Seven

When our previous foster placement left, Venesa and I knew one thing for sure: There would be a sizable time gap between this placement and the next one.  We were tired.  More like whopped, really.  Physically, emotionally, spiritually, and any other -ally word you can think of.  We were done. We needed a break.  A long one.  A don't call me, we'll call you, don't even think about bringing us a foster child break.  We had a brief discussion about how long the break would be, but we quickly came up with an answer of, "we'll know when it's time." And sure enough, that's how it happened.  For about four months, I had gotten so good at saying no to placement calls that, at some point, I think I simply stopped listening.  Details didn't matter.  Boy.  Girl.  Old. Young.  Short-term (ha... we've heard that one before), long-term.  It didn't matter.  "We're not taking placements now, thank you."  Click.  Back to Pleasantville.

In hindsight, I can't even pinpoint what made this particular phone call different; but for the first time in months... I listened.  And then I didn't say no.  Instead, I asked the case worker for a few minutes to call my wife and run it by her.  And I don't think Venesa and I were 8 seconds into our conversation before she said, "take 'em." I guess somehow we both just knew.  I think that extent of being on one accord made it doubly exciting for me.  It just made it seem right. Vacation was awesome (because after our last placement, having just our biological three was most certainly like a vacation... heck... it felt like we were cheating).... But it was time to get back to work.

If nothing else, Justin hit the jackpot.  Not one brother, but two.  It'll be interesting to see how this goes.  Anyhow, here we sit: three boys and two girls, and not a single seat left in the minivan.  Let the good times roll.