Adalie Kayte. That was the name I picked out long before I ever became a mother. In my mind she would have strawberry blonde curls, freckles sprinkled across her cheeks, and the sweetest hugs a mom could ever receive. I pictured reading her bedtime stories, tucking her in each night, and snuggling during Saturday morning cartoons.
I imagined being her mom and her being mine. But Adalie never came. She was only a dream, and one that never made its way into reality.
For years, I hoped to have children, but time passed and no babies came. Slowly, I began to accept that motherhood might not be in my future. Still, I felt a pull to give love to children who needed it. That’s when fostering came to mind.
I wasn’t sure my husband at the time would agree, but after a few years of bringing it up now and then, he finally looked at me one day and said, “I’m ready. When are the next classes?” I signed us up the very next day.
Within a year, we were licensed and open. I still remember getting the official email while sitting at the Cheesecake Factory in Atlanta. Tears rolled down my face because I knew that soon little footsteps would echo through my home. The very next day I got my first call, about a teenage girl. I wasn’t prepared and I was still out of town, so I had to say no. But then came the call that changed everything. Two brothers, J who was 12 and D who was 10, needed a home. I said yes. From the moment they arrived, they called me mom. A few months later, another boy came. His name was A, and he was nearly 15. He told me gently that he would never call me mom because that word wasn’t good for him. And I understood.
My house was suddenly filled with boys. It was noisy, chaotic, and full of love. At the same time, my heart often broke because foster care is never permanent. I knew everything could change at any moment. I built a strong relationship with J and D’s mom. She even joined us for Thanksgiving and we saw her regularly for visits. It became clear they would eventually go home, and I had to prepare myself for that.
Meanwhile, my marriage unraveled. If I’m honest, it had been broken for a long time, long before fostering ever came into the picture. After ten years together, we filed for divorce, and although it was painful, it was also a step I knew needed to happen.
Adoption soon became a possibility, but life had more twists in store. I got a call about a 17-year-old named Q who had been sleeping in an office while waiting for a bed in a facility. The caseworker asked if I could take him in, even just temporarily. I didn’t have much to offer, just a pull-out couch in A’s room—but I said yes. When Q arrived, I scrambled to make him comfortable with basic items like soap, shampoo, and clean sheets. That night, after he fell asleep on the couch, I tucked him in. When he woke up, he looked at me with surprise and asked if I had really just tucked him in. At 17 years old, it was the first time anyone had ever done that for him. That moment has stayed with me.
Since becoming a foster mom in 2019, I’ve opened my home to 13 boys, all preteens and teens. Each one left a mark on my life. But one boy in particular stayed for good. On my 32nd birthday, April 27, 2021, I adopted A, now officially Andre, my son. We celebrated at the Cheesecake Factory, the same place I had received that first email years before. Andre has curly hair that shines with a touch of red in the sun, and freckles across his cheeks just like the ones I once imagined on Adalie. Every night I tuck him in, and every weekend we spend time together, these days with Netflix instead of Saturday morning cartoons. He calls me mom, and I couldn’t be prouder. He is my dream come true.
Today, Andre and I share a small two-bedroom apartment with our two border collies, Dasie and Stetson. At the moment, we also have two foster brothers, ages 15 and 10, staying with us until next week. My home is officially closed now, but I still provide respite care for other foster families and volunteer with our local Isaiah House. I also serve as Vice President of our Foster and Adoptive Family Association, which supports families in three Tennessee counties.
Outside of fostering, I teach fifth grade, while Andre is beginning his senior year of high school. We’re soaking up every moment of this milestone year football games, basketball, family time, and memories that will last forever.
I once dreamed of a little girl named Adalie, but life gave me Andre instead. And he is more than I ever dreamed of. Our family might look different than what I first pictured, but it is ours, and it is perfect.
