“Good luck.”
No, really. I left him a note the other day (which, because I checked his mailbox I know he didn’t get until last night) with a few things that need attention in my apartment, and ohbythewayimadtopting.
He joked about it becoming a trend in the neighborhood since the other “lady pastor” down the street also adopted as a single mom. He asked if it was like hers, international, or a direct adoption of a baby, and I told him neither, it will be an older child (ok, I left out the “maybe two kids” part) from foster care.
That’s when he wished me, with no sarcasm at all, good luck. See, his teenage son was adopted from foster care. They’ve had a lot of issues with him lately, and I know my landlord and his ex (who lives next door with their son) have been struggling to figure it all out. He threw out the acronyms parents of foster-adoptees know so well: ADHD, ODD, RAD. Apparently his son has the latter–perhaps one of the toughest to deal with.
I’m glad he seems so supportive, and it helps even more that he’s been there, so he’s not expecting that I’m going to bring home a happy well-adjusted child. We had a great conversation about it.
And then he told me I can do anything I want with the backyard as far as putting in a garden. Yes.
birch & raven 