It was my very first blind date. My aunt and his sister had been lifelong best friends and thought we should meet. We met at a park, and I immediately noticed his terrible outfit: a green long-sleeve silk shirt, cut-off jean shorts, and boat shoes. He spent most of the time bragging about his wild weekend, and I was honestly annoyed. I had a cheerleading volunteer event later that day and was more than ready to leave. It was my senior year of high school, and I was living life in the fast lane—editor and photographer of the yearbook, choreographer for the pom squad, working two jobs, and constantly on the go.
Just three weeks after that first “date,” my life took a sudden turn when I was hospitalized for an eating disorder. The first time he ever called me, I was in rehab. Bless his heart—he came to the hospital to visit me, and that’s where our whirlwind romance truly began. Six months later, we were engaged, and four months after that we were married, just three months after my 18th birthday. Rich worked as a pipefitter, and I knew with certainty that all I wanted was to be a mom and build a family. That was nearly 25 years ago, and the life we’ve built together has been nothing short of beautiful.
From the beginning, we both knew we wanted a big family. We conceived our first child less than a year into our marriage, but that pregnancy ended in a heartbreaking miscarriage. Six months later, we were blessed to become pregnant again, welcoming our firstborn. A year after that—surprise!—another baby was on the way. Our daughters were just 22 months apart, and my heart felt completely full. When our youngest turned one, we began trying for a third child. After doctor visits and cycle tracking, we conceived our son. A year later, we hoped to grow our family once more, but after months of cycles, medications, shots, and procedures, we were diagnosed with secondary infertility. We endured years of attempts, treatments, disappointments, and even a closed-country adoption we had planned for. Eventually, we accepted this as a sign and embraced life as a family of five.
I grew up in a home where cousins were best friends and aunts doubled as babysitters. My mom was a relative foster parent to some of my cousins, later adopting and fostering other children. That legacy stayed with me. At one point, Rich and I realized we had so much love to give that we wanted to open our home to foster children. When an opportunity arose to potentially foster the sibling of one of my mom’s adopted children, we fast-tracked our foster care training. Twice a week, after work, we drove an hour away for four-hour classes. I cooked dinner in a crockpot in my office, met Rich on the side of the road, and we carpooled to make it work. Although that specific placement didn’t happen, we became licensed and ready. Four months later, our first call finally came.
When it did, I was incredibly nervous. I left work, prepared the bedroom, and met our new friends at the ER to bring them home. On the drive back, the oldest boy asked, “Have you ever done this before?” I told him no. He replied, “That’s okay. Just love us like you love your own kids, and it will be okay.” Those two sweet boys stayed with us for three months before moving in with their aunt.
Soon after, we received a call about an adoptive placement for a seven-year-old girl. She brought wonder and laughter into our home, experiencing everyday things—like seeing a dandelion—for the very first time. Watching the world through her eyes was such a gift. Celebrating her eighth birthday with a three-tier Princess cake was unforgettable; it was her very first birthday cake, and we went all out. Along with the joy came challenges. She often built what her counselor called a “nest,” taking items from family members without permission. Food insecurity led to hoarding and hiding, which required patience and understanding. She has now been with us for six years and continues counseling, growing into a kind, generous young lady.
One ordinary Thursday, I was sitting with a friend when my phone rang. It was our agency, and I had no idea the call would change our family forever and stretch my faith in ways I never imagined.
“Hi Kari,” they said, “we have a little boy in the NICU with swallowing issues, and I thought you’d be the perfect family for him.” Two hours later, a nurse placed the tiniest baby in my arms. He couldn’t swallow and was fed through a feeding tube; even saliva posed a drowning risk if not suctioned. We spent the next six weeks by his side in the NICU.
He underwent several surgeries with uncertain outcomes. Doctors told us he likely would never walk, talk, or eat on his own. At one point, DCFS believed a nursing facility might be the best option due to his complex needs. Though familiar with medical equipment, the constant beeping and intensity of the NICU were overwhelming. Still, the scent of him on my shirt and the smell of the hand soap I used to scrub in pulled at my heart. I spent weeks in prayer until I felt God say, “I am setting this mission before you. I will equip you daily. I’m asking you to love one little boy.”
We fought to bring our son home, filing appeals and waivers all the way to Chicago. After six months in the NICU, we finally brought him home. Six weeks later, a simple cold landed him in the PICU for eight more weeks. Today, he defies every odd. He runs, jumps, rides his bike, attends preschool, and talks nonstop. He is a walking, talking miracle made possible by incredible medical teams—and a whole lot of love.
Navigating life with five kids, two with special needs, kept us constantly moving. We balanced college visits, sports schedules, therapies, and family time. When life finally slowed, I asked God what was next for me.
An hour later, our agency called—after four years of silence. They asked if we’d consider taking a NICU baby. I pulled over, overwhelmed by God’s perfect timing. Rich immediately supported the decision. Walking back into that same NICU brought memories flooding back. We loved our Tiny Girl fiercely for her first year. Though saying goodbye was heartbreaking, she reunited with family nearby, and we remain connected.
The goal of foster care is always reunification. We fiercely advocate for birth families and maintain healthy relationships whenever possible. If you’ve ever considered fostering—say yes. Go all in. Love deeply. And if you can’t foster, support those who do. It truly takes a village. All it takes is a yes.
