When Robyn’s 26-year-old daughter said she wanted to get licensed as a foster parent, a flood of old memories rushed back for the family. Years earlier, the parents had fostered a tween boy so he could live near his sister, who was placed with friends. They were newly married, brand new to parenting, and he had already been through a lot.
He bonded fast with the dad but kept the mom at arm’s length, as if she were trying to replace his mother. Trouble followed, and the child welfare agency eventually moved him to a detention center. The parents were heartbroken and wondered if they had failed him. Their daughter grew into a teacher at a Title I school, where nearly every student received free meals. She saw kids who, through no fault of their own, might one day enter foster care. That thought stayed with her. Her parents, who worried she might be hurt like they had been, but her steady compassion changed their minds. Soon they were all in, ready to help her say yes to kids who needed a safe place.
While she went through licensing, mother and daughter turned a small 950-square-foot cottage into a welcoming home: a nursery in one extreme bedroom and a twin bed in the other because they didn’t know who would sleep there, even before they learned their names.
She was licensed at the end of June 2016. On the morning of July 4, the call came: a 14-month-old boy who wasn’t walking yet needed a placement. He arrived within an hour. She chose to meet him alone so it wouldn’t be overwhelming. He smiled, relaxed, and seemed to claim her within minutes. Her parents came by later, and in an instant, the family felt bigger.
That first Target run was unforgettable. Diapers, formula, food, tiny clothes, and a toddler with “ magic arms” reached everything on the shelves. They learned to keep it quick, grab the basics, and figure the rest out later. They named him Franklin. The early weeks were tough; court dates and case notes hinted at trauma. He banged his head when upset and melted down often. He was behind on walking and talking. His mom found therapists and early-intervention programs and kept showing up with patience.
On August 10, 2017, Franklin was adopted. He and his grandfather formed a gentle bond. The other grandkids called him Granddad, but Franklin managed only “ Dad Dad,” and the name stuck for every child who came after. There were two chapters. A small three-year-old boy arrived briefly and left three and a half months later to reunify with his family, their first hard goodbye. Then came an 18-month-old girl, Kit, whose “short case” stretched on. She and Franklin were close in age and became fast friends. By summer 2018, the signs pointed to permanency. Kit was adopted on October 29, 2019.
Between those milestones, the family learned Franklin had a baby brother in care. Relatives had stepped in at first, but couldn’t adopt. They asked if she would take the baby because his sister’s home was Franklin’s forever home. She said yes immediately. Nine-month-old Theo arrived on a cold November day and immediately bonded with his brother.
On May 9, 2019, Theo was adopted. His middle name was changed to honor the uncle who first cared for him; he proudly introduced himself as “Theodore Uncle Charles Moore.” Since then, the home has stayed open. Some children stayed days, others months.
A sibling set brought heavy grief from separation but, thankfully, reunified with their mother. Newborns came straight from the hospital, and a tiny baby, six months in, has three older kids doting on him. The grandmother has taken on a quiet, steady role: rocking sick little ones, cleaning when the day gets away from her daughter, cooking dinner so everyone can exhale after school and work.
The children’s faces light up when she walks in, and that is more than enough thanks. Her advice is simple for any parent whose adult child is considering fostering, married, or single: encourage them. It was hard and holy work, but worth every bit of it. She started trying to be a blessing to her daughter and these children.
