Planning Fun Activities with Non-Fun Kids

I suspect many foster parents will know exactly what I'm talking about without even going any further in this post.

Am I right?

I talked a little about this in my post Grieving the Loss of Normal, but I'm not sure I can vent about process this too many times.

My older bio kids were going to the water park today, so I decided to plan a smaller scale water day for the "littles" (that's what we call the three girls 6, 4, 3).

Some days just getting out the door exhausts me. Today was one of those days.

One of the things I learned from Nancy Thomas was not to announce big things/fun activities because traumatized kids have a way of trying to sabotage fun. So, she suggests giving as little warning as possible. This is totally counter to all of the child development stuff I learned in college and applied to my bio kids when they were younger. We did lots of anticipatory talking about things and preparing and building excitment. But, it is true, we have found with the foster kiddos, we have better luck (less sabotage) if we give less warning. But as I am packing towels and getting swimsuits and sunscreen and water bottles etc., it's hard not to know something is going on.

To add to the build up, I still had lots to do in getting the big kids to the water park, picking up friends, signing up for season passes, standing in long lines etc., before I could take the littles to their water fun. By the time we get to the splash pad, I have already fielded about a million (yes, it was just shy of a million, I'm sure of it) ridiculous questions (in case you think I exaggerate, they were ridiculous: "Is this food?", asks Shirley at lunch), taken a world record number of potty breaks (something about wearing a swimsuit under your clothes not only makes going to the restroom more difficult, it also apparently makes your bladder shrink to the size of a pea), foolishly put the 6yo in charge of my purse while I helped the little ones in the bathroom (I know, I was just asking for it with that move).

But, alas, we arrive at the splash pad full of kids running and splashing and squealing and laughing and delighting in the joy that is being a kid.


Yeah, something like that.

And here are my kids:


Blankly staring at the water like they don't know what it is.

Shirley (3y.o.): "Mama. My finger got wet (holding out her one index finger). I need a towel."

Me: "You are here to get wet. No towels until we are ready to go home."

Jenny (6y.o.): "Can I go throw a penny in the fountain?" (pointing about a quarter mile away from where we are playing).

Me: "No. You are here to play in the water."

Jenny (after 30 sec playing in the water): "Those boys keep getting me wet."

Me: "Good. That's why we're here."

A table in the shade opens up, I go set my bag and shoes and water and all the stuff I carry around like a pack mule and plop into the chair ready to sit back and watch the kids play while sipping on my iced tea.

Jenny: "I need to go potty"

Shirley: "I need to go potty too"

Dusty (4yo): "Me too"

Me: "Alright. Get your shoes on"

We come back from the bathroom and my cozy seat in the shade is now gone. I set myself back up on the curb of the flower bed nearby and I turn around to see all 3 girls with handfulls of rocks just seconds from throwing them into the fountain.

Me: "It's time to go home."

And I know it's going to be like this.

But I still try. And I guess that's what I'm supposed to do, keep giving them fun, kid experiences even if they are no-fun-party-poopers.