It was this night that I brushed a five-year-old's tangled hair as lonely tears streamed down her face. It was her second night, but they hadn't even given her a tooth brush yet.
I repeated myself what seemed like a million times, asking her ten-year-old brother to stop saying he hated this place and these kids.
I took a shocked step backward as the girl who's been there for five weeks told me, "I had to react! None of the adults here ever react! No one cares when someone hits my brother, but I do!," after slapping a boy that elbowed her little brother.
She and her two siblings have been there over a month. No movement to a foster home. No movement to their parents' home. Their dad calls almost every night and talks to the girl, the oldest. She asks about drug tests and lawyers and how long until she sees him. I've seen the kids go on one visit- with their grandmother. The oldest sings her baby sister to sleep and tells her to squeeze her stuffed bear tight when she gets sad or angry.
It was this night that I bent to give her, ten years, a goodnight hug, after tucking her in like a taco. She giggled then said, "No one gives hugs here. I love hugs." How much of a difference a hug can make.
It was this night that at 8:59 I decided to do one more round of rooms, to make sure all the lights were off and blankets were on. One small-for-his-age newer boy was still awake, playing blocks on his floor. He hadn't been read to. He picked out The Cowboy and the Octopus, a very bizarre book. I read it and he loved the pictures. He too, got tucked in like a taco and received a hug. He kissed me on the cheek before I turned off the light.
"Goodnight, sleep tight," I said.
"You sleep tight too."
"Sweet dreams," I told him.
"Sweet dreams. I love you. I'll see you in the morning," he said, used to a bedtime routine.
"I love you too," I called back, half smiling and half crying. This little boy is used to someone telling him they love him. What an unusual encounter at this house. What a wonderful encounter.
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