A Full House, a Place to Belong
We have eight children in our family: a 20-year-old son, 17-year-old twin daughters, a 17-year-old foster son, an 8-year-old daughter, a 7-year-old foster son, a 4-year-old adopted son, and a 4-year-old foster son.
Seeing those ages written together reminds me how many different seasons of childhood can fit under one roof. Young adulthood. The teenage years. The growing independence of school-age children. The busy, tender years of being four.
Four of our children came to us by birth, one through adoption, and three through foster care. Each has a story of their own. Each deserves love that makes room for who they are.
Making room means more than an extra bed
When people think about welcoming a child, they often think about the practical things. Where will they sleep? What clothes do they need? Is there another seat at the table?
Those things matter. But making room for a child also means making room for their feelings, their relationships, and everything they carry that we may never fully understand.
A child can be safe in our home and still miss another home. They can enjoy being with us and still wish they were with their parents. They can need comfort without knowing how to ask for it.
We want there to be room for all of that.
The children in our care have people they love and histories that began long before we met them. Caring for them means respecting those connections. It means remembering that our place in their lives comes with a responsibility to listen, to learn, and to handle their stories gently.
Some parts of those stories will never belong on a website. They belong to the children.
Love grows in ordinary moments
With children ranging from four to twenty, our family holds a lot of different needs at once. Some need help with the little things. Some are learning to do more for themselves. Some are preparing for lives that will take them beyond our home.
We don’t always get the balance right. Parenting asks us to keep learning, and a full house gives us plenty of opportunities to practice patience, say we’re sorry, and try again.
But we believe there is something deeply meaningful in the ordinary care of a child.
Remembering what matters to them. Listening when they are ready to talk. Following through on a promise. Being willing to sit beside them when there are no easy words.
Trust needs time. We cannot rush a child into feeling at home. We can keep showing them, through small and steady actions, that their needs matter here.
There is love in the uncertainty, too
Foster care asks us to care deeply while living with questions we cannot answer.
We cannot promise how long every child will stay in our home. We cannot decide every part of what happens next. That uncertainty can be hard, especially when our hearts are involved.
Still, the time we share matters.
A child deserves affection, attention, and a sense of belonging today, even when tomorrow is uncertain. Our hope is that whatever comes next, the children who spend time with us will carry something steady with them: the knowledge that they were listened to, cared for, and loved.
We also hold hope for the people they love. We want healing and support for their families, too.
Families need someone beside them
Having a large family does not mean we can do everything ourselves.
There are days when practical help matters enormously. So does having someone who understands, someone who will listen without expecting a simple explanation for a complicated day.
That is why support for foster, adoptive, and kinship families means so much. Help finding resources, a connection with another caregiver, or an offer to meet an everyday need can give a family room to breathe.
You don’t have to become a foster parent to be part of that care. You can bring a meal, help gather supplies, offer your time, or ask a family what would be useful—and follow through.
Those acts of kindness reach children through the adults caring for them.
Our family includes eight children, and we are still learning how to meet each one where they are. We have different ages, different beginnings, and plenty of growing left to do together.
What we hope to offer each of them is simple, even when the work is hard:
A place where they are welcome. Someone who will keep showing up. And love they do not have to earn.

Chad B