Last year was a year we will never forget—or maybe one some of us wish we could. Our family was in the middle of adopting our twin boys when the pandemic hit, and everything came to a sudden, unexpected halt. Like so many other families, we had no idea what was coming next. Then, as if the world itself had turned upside down, our city, our community, and really the entire globe seemed to unravel.
Civil unrest erupted everywhere—looting, violence, and empty shelves at stores became the new normal. It was surreal to watch from the sidelines. Even close friends and family questioned our decision to adopt the twins, asking, “Are you sure about this?” We looked at them, baffled, and asked, “Why?” The answer was painfully obvious: we’re Black, and our twins are White. We’ve navigated this before—one of our other children was of a different race—but the world seemed to think the stakes were higher this time. Still, we knew in our hearts that these boys were ours.
Let me rewind a bit. My name is Jennifer, and I’m an early learning specialist and co-owner of a small childcare program. My husband, Harry, is a mechanic and a devoted father—super daddy, really. We both have a deep love for children and a shared passion for foster care. Over the past fifteen years, we’ve opened our home to thirty-one placements—some brief, some long-term—all children facing separation from their biological families. We’ve been married for eight years this September, and together we’ve navigated the highs and lows of this life with a shared purpose: providing a safe and loving home.
Our journey began even before marriage when we first opened our home to a kinship placement—a little one connected to our extended family but not formally in foster care. That child stayed with us for three years, and when they went home, we were heartbroken. The flaws and failures of the system were evident, but we felt called to continue. Not long after, we received a call about an eight-day-old baby girl. At the time, our own baby was six months old, and our older daughter was ten. We didn’t hesitate. That was just the beginning—the calls kept coming, and placements followed. We realized how much we loved caring for children, even if it was only for a few days.
Today, our family is a beautiful mix of biological and adopted children: two biological daughters, ages 21 and 11; three adopted boys, ages 10, 8, and our newly adopted twins, age three. Every child in our home carries a unique story. Adoption is not a magical fix—it doesn’t erase past pain—but it does offer a second family, a permanent home, and love that lasts forever.
The twins first came to us for respite care, to give their foster mother a much-needed break. They were still in withdrawal when they arrived, which made the weekend both challenging and unforgettable. My husband and I took turns walking the floor, comforting them, and keeping them calm. Our older children were instantly smitten, even our daughter who was away at school couldn’t wait to meet them. By the end of that weekend, we were utterly exhausted—but filled with joy.
Then came Tuesday morning. We received a call from our agency: “Would you mind keeping the twins long-term?” We looked at each other and laughed in disbelief. Our kids cheered, while my husband, the practical one, hesitated. Caring for two babies with special needs alongside four other young children would be no small task. But after a moment, we said yes. Friends and family thought we were crazy, but we felt a deep sense of peace. Our home had grown from four children to six—a whirlwind of love, chaos, and laughter.
The first year brought many adjustments, not just logistically, but emotionally. We had to navigate raising children of different races, which sometimes drew unwanted attention or judgment. Questions, stares, and whispers followed us in public, and there were even moments when strangers assumed Harry was abducting the boys at the park. We’ve been pulled over for no reason in our minivan and faced awkward, sometimes painful moments at school pick-ups. But through it all, we center our children’s feelings, teaching them to find their voice, acknowledge hurt, and respond with love, not anger.
Our older children have become advocates in their own way. Our middle daughter, once shy about sharing our family story, now proudly explains foster care and adoption to friends. Our boys understand they are adopted and embrace their stories, even if they don’t talk about them often. When people stare or make hurtful comments, we remind them that curiosity or ignorance often drives those reactions—but it doesn’t define us. We focus on love, kindness, and teaching our children their worth.
Last year, as the world burned around us and the pandemic laid bare countless inequalities, we talked openly with our children about race, injustice, and the importance of empathy. Our eight-year-old, passionate about law enforcement, dreams not just of protecting people but of changing laws to keep everyone safe. In our home, race, politics, and the value of human life are never questioned. We speak openly, and we lead with love.
Our family is like any other: we eat pizza on Wednesdays, go to the park, enjoy movie nights, and love swimming. The difference is that our skin colors vary, and we came together through foster care. Each day is a mix of chaos and sweetness, laughter and exhaustion, but every moment reminds us of the blessing we share. Our journey with the twins has been filled with challenges, yes, but also with love, growth, and joy beyond measure. And honestly, who could ask for anything Moore?
