It’s huge. And I might even hire some help. It’s out in the country, on several acres. By a river. Well water but really good, soft water and lots of it.
At least twelve bedrooms that are massive with lots of windows in them. Each has an ensuite.
A massive kitchen with an island big enough to seat at least twelve kids. They are enjoying a delicious breakfast, these kids of mine. They are laughing, joking, teasing and the older ones fawn over the younger ones. I’m filling glasses with more orange juice and giving the babies more scrambled eggs on the trays of their high chairs, wiping mouths.
I pause for a moment and feel sad. Thinking about the awful lives these kids had prior to be apprehended and then being placed in the foster care system. Breaks my heart. So I snap back to reality.
These kids have given me and taught me more than I could ever teach them. It’s not the difference I’ve made in their lives, it’s the difference they’ve made in mine.
Sid rules the roost because he’s got the most “seniority” but I love them all equally and all as my own. We don’t use the “f” word, foster. They are mine.
I had three biological kids who were almost grown when Sid came along but he sparked in me a fierce, protective love that I’ve never known before. And in my ideal home, I have that times twelve.
Life’s good.
bloom.planted.north 
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