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?
Thursday, July 18, 2013
Stepping Out
It's been just over three weeks since LB came into our family. It took only one of those weeks for him to commandeer a large place in my heart; probably due to the the lack of a 'honeymoon period' which required intense and intentional encouragement and discipline from the start.
When the case worker scheduled a visit for Monday, with anticipated news of prospective adoptive families, my heart began to ache. After twenty days of life with LB, it became difficult to imagine life without him; and then I realized that perhaps that wouldn't have to be, and mentioned as much to Stan. He however had not experienced similar thoughts and feelings and, I think, was rather blind-sided by my suggestion that we ask to be considered an adoptive resource for LB.
Respecting his well-thought-out perspective (as compared to my let's-just-take-everyone-in method), I refrained from making any sort of commitment to the case worker. Her visit centered around information about a potential adoptive family - their location, ages, interests and hobbies; it sounded like a wonderful match for LB. Then the case worker said, "There is one issue on which we need some clarification, and then we need the county to approve the family."
Those comments coupled with a conversation I had with LB a few days later, that went something like this:
gave me the courage to approach Stan again about the idea of offering to adopt LB.
This time the conversation quickly became more about the logistics of permanently adding another child to our family - finding another dresser, financing for purchasing a larger vehicle, tracking down school records for registration. My main arguments (not because we were arguing, but because we both deeply respect the strength of each other's perspective) centered around saving LB the potential heart-ache of being moved around again (and again...), how well he had responded to the expectations and structure of our home, and how well he interacted with our other seven kids. Stan and I agreed that the logistics were something that could be - that have always been - worked out.
This morning I contacted our agency case worker as well as the county case worker to let them know that we are committed to LB and to adopting him as our son, fully understanding that another family could be chosen to fulfill that honor.
This decision was not easy; anxious thoughts crossed my mind many times in the past few days. In the end though, there really was not much of a decision to make. A child needs a home, he is already living and thriving in our home, this is his home.
When the case worker scheduled a visit for Monday, with anticipated news of prospective adoptive families, my heart began to ache. After twenty days of life with LB, it became difficult to imagine life without him; and then I realized that perhaps that wouldn't have to be, and mentioned as much to Stan. He however had not experienced similar thoughts and feelings and, I think, was rather blind-sided by my suggestion that we ask to be considered an adoptive resource for LB.
Respecting his well-thought-out perspective (as compared to my let's-just-take-everyone-in method), I refrained from making any sort of commitment to the case worker. Her visit centered around information about a potential adoptive family - their location, ages, interests and hobbies; it sounded like a wonderful match for LB. Then the case worker said, "There is one issue on which we need some clarification, and then we need the county to approve the family."
Those comments coupled with a conversation I had with LB a few days later, that went something like this:
Him: Ms. D, we'll have to drive two cars to get to Ocean City.
Me: Yes, anytime we have more than nine people in our family we have to drive two cars
to go places together.
Him: Well, I think I'm going to be here until the end of the year.
Me: What makes you think that? You know that the case workers are working on finding a
nice, safe place for you.
Him: I don't want to go.
Me: What if they tell you they found a great family who is really nice and really wants you
to come and live with them.
to come and live with them.
Him: I'd tell them, no.
Me: Well, you'd have to say more than, no.
Him: I'd tell them that I want to stay here because I really like you guys.
Me: I really like you, too.
gave me the courage to approach Stan again about the idea of offering to adopt LB.
This time the conversation quickly became more about the logistics of permanently adding another child to our family - finding another dresser, financing for purchasing a larger vehicle, tracking down school records for registration. My main arguments (not because we were arguing, but because we both deeply respect the strength of each other's perspective) centered around saving LB the potential heart-ache of being moved around again (and again...), how well he had responded to the expectations and structure of our home, and how well he interacted with our other seven kids. Stan and I agreed that the logistics were something that could be - that have always been - worked out.
This morning I contacted our agency case worker as well as the county case worker to let them know that we are committed to LB and to adopting him as our son, fully understanding that another family could be chosen to fulfill that honor.
This decision was not easy; anxious thoughts crossed my mind many times in the past few days. In the end though, there really was not much of a decision to make. A child needs a home, he is already living and thriving in our home, this is his home.
Wednesday, July 10, 2013
Say Uncle
Two weeks ago we added another child to our family. An emergency placement, a child who had been picked up and packed up without much warning, and was sitting in the case worker's office, waiting for whatever came next.
We, me and MD, happened to be at the office that Wednesday for a visit with his mom (which never happened that day, by the way - but that is a WHOLE other post.) While we sat and waited, one of the agency case workers walked through, exclaimed that she was "so glad" to see me, and then asked to speak privately with me about a "favor" she needed; and she gave me the preceding information.
My first response was, "You know we're over-full already, right? We had to get a waiver for number seven child a few months ago." Her response was, "But do you have room?" Honestly, in my heart I already knew this child was coming home with us, but I had to say, "Well, it depends on the gender and age." When she told me that the child was an eleven year old boy, that clinched it; the only empty bed (without doing a whole house shuffle) was the bottom bunk in MD's room. MD is a twelve year old boy and we had joked a few weeks before that if we were to take another child, MD would have to share his room.
Of course the right response - and thank goodness I remembered it - was, "Let me call Stan first." He is, after all, the brains of our outfit.
After a short chat with him - in which he reminded me (like I had forgotten!) that we were leaving for a week of vacation at our cabin on Friday (that'd be in less than two days) and that we would have to drive both cars since the Suburban seats nine - I reiterated my initial positive response to the case worker, and we went about loading what we could fit of his belongings into our smaller car.
MD jumped right in and helped to pack up and then chatted with LB (littlest brother) on the ride home. He assured LB that we lived in a nice house, that he would empty some of his dresser drawers so that LB had a place to put his clothes, and asked if LB was okay with a night-light in the bedroom. Listening to one displaced child comfort and encourage another displaced child made my already tender heart even more mushy.
LB moved in, and true to the case worker's warning: there was absolutely NO honeymoon period. Her exact words to me had been, "With LB, what you see is what you get." And what we got was a very active and inquisitive little boy who had lost all control of his own life, and so was seeking and trying all kinds of creative (sometimes frustrating) ways to gain control.
Two days later our family of ten was happily unpacking both cars at our cabin and looking forward to a relaxing, family-fun filled week together. And it truly was that, due in part to LB just being himself -without pretense - from the start. Since we have had a moderate amount of experience with strong-willed and determined children who like to test boundaries, Stan and I did our best to lovingly discipline for that week. A few times LB became so frustrated with the expectations that he exclaimed, "I just want to move NOW!" After the third time hearing this, I firmly told LB that he would move just as soon as a safe place was found and that he should not think that moving would mean the end of his needing to respect rules, AND that he was not to say those words out of frustration anymore. Being the smart little guy he is, he respected my request.
Three days home from vacation and the novelty has worn off and the heat and humidity make it hard to be outside, and LB out of a need for control or just shear boredom has begun to be more disrespectful and destructive: yelling in peoples' faces, throwing toys against walls, tossing the girls' belongings down the stairs, picking at and ripping apart furniture. As these behaviors were addressed over the past few days, LB told me, "That's just the way I am." The remedy for that is: if you can't control yourself, I'll be glad to help you, so you'll need to be wherever I am at all times. More frustration and today more acting out.
Earlier today I heard, "My uncle (with whom LB had apparently lived for a short time) always lets me act this way." And less than thirty minutes later, "I want to call my uncle!"
I can't and won't say anything negative about an uncle whom I have not met and one to whom LB will not return. I can and will stick by this hurting and broken little boy for as long as we are blessed to have him here.
It's you and me LB, which of us will say "Uncle" first?
We, me and MD, happened to be at the office that Wednesday for a visit with his mom (which never happened that day, by the way - but that is a WHOLE other post.) While we sat and waited, one of the agency case workers walked through, exclaimed that she was "so glad" to see me, and then asked to speak privately with me about a "favor" she needed; and she gave me the preceding information.
My first response was, "You know we're over-full already, right? We had to get a waiver for number seven child a few months ago." Her response was, "But do you have room?" Honestly, in my heart I already knew this child was coming home with us, but I had to say, "Well, it depends on the gender and age." When she told me that the child was an eleven year old boy, that clinched it; the only empty bed (without doing a whole house shuffle) was the bottom bunk in MD's room. MD is a twelve year old boy and we had joked a few weeks before that if we were to take another child, MD would have to share his room.
Of course the right response - and thank goodness I remembered it - was, "Let me call Stan first." He is, after all, the brains of our outfit.
After a short chat with him - in which he reminded me (like I had forgotten!) that we were leaving for a week of vacation at our cabin on Friday (that'd be in less than two days) and that we would have to drive both cars since the Suburban seats nine - I reiterated my initial positive response to the case worker, and we went about loading what we could fit of his belongings into our smaller car.
MD jumped right in and helped to pack up and then chatted with LB (littlest brother) on the ride home. He assured LB that we lived in a nice house, that he would empty some of his dresser drawers so that LB had a place to put his clothes, and asked if LB was okay with a night-light in the bedroom. Listening to one displaced child comfort and encourage another displaced child made my already tender heart even more mushy.
LB moved in, and true to the case worker's warning: there was absolutely NO honeymoon period. Her exact words to me had been, "With LB, what you see is what you get." And what we got was a very active and inquisitive little boy who had lost all control of his own life, and so was seeking and trying all kinds of creative (sometimes frustrating) ways to gain control.
Two days later our family of ten was happily unpacking both cars at our cabin and looking forward to a relaxing, family-fun filled week together. And it truly was that, due in part to LB just being himself -without pretense - from the start. Since we have had a moderate amount of experience with strong-willed and determined children who like to test boundaries, Stan and I did our best to lovingly discipline for that week. A few times LB became so frustrated with the expectations that he exclaimed, "I just want to move NOW!" After the third time hearing this, I firmly told LB that he would move just as soon as a safe place was found and that he should not think that moving would mean the end of his needing to respect rules, AND that he was not to say those words out of frustration anymore. Being the smart little guy he is, he respected my request.
Three days home from vacation and the novelty has worn off and the heat and humidity make it hard to be outside, and LB out of a need for control or just shear boredom has begun to be more disrespectful and destructive: yelling in peoples' faces, throwing toys against walls, tossing the girls' belongings down the stairs, picking at and ripping apart furniture. As these behaviors were addressed over the past few days, LB told me, "That's just the way I am." The remedy for that is: if you can't control yourself, I'll be glad to help you, so you'll need to be wherever I am at all times. More frustration and today more acting out.
Earlier today I heard, "My uncle (with whom LB had apparently lived for a short time) always lets me act this way." And less than thirty minutes later, "I want to call my uncle!"
I can't and won't say anything negative about an uncle whom I have not met and one to whom LB will not return. I can and will stick by this hurting and broken little boy for as long as we are blessed to have him here.
It's you and me LB, which of us will say "Uncle" first?
Thursday, May 16, 2013
Adjustments
Four months and two weeks and still no consistency for my LS. No one expects to hear from birth mom even after she's released from prison; and LS holds firm in her desire to never be with the person who has caused the most trauma and hurt in her young life.
Birth dad, who has only had sporadic contact with LS, but is someone who is stable - has a job, a home, a fiance' - is being considered the primary permanent placement resource. In order to establish a strong parent-child bond, visitation was increased from every other week to every week and the venue modified from an office setting to a more relaxed and natural community setting. Additionally, the location of the visits was changed to be more local to dad - about a ten minute commute from his place of employment - since there were claims that both location and traffic caused him to miss previous visits. All these adjustments were made to move toward a positive outcome of family reunification.
Increases in and variations to the visitation plan made it necessary to involve another team player - a visitation social worker whose sole responsibility is to schedule, facilitate, and supervise the visits. Because the distance between our home and the visitation site is now much greater, and the time has been modified to fit dad's schedule, and because there are other children in our home with appointments and commitments; it was impossible to adjust our family schedule so that I could be the transporter to and from visits (as well as have a bit of face-to-face interaction with LS's dad.) This was an adjustment that was unwelcome since I prefer to drive my children where they need to go and journey with them through whatever-the-situation.
Yesterday's scheduled visit was a perfect "case in point." After picking up LS and driving ninety minutes to the visitation location, the case worker called to say that dad was not going to make it to the visit; some reason was given, the case worker spent some fun time with LS, then put her back into the car for ninety more minutes to return home. This was another unforeseen adjustment, and one for which we hadn't planned. Removing the potential barriers - distance, time, location, travel time, traffic - (and in the process requiring everyone involved to adjust) was supposed to alleviate cancelled or missed visits, of which we had had many opportunities to contend with early on. At those times, I was there with LS; I was the one to hug her in the waiting room, the one to hold her hand as we walked to the car to head back home, the one to reassure her that her daddy would be able to receive the picture she'd colored "just for him" the next time, the one to stop for milkshakes to drown our sorrows.
This morning it became apparent that the bulk of the adjusting had fallen on the very small shoulders of our LS. Her usually perky and smiley self, was today replaced with a sulky and sad-faced little girl. Dressing, packing up, eating, teeth-brushing all took much prompting; her mind seemed to be somewhere far away. Behaviors - the mildest of which was finding her poking around two of her brothers' bedrooms (which are strictly off limits to the girls) while she was to be in the bathroom - unusual for her, and the equally unusual denial of poor choices and just flat out defiance, became obvious signs of distress.
While it is one thing to make changes and expect adults to adjust and function, it is an entirely different - and unacceptable (at least to this mom) - demand to place on a small child who has made uncountable adjustments already in a very short time.
This cannot continue. And if it does, if my LS is called upon to suffer any more, those in authority are the ones who are going to have to adjust to this irritated momma bear.
Birth dad, who has only had sporadic contact with LS, but is someone who is stable - has a job, a home, a fiance' - is being considered the primary permanent placement resource. In order to establish a strong parent-child bond, visitation was increased from every other week to every week and the venue modified from an office setting to a more relaxed and natural community setting. Additionally, the location of the visits was changed to be more local to dad - about a ten minute commute from his place of employment - since there were claims that both location and traffic caused him to miss previous visits. All these adjustments were made to move toward a positive outcome of family reunification.
Increases in and variations to the visitation plan made it necessary to involve another team player - a visitation social worker whose sole responsibility is to schedule, facilitate, and supervise the visits. Because the distance between our home and the visitation site is now much greater, and the time has been modified to fit dad's schedule, and because there are other children in our home with appointments and commitments; it was impossible to adjust our family schedule so that I could be the transporter to and from visits (as well as have a bit of face-to-face interaction with LS's dad.) This was an adjustment that was unwelcome since I prefer to drive my children where they need to go and journey with them through whatever-the-situation.
Yesterday's scheduled visit was a perfect "case in point." After picking up LS and driving ninety minutes to the visitation location, the case worker called to say that dad was not going to make it to the visit; some reason was given, the case worker spent some fun time with LS, then put her back into the car for ninety more minutes to return home. This was another unforeseen adjustment, and one for which we hadn't planned. Removing the potential barriers - distance, time, location, travel time, traffic - (and in the process requiring everyone involved to adjust) was supposed to alleviate cancelled or missed visits, of which we had had many opportunities to contend with early on. At those times, I was there with LS; I was the one to hug her in the waiting room, the one to hold her hand as we walked to the car to head back home, the one to reassure her that her daddy would be able to receive the picture she'd colored "just for him" the next time, the one to stop for milkshakes to drown our sorrows.
This morning it became apparent that the bulk of the adjusting had fallen on the very small shoulders of our LS. Her usually perky and smiley self, was today replaced with a sulky and sad-faced little girl. Dressing, packing up, eating, teeth-brushing all took much prompting; her mind seemed to be somewhere far away. Behaviors - the mildest of which was finding her poking around two of her brothers' bedrooms (which are strictly off limits to the girls) while she was to be in the bathroom - unusual for her, and the equally unusual denial of poor choices and just flat out defiance, became obvious signs of distress.
While it is one thing to make changes and expect adults to adjust and function, it is an entirely different - and unacceptable (at least to this mom) - demand to place on a small child who has made uncountable adjustments already in a very short time.
This cannot continue. And if it does, if my LS is called upon to suffer any more, those in authority are the ones who are going to have to adjust to this irritated momma bear.
Monday, May 13, 2013
One For The Book
Eleven years ago today was one for the book, the book I have been told by some that I should write, the book that will most probably never be written, the book about our adventures and journey as a foster family.
Four days before Mother's Day 2002 we were called to take a placement of a young mother, fifteen years old; her six month old baby was placed with another foster family. We were told that both mother and baby had been living together in some sort of group home setting, but that since this teenage mom was struggling to provide necessary care for her infant while going to school the court decided that separate placements would be beneficial. Visits between mom and baby were to be scheduled to maintain the bond between them and to eventually lead to reunification in the home of a relative.
In our home, Little Miss Big (LMB) presented herself as a sweet and compliant young lady and during the first couple of days she found ways to be helpful: playing with our little boys (at that time we had four of them under the age of seven), cleaning up the kitchen, joining in family conversations and activities. Like most teenage girls, she also enjoyed talking on the phone, and since she was too far away to hang out with her friends, we allowed fairly liberal phone privileges.
The Friday before Mother's Day, Stan drove LMB into the city for a visit with her baby. I spent that time putting together a Mother's Day gift for her; how sad it would be for her to spend her very first Mother's Day without her baby in her arms. And she seemed very appreciative to receive the gifts on Sunday.
Shortly after walking out the door to go to work on Monday morning, Stan came back into the house and announced, "The car is not in the driveway." My first thought was, "Well, did you park it on the street last night?" Clearly I had not caught the meaning of his statement because his next words were: "Is LMB in her room?"
Hurrying upstairs and to the end of hallway, I don't remember knocking on the bedroom door before going in to find LMB missing.
While waiting for the police to arrive we continued to investigate and discovered that in addition to the Suburban, my wallet, money that we had been collecting for a fundraiser at church ($300), and Stan's entire key ring (with our house keys, keys for our other cars, and keys for the church) were missing.
Our foster care agency was also informed of the situation and they in turn contacted the Philadelphia case worker. It was only at that point that we were told that LMB had previously taken a car from her brother. Additionally we were told that the reason for her placement with us, "away from the city", was that she had absconded from the mother/baby group home with her son - twice.
As we pieced together the story for the police, we remembered that the phone had rung at about 1:30 a.m. that morning (which may have been some sort of wake-up call for LMB since we found the phone handset in her bedroom), and deduced that LMB had waited until we were asleep to gather our belongings (incidentally, she had left behind the Mother's Day gifts we had given her), slip out the back door, and drive into the city.
Since we were certain that LMB had driven toward the city, our local police contacted Philadelphia police. We were assurred that the Suburban would probably be found in good condition since it was so large and not likely to be stripped for parts. Sure enough, four days later it was reported to be impounded and after paying a hefty fee for towing and storage, we were able to drive it home since it had been found with only a dead battery - probably because LMB left the lights on after she parked it along the street close to a bus stop.
Recovering the Suburban was a blessing, but we also needed to recover other losses: the locks on our house and the church had to be changed, we had rented a van while waiting to see if the Suburban would resurface, money had been stolen, and it seemed unfair that we were responsible for costs of getting our own car back. Thankfully, our agency went to bat for us, wrote a letter to the city of Philadelphia explaining the situation and that, had we been provided with accurate and complete information, we would have taken reasonable precautions to protect ourselves, our possessions, and LMB. The city responded several weeks later with a check to cover all the costs we had detailed.
About a month later, Stan and I attended the court hearing. We sat in the back of the courtroom and were recognized by the judge but received no acknowlegment from LMB. The judge of course ordered her to make full restitution, which as far as we know, she never did.
We were able to move on, and even joke about the whole situation as a standard question, whenever we received a new placement, became: "Well, does she/he drive?"
While we've been blessed to not have to travel that particular path again, there have been many times that have qualified as "one for the book", and without a doubt there will be many more.
Four days before Mother's Day 2002 we were called to take a placement of a young mother, fifteen years old; her six month old baby was placed with another foster family. We were told that both mother and baby had been living together in some sort of group home setting, but that since this teenage mom was struggling to provide necessary care for her infant while going to school the court decided that separate placements would be beneficial. Visits between mom and baby were to be scheduled to maintain the bond between them and to eventually lead to reunification in the home of a relative.
In our home, Little Miss Big (LMB) presented herself as a sweet and compliant young lady and during the first couple of days she found ways to be helpful: playing with our little boys (at that time we had four of them under the age of seven), cleaning up the kitchen, joining in family conversations and activities. Like most teenage girls, she also enjoyed talking on the phone, and since she was too far away to hang out with her friends, we allowed fairly liberal phone privileges.
The Friday before Mother's Day, Stan drove LMB into the city for a visit with her baby. I spent that time putting together a Mother's Day gift for her; how sad it would be for her to spend her very first Mother's Day without her baby in her arms. And she seemed very appreciative to receive the gifts on Sunday.
Shortly after walking out the door to go to work on Monday morning, Stan came back into the house and announced, "The car is not in the driveway." My first thought was, "Well, did you park it on the street last night?" Clearly I had not caught the meaning of his statement because his next words were: "Is LMB in her room?"
Hurrying upstairs and to the end of hallway, I don't remember knocking on the bedroom door before going in to find LMB missing.
While waiting for the police to arrive we continued to investigate and discovered that in addition to the Suburban, my wallet, money that we had been collecting for a fundraiser at church ($300), and Stan's entire key ring (with our house keys, keys for our other cars, and keys for the church) were missing.
Our foster care agency was also informed of the situation and they in turn contacted the Philadelphia case worker. It was only at that point that we were told that LMB had previously taken a car from her brother. Additionally we were told that the reason for her placement with us, "away from the city", was that she had absconded from the mother/baby group home with her son - twice.
As we pieced together the story for the police, we remembered that the phone had rung at about 1:30 a.m. that morning (which may have been some sort of wake-up call for LMB since we found the phone handset in her bedroom), and deduced that LMB had waited until we were asleep to gather our belongings (incidentally, she had left behind the Mother's Day gifts we had given her), slip out the back door, and drive into the city.
Since we were certain that LMB had driven toward the city, our local police contacted Philadelphia police. We were assurred that the Suburban would probably be found in good condition since it was so large and not likely to be stripped for parts. Sure enough, four days later it was reported to be impounded and after paying a hefty fee for towing and storage, we were able to drive it home since it had been found with only a dead battery - probably because LMB left the lights on after she parked it along the street close to a bus stop.
Recovering the Suburban was a blessing, but we also needed to recover other losses: the locks on our house and the church had to be changed, we had rented a van while waiting to see if the Suburban would resurface, money had been stolen, and it seemed unfair that we were responsible for costs of getting our own car back. Thankfully, our agency went to bat for us, wrote a letter to the city of Philadelphia explaining the situation and that, had we been provided with accurate and complete information, we would have taken reasonable precautions to protect ourselves, our possessions, and LMB. The city responded several weeks later with a check to cover all the costs we had detailed.
About a month later, Stan and I attended the court hearing. We sat in the back of the courtroom and were recognized by the judge but received no acknowlegment from LMB. The judge of course ordered her to make full restitution, which as far as we know, she never did.
We were able to move on, and even joke about the whole situation as a standard question, whenever we received a new placement, became: "Well, does she/he drive?"
While we've been blessed to not have to travel that particular path again, there have been many times that have qualified as "one for the book", and without a doubt there will be many more.
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