Foster & Adoption Stories

I would like to build a collection of stories/resources for prospective and current foster and adoptive parents. Besides the usual links to county sites, I am gathering first person accounts of the foster & adoption experience. Depending on the response generated, I will either post periodically or as a complete work.

Please share with me, your:







*Indicate your preference to be identified by name or remain anonymous with your submission* (Feel free to include photos if you have the legal right to do so.) To share your thoughts, click on the red section barely visible in the upper right hand corner of this page.random kids

A Short Story


Good-girl, by Kimberly Russo


Skipping down my street in the morning San Diego sunshine, a light reflected off of the empty Coca-Cola bottle at the sidewalk’s end. There really wasn’t anything significant about this glass bottle. I’d seen plenty of them in my five-year-old experience. The same phrase that I always heard when approaching something fragile or otherwise expensive-looking boomed in my consciousness, “Do not touch!”

I scanned the intersection of my shabby neighborhood. Not a sign of life on the sidewalks, streets, or front stoops. Alone. I was completely alone. With no brothers or sisters and full-time working parents, I had long since learned to keep myself entertained.  My only companion, the green, condemned house, regarded me from the adjacent corner.

The yellow-blonde hair that reached my waist and a light smattering of freckles across my nose highlighted my angelic appearance. Underneath that aesthetically pleasing exterior, I really was a good girl. I knew this because people were always saying so.

“Kimmy is a good girl.”

“Aren’t you just a good little girl?”

“Oh, what a good girl you are!”  I may have been just a good little girl, but I already recognized the value of this positive affirmation. Grown-ups everywhere liked a good-girl. Good-girls got stuff, stuff like candy and ice-cream cones. And more importantly, love. Everyone loved good-girls… and did I ever want to be loved.

A strange feeling tingled in my fingertips. I remembered experiencing this sensation once before now. I had helped myself to a children’s Flintstone vitamin temptingly contained in the PEZ-like, Humpty-Dumpty dispenser. Actually, it had been several vitamins. I knew it was a naughty thing to do, but the thrill of popping out a mystery character and color was too much to resist. Though the guilt of the vitamin incident weighed on my fragile conscience, a similar temptation burned in me now.

I reached down and snatched the glass bottle. It was hot. Prisms of color decorated the black-top, and a new thought formed in my head. I suppose it had existed there from the instant I spotted the reflecting light; Break it. Not just break it; smash it. Wreck it! My ears rang in preparatory glee. I could do something. I had the power to break the bottle and the rules.  

It could have been anti-climactic, but it wasn’t. The bottle connected with the concrete in a cacophonous shower of shards. Sheer elation. And then I glanced a few feet behind me.

The policeman with the shiny badge stared straight into my soul. One truth was instantly clear to me… he did not think I was a good-girl.


Mailboxes are on their way to extinction. There’s something romantic about anticipating the contents of the box… Opening the door, reaching in, fingers caressing the bottom grooves. And occasionally, a flutter of the heart, when therein lies love… sealed & stamped in an envelope.mailboxes