Last night there was a third family planning meeting for LS; that's two too many, at least in the opinion of most of those in attendance. The discussion centered on the fact that we've all lived through nine months of a foster care placement that doesn't have to be.
At two months in, her birth dad was identified as a reunification resource and had only a few very simple steps to take in order to have LS move home with his family. Those few simple steps have yet to be completed.
And I just don't understand.
Why it took four months to provide a copy of the lease to Children and Youth? Housing and employment are usually huge hurdles as parents work to get their children back. Not in this case. Rather the "hurdle" was that the lease is printed on legal size paper, and the printer doesn't accommodate that size.
Why there were missed visits with LS when a social worker practically delivered her to your backyard? Reasons were readily given: traffic, a car fire, unable to call to adjust the visit time because phone was out of range.
Why phone calls from the social worker weren't returned to schedule a time to have the house inspected which would allow for unsupervised home visits? Only when cornered by family members during the second family meeting, after two weeks worth of waiting, was an inspection appointment scheduled.
Why when given the go-ahead to visit with LS that very weekend, there was not a phone call for nearly two weeks? "The foster family was out of town" -- true, and reachable by the e-mail and cell phone contact information that was provided. "I left a message" -- true, to ask to speak with LS and not to schedule a visit; not to mention that the message was left with less than twenty-four hours notice of when a visit would need to occur.
Why LS only had visits on two out of five weekends? Excuses ranged from ill health, to faulty phone service, to leaving a message on Friday night for a Saturday visit, to blaming LS for hanging up the phone too quickly and before arrangements could be made. Never once was there a call back after phone service improved or to follow up on a quick hang up.
Here are other things I don't understand:
Why, when given our phone number, it took six months for you to call LS and then only after prompted by the social workers.
Why you don't call LS every day, multiple times a day. Were our roles reversed, I can only imagine that I'd be on the phone with my child when she woke up, got home from school, finished homework, and before bedtime EVERY DAY. Someone would have to tell me to STOP calling... not prompt me to start.
How you can stand to be away from you daughter, when she could and should be home with you right now is something I cannot understand; have not understood with any other birth parents... and I never will.
Friday, September 27, 2013
Tuesday, September 24, 2013
Fourteen Steps
On a Sunday morning - a typical-for-our-family-of-ten - Sunday morning a few months ago when I had finally made it downstairs to the kitchen, in the hearing of my precious offspring I made a comment something like, "Well, I guess I could write a book about how to get ready for church in fourteen easy steps."
Not all of our kids are developmentally astute enough to pick up on subtle sarcasm, but the few who are just kind of stared and chuckled nervously. It must have been apparent that the sarcasm was borne out of fairly intense frustration.
Our daughter who is never at a loss for words, but often lacking interpersonal tact, asked, "What are the fourteen steps?"
Our daughter clearly inherited her gift of gab from her mother who was glad to oblige her, and the rest of the family now held captive in the kitchen, with a tirade of epic proportion that went a little something like this:
Step 1 - get out of bed forty minutes early to tell the girls to be quiet until 8:00
Step 2 - turn on the shower
Step 3 - answer the knock on the bedroom door from youngest daughter who is tattling on the other sisters for not staying in their beds
Step 4 - walk youngest daughter back the bedroom, stop in the hallway to take laundry to son's room
Step 5 - get in and quickly out of the shower to respond to the argument in the girls' bedroom
Step 6 - get girls up and moving (in the right direction) and knock on the boys' bedroom doors in a feeble attempt to rouse them (somehow the ruckus from their sisters' room doesn't phase them)
Step 7 - return to the bathroom for a towel for my dripping wet hair, trailed by one son who needs to use our bathroom since a sister is "hogging" the hallway bathroom
Step 8 - resume combing hair, glance at son's outfit as he leaves the bathroom, escort him to his room to find some clothes that are clean and without rips and holes
Step 9 - another son appears at the bedroom door to ask if he can open another box of cereal for breakfast
Step 10 - on the way back to my bathroom, remind daughter that she needs to wear a sweater with "that" dress, engage in a five minute knock-down-drag-out fight about said sweater which concludes with daughter slamming the bedroom door and yelling that she "is not going to church at all then" as I continue on my way to the bathroom
Step 11 - get dressed (except for shoes - and maybe jewelry if I'm lucky) enough to walk down the hall to the kids' bathroom in order to break up a quarrel-bordering-on-fist-fight over toothpaste between two of the boys
Step 12 - back to my room to plug in the flat iron and put on some make-up and hold a conversation about where one might be able to locate her missing Bible with the daughter who has followed me
Step 13 - send daughter on her way, find and put on shoes, stop to turn off lights in two of the kids' bedrooms and the water faucet in the bathroom
Step 14 - walk downstairs where my family waits for me to FINALLY be ready for church.
Not all of our kids are developmentally astute enough to pick up on subtle sarcasm, but the few who are just kind of stared and chuckled nervously. It must have been apparent that the sarcasm was borne out of fairly intense frustration.
Our daughter who is never at a loss for words, but often lacking interpersonal tact, asked, "What are the fourteen steps?"
Our daughter clearly inherited her gift of gab from her mother who was glad to oblige her, and the rest of the family now held captive in the kitchen, with a tirade of epic proportion that went a little something like this:
Step 1 - get out of bed forty minutes early to tell the girls to be quiet until 8:00
Step 2 - turn on the shower
Step 3 - answer the knock on the bedroom door from youngest daughter who is tattling on the other sisters for not staying in their beds
Step 4 - walk youngest daughter back the bedroom, stop in the hallway to take laundry to son's room
Step 5 - get in and quickly out of the shower to respond to the argument in the girls' bedroom
Step 6 - get girls up and moving (in the right direction) and knock on the boys' bedroom doors in a feeble attempt to rouse them (somehow the ruckus from their sisters' room doesn't phase them)
Step 7 - return to the bathroom for a towel for my dripping wet hair, trailed by one son who needs to use our bathroom since a sister is "hogging" the hallway bathroom
Step 8 - resume combing hair, glance at son's outfit as he leaves the bathroom, escort him to his room to find some clothes that are clean and without rips and holes
Step 9 - another son appears at the bedroom door to ask if he can open another box of cereal for breakfast
Step 10 - on the way back to my bathroom, remind daughter that she needs to wear a sweater with "that" dress, engage in a five minute knock-down-drag-out fight about said sweater which concludes with daughter slamming the bedroom door and yelling that she "is not going to church at all then" as I continue on my way to the bathroom
Step 11 - get dressed (except for shoes - and maybe jewelry if I'm lucky) enough to walk down the hall to the kids' bathroom in order to break up a quarrel-bordering-on-fist-fight over toothpaste between two of the boys
Step 12 - back to my room to plug in the flat iron and put on some make-up and hold a conversation about where one might be able to locate her missing Bible with the daughter who has followed me
Step 13 - send daughter on her way, find and put on shoes, stop to turn off lights in two of the kids' bedrooms and the water faucet in the bathroom
Step 14 - walk downstairs where my family waits for me to FINALLY be ready for church.
Wednesday, September 18, 2013
Dreams
Next week is a court date for Mister D. It's been seven months and so much has changed, and yet so little has changed.
MD was placed with us in February because he had missed more than fifty days of school so far in the school year, and because although his case had been taken to truancy hearings, his mother did not appear to explain his absences.
Upon registering for and beginning school here, and then being tested for appropriate class placement, it became obvious that MD had missed way more than just fifty days of school. Assigned to the fifth grade, MD could not identify all the letters of the alphabet and did not know what a subtraction sign was. In an effort to provide learning support services for learning disablilities, the school - through thorough testing - instead ruled out all disabilities and rather settled upon the conclusion that MD's severe learning deficient was the result of a lack of school attendance.
Education was not all that MD lacked; he had had very limited exposure to life in general. He could not tell time or know how to use a calendar; didn't know how many days were in a week. The concept of three meals a day at routine times was foreign, and not having the television on non-stop was culture shock. Short trips to the grocery store became full-fledged field trips as we pointed out signs, and stores, and prices, and products. Questions like: "Are you scared to drive in the dark?" - "Who taught you to read?" - "How far is it to California?" - "Will we go to school tomorrow?" were on-going, which was a wonderful glimpse into how curious he really was; but also sad as we realized how much he had missed.
When we reserved a house in Ocean City for week this summer and told the kids about it, MD's questions were: "How deep is the ocean?" - "Can we swim in it?" - "Can you see the end of it?" - "Will there be a diving board into the ocean?" These sorts of conversations continued and more were added when we showed him a youtube video of the ocean; he hadn't realized there would be waves.
When we arrived at our ocean house, walked down to the beach, and stood with our feet in the waves, he looked at me with a huge grin spreading across his face and said, "Ms. D, all this time we've been talking about the ocean and now our dream has come true." And all that I could say was, "Yeah, buddy, our dream come true."
What a precious week that was - watching him swim in the ocean, jump the waves, get buried by and bury the other kids in the sand, shop on the boardwalk, chase seagulls - full of firsts for him.
These past seven months have been filled with revelations for MD. He has a best buddy within walking distance of our house and has earned our trust to be able to be very independent; on the playground he is revered and well-liked for his basketball skills and friendly, gentle manner; teachers continue to find creative ways to help him close the gap (despite not having an IEP, MD receives all sorts of special help) because they see a student who is willing to work and eager to learn. It seems that the little bit of care and attention MD receives is multiplied in his efforts to grow and take advantage of these opportunities.
All the while, MD has a family who loves him and wants him to come back home. And when asked, MD will tell us that he wants to go home, but he also wants to be able to go to school here. He understands that that cannot happen, but also that it is fully out of his control, that his mother's efforts - or lack thereof - will control the outcome.
His mother's efforts have been minimal. From the beginning, visits for MD and his mother have been on-going, but she has not been consistent; it's been over a month since she's seen him. There are other concerns which case workers need to address, but find nearly impossible since it is rare to be able to contact his mother by phone.
On Monday, the judge will probably decide that MD needs to remain here with us; it is doubtful that his mother will even attend the court hearing. That will give us three more months of life with MD, three more months of speaking love and care into his life, of teachers and friends encouraging and nurturing him, of exposure to life and all it has to offer.
But it will also be three more months of wondering - will his mother show up? does she really care about him and his dreams?
MD was placed with us in February because he had missed more than fifty days of school so far in the school year, and because although his case had been taken to truancy hearings, his mother did not appear to explain his absences.
Upon registering for and beginning school here, and then being tested for appropriate class placement, it became obvious that MD had missed way more than just fifty days of school. Assigned to the fifth grade, MD could not identify all the letters of the alphabet and did not know what a subtraction sign was. In an effort to provide learning support services for learning disablilities, the school - through thorough testing - instead ruled out all disabilities and rather settled upon the conclusion that MD's severe learning deficient was the result of a lack of school attendance.
Education was not all that MD lacked; he had had very limited exposure to life in general. He could not tell time or know how to use a calendar; didn't know how many days were in a week. The concept of three meals a day at routine times was foreign, and not having the television on non-stop was culture shock. Short trips to the grocery store became full-fledged field trips as we pointed out signs, and stores, and prices, and products. Questions like: "Are you scared to drive in the dark?" - "Who taught you to read?" - "How far is it to California?" - "Will we go to school tomorrow?" were on-going, which was a wonderful glimpse into how curious he really was; but also sad as we realized how much he had missed.
When we reserved a house in Ocean City for week this summer and told the kids about it, MD's questions were: "How deep is the ocean?" - "Can we swim in it?" - "Can you see the end of it?" - "Will there be a diving board into the ocean?" These sorts of conversations continued and more were added when we showed him a youtube video of the ocean; he hadn't realized there would be waves.
When we arrived at our ocean house, walked down to the beach, and stood with our feet in the waves, he looked at me with a huge grin spreading across his face and said, "Ms. D, all this time we've been talking about the ocean and now our dream has come true." And all that I could say was, "Yeah, buddy, our dream come true."
What a precious week that was - watching him swim in the ocean, jump the waves, get buried by and bury the other kids in the sand, shop on the boardwalk, chase seagulls - full of firsts for him.
These past seven months have been filled with revelations for MD. He has a best buddy within walking distance of our house and has earned our trust to be able to be very independent; on the playground he is revered and well-liked for his basketball skills and friendly, gentle manner; teachers continue to find creative ways to help him close the gap (despite not having an IEP, MD receives all sorts of special help) because they see a student who is willing to work and eager to learn. It seems that the little bit of care and attention MD receives is multiplied in his efforts to grow and take advantage of these opportunities.
All the while, MD has a family who loves him and wants him to come back home. And when asked, MD will tell us that he wants to go home, but he also wants to be able to go to school here. He understands that that cannot happen, but also that it is fully out of his control, that his mother's efforts - or lack thereof - will control the outcome.
His mother's efforts have been minimal. From the beginning, visits for MD and his mother have been on-going, but she has not been consistent; it's been over a month since she's seen him. There are other concerns which case workers need to address, but find nearly impossible since it is rare to be able to contact his mother by phone.
On Monday, the judge will probably decide that MD needs to remain here with us; it is doubtful that his mother will even attend the court hearing. That will give us three more months of life with MD, three more months of speaking love and care into his life, of teachers and friends encouraging and nurturing him, of exposure to life and all it has to offer.
But it will also be three more months of wondering - will his mother show up? does she really care about him and his dreams?
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