carrying around one suitcase full of swimsuits and one full of guilt.

And so, while I was on a boat drifting somewhere in the ocean, I got the long-distance call I was anticipating yet dreading: Miss Seventeen no longer legally has a mother or a father.

Just writing that line makes me want to go back to bed and sleep the day away.  We knew this was likely coming, but it doesn’t make it any easier.  The sadness, anger and deep pain in our house is palpable.  Her heart is broken and my heart is broken for her.  I have no easy answers for her, because the truth is now in court documents.  Her birth parents made choices that mean they now longer have the privilege of being her legal parents.  They chose something evil over the good that she is, their firstborn daughter.  And now she’s left with a broken heart and mine is breaking watching her.  No seventeen year old girl should lose her mother and father.

But it hasn’t just been that.  The three year old is pitching fits and I worry that we could be dismissed from the daycare I worked so hard to get us admitted to.  Miss Fourteen’s father devastated her by not caring enough to show up for a court-appointed visit.  I’ve got 4,200 pictures to edit from five recent weddings.  I’m fairly certain my house will never, ever been clean again.  I’m trying to navigate a new dating relationship that I so desperately want to work.  I have a real 8 to 5 job that requires my attention for the better part of five days a week.

But in the middle of my return to reality, there are moments of beauty in in the chaos, too.

The relief on Miss Seventeen’s face that she will never, ever have to go back.  The way Miss Fourteen took off running and jumped into my arms when she saw me for the first time after my vacation.  The joy on Mr. Three Year Old’s face when we took him out for ice cream to celebrate his first day of daycare.  A college girl of mine staying with me for the summer so I can love on her during a season of her life when she needs some extra loving.  Early mornings when I manage to get out of bed before anyone else in my house.  Long phone calls with someone who may end up being the very best man I’ve ever known.  A job that challenges me and provides income for my little family.  A side business of photography that lets me be creative and made it possible for me to afford for the girls to go to church camp next week.  A house that is messy, but only because of how many people and puppies are living in it, bringing life to it.

Yes, it’s been a rough re-entry to reality after a few days of being responsible for only myself.  But I wouldn’t trade this life, hard as it can be.

A few minutes after arriving at our small stateroom on the cruise ship late last week, our cabin steward came to introduce himself.  He was a small, Filipino man and, when he spoke to me, I had no clue what had just come out of his mouth.  Looking back, I think he had that sixth sense that allows him to quickly identify dumb Americans and, accurately sensing that he had one standing in front of him in me, he proceeded to explain his name by saying the following: “I’m not Pu-ONE, not Pu-THREE, not Pu-FOUR… I’m PU-TWO!”  And, from that moment forward, Putu he was.

Putu and I were only together for about four days, but I’d like to think that the memories we made together are going to last forever.  (Except, just to clarify for my mother, we did not make any type of memory that will actually last forever, such as a child, elopement or mortgage payment.)  No, we just bonded over our shared love of towel animals and fresh sheets on my bed each night.  In other words, basically, Putu was like my very own four-day cruise boyfriend.

Lest you doubt our love connection, let me provide the court of blog readers with some items of evidence.  When I left my towel on the floor, Putu replaced it with a fresh one lovingly folded over the towel bar.  When I felt a bit seasick, Putu inquired as to whether or not he could provide me with some medicine to help me regain my sea legs.  When I came into the room late in the night on the last day of the cruise (early in the morning?), Putu asked me if I had enjoyed dancing my apple bottom jeans off in the club that evening.

(Actually, Putu didn’t mention the apple bottom jeans part, mainly because I wasn’t wearing jeans, but you get the point.)

(I AM A DANCING QUEEN.)

(Except for that little pesky lack of rhythm thing.)

(And the fact that I prefer sleeping to late night clubs.)

(And, you know, the fact that I’m a foster grandmother at age 26.)

As much as we loved Putu and the way he remembered our names within three minutes of meeting us, we couldn’t help but wonder about Putu’s secret life as a cruise ship cabin steward.  Where does Putu sleep at night we asked ourselves, genuinely concerned about where he laid his head at night.  Does he have enough to eat, we wondered.  DO THEY EVER EVEN LET HIM OFF THIS BOAT?

Because we are Americans who don’t know how to stick to our own business, we devised a plan to gently inquire into Putu’s life until we had our answers.  The next time Putu showed up at our door holding a fresh stack of fluffy folded towels, we began our subtle approach by luring him into our cabin, shutting the door behind him and saying “Putu, DO THEY EVEN FEED YOU HERE?”

Despite our assurances that his secrets would be safe with us, Putu never let his guard down once and assured us that he actually enjoys his life on the cruise ship, something we didn’t believe for one second.  And thus, in a moment of unity that can only be brought on by afternoon spent laying on lounge chairs on the upper deck watching other cruise guests drink themselves into oblivion, we girls devised a plan that shall henceforth be known as “FREE PUTU!”

By “devised a plan,” what I’m trying to say is that all we’ve figured out so far is that we’re going to have cute t-shirts made that say “FREE PUTU!” in big, bold letters.  We’ve run into a few glitches when it comes to figuring out how we’re going to actually go about freeing Putu because we can’t figure out what exactly we’re actually freeing him from BUT OH, WE KNOW SOMETHING FISHY IS GOING ON IN THAT CRUISE SHIP AND WE ARE GONNA FREE YOU FROM IT, PUTU.

And then I would like to kindly request that he shows me how to make those towel animal things so I can be the hippest foster mom on the block.

Things I returned to when I arrived back in the United States yesterday –

1. The information that, whilst I was gone, Snuggles y Cuddles apparently decided to discontinue their housebroken habit in protest of my departure.

2. A text from a boy who likes my Miss Seventeen, requesting permission to “hang out” with her.  Thus, I am now going to need to morph into a grown man and figure out how to clean a shotgun whilst having “the talk” with him.

3. A cryptic text message from my brother that said “Chop chop, jaypeg!”  Upon further investigation, I have been informed that this translates to “You took pictures at my college graduation two weeks ago and I haven’t seen the finished product yet, jerk.”  In case you need further clarification, the word “jaypeg” is apparently my new nickname as in “.jpg” (the file name you put on a photo file).

4. The absence of anyone to fold down my bedsheets at night or leave a chocolate mint on my pillowcase.  Oh cruise cabin steward, why could you not come home with me?

5. Furthermore, unlike the last four days of my life, there is now no one offering to cook whatever I wish to eat at anytime of the day or night.  Obviously, I need to begin training Mr. Three Year Old to pick up some slack around here.

… we are having a blast!  The highlight so far, in my opinion, has been my dance to “Low” with our waiter in the formal dining room.  I didn’t have my apple bottom jeans on, nor was I wearing my boots with the fur, but we managed to dance it up a bit regardless. 

So far: swimming in clear waters, sleeping in (first time in MONTHS) and trying lobster for the first time.  Can’t wait to tell you all my stories when I get back!

Dear you,

I am leaving for a few days.  For three years now, some of my friends from college and I have been talking about how fun it would be to go on a cruise together.  But then people got married and graduated from college and became foster mothers and moved to Ecuador and moved to Arizona, just not in that particular order.  And it never happened.

And then one day a few months ago, my friends and I said “If we don’t do it now, we’ll never do it.”  And that is why, in just a few hours, I’m going on a cruise with some of my very favorite people in the world.  My foster kids are going to a respite home, my puppies are being cared for by a college girl and I am about to enter a world of laying by the pool with big sunglasses on while I contemplate whether I should take a nap or go to the spa.  You know, just my typical, everyday decisions.

So, if I don’t see you until next week, no worries.  I’m going to attempt to be a real 26 year old girl for a few days, something I don’t do too often.

Love,

me

P.S. — Mommy guilt of leaving the kids behind?  HORRIBLE.

P.P.S. — But this was in the works long before I even had foster kids.

P.P.P.S. — Still, MOMMY GUILT.