It started with something super simple. Jason saw a post on Facebook asking for help—it was a foster mom here in Colorado Springs who’d taken in two kids the day before Easter, and they’d come to her with nothing.
Our eyes locked, and we knew we had to step up. After all, we’d been those very foster parents at one time.
On the first of October, 2013, we got the call that a five-month-old baby girl needed to be fostered. Jason was in Afghanistan on his fourth of five deployments, and I had just signed my first book deal, so things were a bit hectic, but we wholeheartedly said yes!
She came to us in the parking lot of our hockey rink in Upstate New York with only a few onesies and stretch pants. No coat. No blanket. No socks. Within the week, we knew she’d be staying with us for at least another month, so I shopped. Onesies, pants, shirts, coats, blankets, dresses, shoes, she needed it all. Add to it that we didn’t have any baby equipment in the house because we’d always thought we’d get a placement who was around two years-old, and well… there was a lot to buy.
Here’s one thing you might not know: while foster parents are paid a stipend to help cover the cost of their kiddos in care, it’s paid in arrears. By the time it was said and done, it took six weeks for Audrey-Grace’s first stipend to come in. Now, we’re lucky that we’re financially secure—that wait didn’t harm our finances…it also didn’t cover everything we’d needed.
Not all foster parents are as lucky as we are. Not every foster parent can afford to immediately outfit a kid, or three.
When kids enter the system, often times they’re brought with nothing. They’ve been removed from daycare, from school, their homes, and it happens so fast that if they can bring anything, a common way their belongings are transported are via a garbage bag.
You read that right: a garbage bag. As if their stuff is worth nothing. As if they are worth nothing. Don’t blame the social workers—they’re underpaid, overworked, and doing the best they can with the budget they barely have.
Audrey-Grace’s things were given to us in a grocery bag, and I swear I can still feel the tiny weight of the plastic digging into my hand as I carried it in one hand, her in her car seat in the other, across the parking lot to take her home.
Fast forward a couple of years—we’d adopted Audrey-Grace, received her autism diagnosis, and moved home to Colorado, where Jason saw the aforementioned facebook post. We loaded up clothing up for that new foster mom from clothes Audrey-Grace had outgrown, stopped at Target for a few items we didn’t have, and grabbed extra duffel bags to put everything in.
After Jason came back from dropping off the clothing, we sat and talked.
One October was born.
We could buy black duffel bags in bulk, that way if an older kid in care needed to use it, it wouldn’t scream that he was a kid in foster care.
We could take clothing donations.
Our boys chimed in—they could sort the clothes, and make sure that only the ones that weren’t too worn were sorted into bags, that way if a child was taken and put into foster care, and had to go to school the next day, they wouldn’t stand out. They wouldn’t be embarrassed.
We could make sure that social workers in the area knew that we could be called upon to step up.
We could buy gently-used baby equipment and loan it out to foster parents who had an unexpected placement, and in that way lessen their financial burden.
We could do our best to develop resources, equipment, and enough clothing to get a foster parent through that first week with a new placement so that preicous child feels welcome, can start school, and so the parent can focus on something more important than “how am I going to take all these kids shopping.” They could simply focus on being whatever that child needed—on being a parent.
We could make a difference in the lives of the kids in the system, even if we weren’t foster parents anymore.
So here we are. Six years to the day that our daughter was placed in our arms, and the doors at One October are open in Colorado Springs.
October was the month she came to us, and the month the courts said we could adopt her two years later, and it was still October when she became a Yarros. October to us is breathtaking, full of wonder, possibility and hope, just like she is. It seemed only fitting to name our little organization after the day that brought her to us.
We’re a registered nonprofit here in Colorado Springs. If you’re a social worker, contact us—let us know where we can help. We’re proud to service all child placement agencies in Colorado Springs as well as provide for the individual needs of fostering families. If you’d like to donate, we’ll put your money to good use. And if you’d like to follow along as we better the lives of children in foster care, we’d love to have you.
Sincerely,
Jason, Rebecca, and the Yarros kids.
