Yesterday was a Day

My head is throbbing, I feel the migraine starting to build behind my eyes, threatening to pull me into a cloud of unending pain. Sleep would help. Relieving the stress would help even more, but there is so much going on that’s a pipe dream. Eventually, my body will demand I stop. If things don’t change, the headache will win. I’m hoping that won’t happen until the weekend.

 

What could be causing so much stress, you wonder? Yesterday. Yesterday was a day.

 

The morning started out sort of regular, only I had to get up a few minutes earlier to be sure we were out the door in time to get Chica Marie to school by 8. It was her first full day of kindergarten. Primero had to leave early to walk to work and so I was left alone to deal with Love Bug’s morning melt-down. When he realizes it is time to go he gets very upset and howls until I hold him, which isn’t always feasible. Yesterday, he was particularly whiney, wanting me to hold him pretty much the whole morning, following me around the house yelling “up!” It makes getting ready quite an arduous task because I have to keep stopping and trying to get Love Bug to calm down.

 

We left the house a little before 8 and drove the three blocks to school, parked and found the mobile therapist. I was confused as to where the drop off point was, but we found it relatively easily. Love Bug waited patiently, holding his sister’s hand. I have the most adorable picture of them walking down the sidewalk in front of the school. We waited for roughly 10 minutes before the special ed autism support teacher came to collect Chica Marie. She confirmed the name of the daycare picking her up and I told Love Bug it was time to go. He refused to let go of his sister’s hand, screaming as I lifted him to my shoulder and walked back to the car. I drove Love Bug to daycare and arrived at work a few minutes late.

 

Work was hectic, but not too crazy. I was missing a webinar training due to a medical appointment and had to arrange to attend the second session this morning. The friend I usually take lunch with is leaving, she found a new job, so I was listening to her chat about the crazy things her team was doing. It hasn’t been a good situation for her for quite some time. Not long after lunch, I had to leave for my appointment. Before I could leave, I noticed a text from Primero. His sister, Esperanza, was in distress and thought she might need to go to the hospital. Primero called me and I suggested if it were a pressing emergency, she should call 911. I explained that I could not take her to the ER because I was headed to an appointment. But, first I needed to get gas in the car, making me rush to get to the doctor’s office on time.

 

I arrived just on time to the doctor’s office. I wasn’t looking forward to the procedure, a biopsy sounded intimidating to me, but I had already endured a saline ultrasound and it wasn’t so bad. I barely had enough time to text Primero to see if Esperanza was ok and had found a ride to the ER, when I was called back to the room. The nurse was cordial and business-like. She took my vitals and miss-read my weight declaring I lost a lot of weight since my visit last month. I wish! But, sadly no. Now I was self-conscious and feeling particularly large. She explained I should void my bladder and disrobe from the waist down and wait for Shelly, whoever that was.

 

I did as I was asked and soon Shelly came in to perform the ultrasound with the magic wand. I stared at grainy image of my still empty uterus as she wiggled the wand around to see all the non-working parts. After saving images of my uterus and ovaries, she left to get the doctor. For several long moments I laid on the table with my feet in the stirrups. The ultrasound tech had turned off the over-head lights so the room was lit by a small light over the sink and the screen of the ultrasound machine still displaying black and white pictures of my sad uterus. I had been doing fine, I hadn’t given it much thought, but the sight of the machine brought back the memories of my previous experience with an ultrasound and I felt tears stinging my eyes. I wiped them away furiously, but they would not stop trickling down my cheeks. I took several deep breaths and forced myself to think about my three kids and anything else that would stop the painful memories. After breathing myself into a near catatonic state, I sat up and waited for the doctor, grateful he wasn’t in a hurry.

 

Soon Shelly came back with the doctor and the nurse (her name was Kelly – I’m not making this up). He asked why I was there and I explained my request to my nurse midwife for help with heavy periods. She said I would need this procedure to make sure there were no issues, like fibroids, causing my heavy flow. He began describing the procedure and I explained I had done it before. He asked if I had any children and I responded no. He asked if I wanted children and the floodgates opened. I could not keep the tears in check and my throat burned with the effort to keep my voice normal. When I responded that I had wanted children, he asked about a partner and I squeaked out, “No, I don’t have one.”  I felt pathetic for getting emotional. The doctor handed me a tissue and I assumed the position for the games to begin. The saline catheter was as I remembered it – not painful, more annoying. I felt some pressure, mostly on my bladder, and some cramps so mild if I hadn’t been paying attention I would have missed them. Next came the biopsy. I feared the cramping would be more intense, but it was still only slight and nothing compared to my period cramps. The doctor cleaned me off a bit then told me to sit up. He flipped the lights back on and asked me to come see him in his office.   

 

I waited for the nurse to pass some pads into me, then got redressed. I opened the door to the procedure room and was met with the sympathetic faces of both Shelly and Kelly. Their faces read that they felt sorry for me and I swallowed down more tears as I walked the gauntlet of pity to the doctor’s office. The nurse closed the door behind me as the doctor invited me to have a seat. First, he wanted to know why I made a face when he asked me about a partner. Omg, he thought I was a battered woman! No! And listen, not that I don’t appreciate the concern and I certainly hope if I were a battered woman and needed help that I could find help, but a gynecologist I just met is not the person I would be telling this type of thing to. I responded that I was divorced, thus ending that line of questioning. He then suggested I try Mirena for my heavy periods because it helps a great deal. He said he would call me in a few days with my lab results and gave me literature on the IUD before ushering me on my way.

 

I stood waiting to check out for an excruciatingly long time, breathing shallowly so as not to begin bawling right then and there. Finally, I was able to escape to my car where the hot tears could no longer be staved off. I ugly cried as I drove aimlessly around the neighborhood I didn’t know. Eventually, I found my way home and sobbed piteously while cleaning myself up from that gross ultrasound goop. The memories of past pain, triggered by a familiar procedure and the multitude of questions regarding my lack of ovulation and unsuccessful attempts to get pregnant, overwhelmed me. I cried for those memories.

 

But, I was also frustrated. When I had spoken to my nurse midwife last month, I told her I didn’t want to be on birth control, yet the doctor gave me the choice of birth control or birth control to help with my heavy periods. The literature he gave me did not help, since Mirena was touted for the “busy mom” who can’t be bothered to remember to take the pill. I guess it’s stupid, since it’s not likely I will find myself pregnant for many reasons, one being I’m single. But, I am so totally opposed to any form of contraceptive on the off chance that I do meet someone. I explained to my mom, who I called to discuss what non-birth control options there might be for me, if I meet someone and things work out, I don’t want to have to make a conscious effort to decide to get pregnant or not. If I have an IUD, I would have to make an appointment to have it taken out and that’s an awful lot like saying we are trying. I guess it’s stupid, but making it a happy accident is really the only way I could do it.

 

So, it seems to me like my only options are birth control pills, which I hate I how I feel on them, or an IUD, which may or may not be something my body adjusts to. Many moons ago I had tried to skip my period using the pill. I knew, since my mom works in the field, it could take a few months to achieve total period elimination. For six months I took the pill and not the placebo. For six months I spotted, never once achieving a lapse in my period. My mom worries my body would respond similarly to an IUD, which does help with the heavy flow issue, but certainly isn’t a trade I’d want to make. It feels hopeless. I promised my mom I would talk to my nurse midwife after getting the biopsy results. I don’t have much hope I will find any help, so I’m going to research herbal options and alternative medicine techniques, like acupuncture or chiropractic solutions.

 

After I cleaned myself up, dried my tears, I had to get back to reality. I text Primero that I would pick him up at school and we would then pick up the little ones. We grabbed dinner on our way home and I cleaned up a little in preparation for the CHOR case worker visiting. On our ride home, Primero announced that Hermano’s girlfriend was going to be induced that very afternoon and so his nephew would be here very soon.

 

I washed a sink full of dishes before the case worker was expected to arrive around 5. I sat down, thinking she would be there any minute. As time ticked by and it was after 5:30, I began to wonder if I had made a mistake on the day or time. I checked my email and re-read our exchange, knowing I was right she said Tuesday around 5. As I was about to check my phone for any messages, I saw her walking up to our porch. She had called me and left a message stating she was running late. By this point it was nearly 6 pm. I was so glad the kids had eaten dinner already! We sat down to talk so I could relay all of the information regarding Chica Marie, her therapy, the county case worker’s visit, and the issues with her education. It was a lot to talk about! She didn’t leave until 7 pm.

 

We needed to run out for a few things. Primero needed an exacto knife for his art project and the dogs needed dog food. As we were on our way to the store, Esperanza called and asked for a ride home from the hospital. We were driving right past the hospital, so we picked her and her cousin up and took them along with us. The teenagers walked around on their own as I gathered the things we needed with two squabbling little kids. I had wanted Chica Marie to be in bed early, but that wasn’t happening. We drove the girls home, then dashed back to our place so I could give the kids a bath and get them to bed.

 

The baby was born around 4:30 this morning and it was the first thing I saw when I woke up and checked my phone. Primero is excited about being an uncle and he was also asked to be the godfather. I bought a cute onsie and a Halloween outfit for the baby when we were at Wal-mart. Hermano said they are trying to come to town to visit with everyone, but if they don’t make it, we will most likely go visit them.

 

Days like yesterday zap my energy. I felt emotionally chewed up from all that was happening. I feel pathetic for losing it in the doctor’s office. I feel so many, many things about teenagers having a baby. I feel exasperated at the issues hindering Chica Marie’s educational experience. I feel conflicted about the scenario with Esperanza. I feel exhausted, worn out, used up, totally spent. Is it any wonder a migraine is imminent?     

Beyond Frustrated

The saga of Chica Marie’s education continues. Yesterday we attended the kindergarten orientation, just like all the other kindergarten children in our school. Sadly, it was just a reminder of what Chica Marie was not going to be doing. I was able to take her to her temporary classroom and introduce her to her temporary teacher. I can only hope that helps her adjustment, as fleeting as it may be.

 

This morning her mobile therapist was waiting for us at the school while the students waiting in the van were sorted into their respective classrooms. Love Bug was clinging to Chica Marie, holding her hand and waiting impatiently along with her. He howled when I tore him away from her and she went into the school building for her first full day of school. Chica Marie had been acting up in small ways yesterday, both at daycare and at home. I’m hoping having a familiar face in the classroom will help ease her into things.

 

There have been a flurry of emails between the mobile therapist and the county case worker regarding what is needed for our meeting on Thursday. The county case worker is not really understanding what is needed for this meeting and keeps demanding some form to be signed by either a judge or bio mom. The reality is, this meeting is the form, meaning we need someone to provide consent for a TSS worker to enter the school for the allotted hours that will be determined at the meeting. The back and forth is maddening as each side makes demands of the other. I forwarded the exchange to the CHOR case worker, in hopes that she might be able to help translate what is needed by the mobile therapist to the county case worker. She sent an email to us all. More. emails. Ermagwad!

 

Meanwhile, poor Chica Marie is stuck in a classroom that really isn’t entirely appropriate for her while she waits for the grown-ups to sort this mess out and get her the education she deserves. I need a stronger word than frustrated because that is how I feel.  

Woman's Equality Day

I would say that infertility is still very much a part of my life. I think it always will be in a way; it seems to color my thinking differently now than before infertility was personal. Yet, sometimes it sneak attacks me in unexpected ways. Friday, in the midst of dealing with Chica Marie’s school and trying to determine what sort of help would be needed, the Principal of the school admitted to being in a 4 year battle with infertility. Wham-o! The comment was made after a brief discussion on why having bio mom attend the meeting on Thursday might not be such a good idea given her propensity to derail and delay. It was said out of a frustration I know all too well – these fertile people popping out kids they aren’t able to take care of, while infertiles languish in hellish limbo barely hoping to believe the next try will result in a child to love. This would have been an appropriate time to admit to personally understanding how she feels, to finding camaraderie in the misery of infertility. Instead, I chose to keep my mouth shut, to not out myself as a fellow infertile and to continue on with the meeting just as if I hadn’t found someone in the very trenches that shredded me to the core. I could say I was too focused on everything that was happening during the meeting, but if she had the courage to announce to a room full of people, including her staff, why didn’t I at least admit to knowing personally how she felt? I think it had to do with her precursor sentence, “This might be too much TMI.” Just as so many people do, she set infertility into the private, untouchable realm; made it the taboo topic we all know exists and is prevalent, but don’t talk about on a personal level.  It seemed sort of ironic that on Woman’s Equality Day, mentioning infertility is still TMI. #MicroblogMonday

Not sure what #MicroblogMondays is? Read the inaugural post which explains the idea and how you can participate too.

My Little Schoolhouse

I think I want to cry. I know I wanted to cry during the meeting, but I kept it together and no one suspected. My head hurts from the effort. And, school hasn’t even officially started yet. Dear Lord, give me strength!

 

So, last night Chica Marie and I went to the school open house, to meet her kindergarten teacher and get the lay of the land. It didn’t go well. Chica Marie immediately reverted to her baby stage, clinging to me, refusing to talk to anyone, sticking her fingers in her mouth and not being terribly cooperative. We easily found her classroom and waited for another family to finish to talk to her teacher. The teacher was nice and friendly. Chica Marie wouldn’t speak, not a word. She wouldn’t even sit in the chair offered to her. She did start touching things, like a building toy, which the teacher let her take out to play with. She wrote her name for the teacher, but still wouldn’t talk to her. I tried to convey some information to the teacher about Chica Marie’s behaviors, but was interrupted by another family. As we were trying to leave, Chica Marie jumped up on a small raised platform in the front of the room and began touching things. We left before she got really out of hand. The teacher told us where to find a turtle pond, which we visited after popping in to see the cafeteria and gymnasium. We then walked to the library where Chica Marie insisted I read her a book, so I did, thinking it would give her a good experience. On our way back to the front of the building, we stopped in with the nurse to give her some paperwork. While I tried to talk to the nurse, Chica Marie was playing with some cut out letters and handprints laying on a table. I asked her to stop twice before telling her to sit down on one of the chairs by the door. She crossed her arms and refused, stating she didn’t want to be there. So much for a good experience.

 

Now, I have had a previous foster child in this school before, she was already used to going to school, since she was in 5^th grade. Plus, she wasn’t with me for long, so the problems were only beginning to start when she moved on to a different foster home. So, this is my first time sending a child to school for the first time. I know most parents look at this as rite of passage, something that is equal parts exciting and sentimental. Sadly, because of so many things out of my control and Chica Marie’s control, she won’t be starting regular school like her peers.  

 

The mobile therapist set up a meeting with the school guidance counselor and principal to discuss Chica Marie and the concerns about her starting school. She text me earlier this week to notify me of the date and time, stating I didn’t have to attend that she would be able to handle it on her own. Well, it turns out it was a good thing  I went because the meeting did not have the outcome I expected. I guess I figured the meeting would be simple, just me and the mobile therapist explaining the behaviors exhibited in daycare and at home and the school relaying this information to their staff with promises to work on or with her behaviors. That is not how it went. We began discussing things and once it was understood that Chica Marie was involved with Early Intervention and the STEPS program, they found information and an evaluation on her that totally changed the  course of her schooling. The school basically demanded we reinstate TSS, which ended simply because she was leaving daycare and starting school. Insurance red tape dictates that a new approval is needed for TSS in school. The school felt that Chica Marie would not be able to participate in a regular kindergarten class with one teacher and 25 students. She was recommended to a special emotional/behavioral classroom in an entirely different school. This classroom would be smaller in the number of students and have more adult helpers in the classroom. She will temporarily attend the current school until transportation can be worked out for her to attend the different school on the other side of town. It makes it easier for her daycare, since they won’t have to provide transportation as they had agreed.

 

As acronyms and people’s names and titles were swirling around me during the meeting I began feeling overwhelmed. When one of the special ed teachers pointed out reports regarding a particular, albeit infrequent, habit of Chica Marie and how that might make it unsafe for her to be left alone with other children, I felt like calling the whole thing to a halt. She was a little girl, one who was very hurt at a very young age. While she needs to learn to be responsible for her behaviors, a lot of what she does is not really her fault, but a reaction from what had been done to her. I felt like all bets were off once the school caught wind of this one thing and suddenly this little innocent 5 year old is a hardened criminal who cannot be trusted to be around other kindergarten kids. I felt like Chica Marie was being victimized all over again, simply because she had been the victim in the first place. I felt myself getting emotional and had to push those feelings away so I could remain calm in the meeting. It’s one thing for me to say those things about Chica Marie, having lived with her these past two years, it’s something else entirely to hear complete strangers who haven’t even met her, say these things. It was a disheartening meeting to say the least.

 

My hope for Chica Marie is that she surprises us all; that she so loves school and learning that she has infrequent behavioral issues because she is too busy soaking up knowledge. I hope she will be able to move into the regular kindergarten classroom with TSS support and be challenged academically, not left to languish in an emotional support classroom twiddling her thumbs. And I’m hopeful that this bumpy beginning will smooth out and I won’t dread the school year for the next 12 years as she moves from grade to grade. For now, I just need a back massage and some chocolate to rejuvenate myself for our next meeting on Thursday.

Learning to be Siblings

For the first time since Love Bug’s birthday party we had Mini Momma sleep-over. I’m not clear on when exactly she moved in with Grandma, but she has been there for at least a few weeks. We have never been to Grandma’s place, but I had agreed to picking up Mini Momma Friday late afternoon. Friday morning, while at Dorney Park with Primero, Grandma text me asking if I could come a little earlier to pick up Mini Momma to avoid traffic. We agreed I would pick her up around 3:30. Primero didn’t want to spend a lot of time at the amusement park, since he didn’t really like riding roller coasters and it was freaking HOT. He asked to see a movie. I agreed, but we were an hour from home in the opposite direction of Grandma’s place and we hit traffic getting back to town. So, we went to the mall to cool off for a bit while I debated picking up the children early from daycare to make the hour ride to Grandma’s house or chance getting back late to pick them up. I decided it would be nice for them to see Grandma and so we got them early as a surprise because Chica Marie didn’t know about Mini Momma visiting.

 

We drove an hour in the sweltering van, reaching Grandma’s house around 3:45. The house was a small row home in a development of row homes. The outside had overgrown weeds, much like my house (sadly – but, it has been entirely too HOT to pull weeds). We rang the doorbell and one of the cousins answered with Mini Momma behind her. Rather than looking excited and anxious to see us, Mini Momma looked bored and uninterested. We entered the house and were greeted by a fat black cat stretched out on the floor right next to the door and a large aquarium with three large turtles. There was a table and chairs and cat toys and beds scattered all around. We followed the cousin and Mini Momma down a short hallway, past a tiny kitchen and into a living room with a massive TV, a couch and over-sized leather chair. Through the doorway I saw a young man washing dishes. The brother to the cousin was seated in the chair playing a football video game. Mini Momma flopped on the couch and pulled a blanket over her lap. Grandma was nowhere in sight. The young man washing the dishes noticed Chica Marie and asked if she remembered him. She shook her head no and started trying to get Mini Momma’s attention. Love Bug was clinging to me, desperate for me to hold him and not put him down. I walked over to the doorway to the kitchen to introduce myself to the young man and asked him if he has ever met Love Bug, knowing he hadn’t. I sat on the couch uninvited and asked Mini Momma if her Grandma was home. She shook her head no and went back to watching the video game with her finger in her mouth. Eventually, the young man came out of the kitchen and video called Grandma, who was still at work. Grandma talked first to Chica Marie who stuck her finger in her mouth and refused to say anything. Then, the phone was turned towards Love Bug who had finally released his death grip on my neck and was talking to Primero about what he saw on the TV. Grandma spoke to me, asking when I would bring Mini Momma back. Mini Momma quickly answered she wanted to return the next day at three. I was stunned that she wanted to come back so quickly. I told Grandma we were going to the pool and I wasn’t sure what time we would be back. There was static on the line and Grandma couldn’t hear me so she asked me to text her. I asked Mini Momma to gather her things and made sure she had a bathing suit and we left.

 

We had planned to get dinner at the local diner but Primero wanted to go home to get his cell phone charger first. He was going to just go home alone, since the diner is within walking distance, but I figured it was just as easy for me to drive us there. Fortunately, I made that decision because while I was waiting with the kids in the hot car, Love Bug’s speech therapist pulled up. I had forgotten she asked to reschedule from Wednesday because I got back later from my training in Harrisburg. We all went inside the house and I sent the girls to Chica Marie’s bedroom so the speech therapist could work with Love Bug. After her visit, we went to the diner and then drove to the Redbox before returning home to wait to pick up Esperanza and Cousin, once Esperanza was home from work.

 

We put the little ones to bed and the older ones played Just Dance for a bit before putting on the scary movie. I stayed up too late watching the movie, which woke up Love Bug. Eventually, I went to bed and the three teens went downstairs to Primero’s room where they stayed up the rest of the night. The younger three were up bright and early, much to my dismay, and so I had to drag myself from my bed much earlier than I had planned. I made them waffles for breakfast and changed Love Bug out of his pajamas. While I prepared our things for the pool, the kids played together in Chica Marie’s bedroom. They played airplane on the air mattress, with Mini Momma using her legs to push Chica Marie up into the air much as I had done for my siblings when we were younger. Love Bug would crash into them, creating a heap of giggling kiddos and a few mishaps. At one point Chica Marie got angry that Mini Momma was playing with Love Bug and she stormed out of her room. I spoke with her about learning to all play together and had her sit until she was calm and ready to play nice. It seemed to help a bit, but she was still jealous for her sister’s attention just as Love Bug was trying to get Chica Marie’s attention. It’s a hard thing, learning to be siblings again and again. When Mini Momma is around Chica Marie wants to revert to being the baby for Mini Momma to take care of her. And Love Bug is confused because he is used to playing with just Chica Marie and getting all of her attention. Mostly, their play time was nice and they got along and filled the house with their laughter. But, there was an undercurrent of unfamiliarity and some tension that seeped into their merriment.

 

I had told Primero we were going to the pool on Saturday and when it was clear they would not be getting up before we left at noon, I text him to let him know where we would be and that I wasn’t sure when we would be home. Primero tried to reach me around 3:30 because Esperanza had to work at 4, but I didn’t see the missed calls until we were back in the van sometime around 4:30. We had a nice time at the pool, everyone was well-behaved. I spent a good chunk of time with Mini Momma, who clung to me and wanted me to swim with her. Chica Marie would not leave the shallow end of the pool and acted totally detached from me and Mini Momma. On several occasions we tried to invite her into the deeper water with us, but she said, “Go! Go and leave me here!” She seemed content to hang onto the wall and chat with the other kids. Love Bug fell asleep in the pool and took a nice long nap. It was sort of strange being there with the mobile therapist but it worked out ok. I felt bad that she ended up sitting with Love Bug while he napped, until I could extract myself from the girls to sit and talk with her. I think she is a little more attached to us than is clinically expected, but who am I to complain about it? We got to use her guest passes for a free afternoon at a very nice pool, for which I am very grateful. It certainly wasn’t something she had to do, but it did give her a chance to see how Chica Marie acts outside the home as well as witness the dynamic between her and her older sister.

 

While at the pool Mini Momma began begging for a happy meal from McDonald’s. One time last year while she was visiting we went to McDonald’s after the pool and so she had it in her mind we should always do that. I knew the older kids had gone to McDonald’s for breakfast around 2, so they would not want that for dinner. I decided to get two happy meals and let them share it and I would get something to eat later with the older kids. The kids ate their happy meals while I took a shower. Primero also showered and then went back downstairs. I sat down around 5:30, thinking Primero would soon be back upstairs. Unfortunately, I fell asleep and Primero got a call from his mom, so we didn’t leave around 6, as I had planned. I woke up around 6:30 and told Primero we needed to go. He eventually came upstairs with his cousin who was crying due to some of the things Primero’s mom had said. He began relaying the whole conversation to me as I ushered all the kids out of the house because we were going to be late getting back to pick up Esperanza from work. I text Grandma to let her know we were on our way back.

 

When we arrived at Grandma’s house the same young man (who I discovered was Grandma’s step-son) was sitting outside with two friends. He opened the house up when he saw us and I sensed right away that Grandma wasn’t home. He tried calling her but she didn’t answer. Mini Momma was immediately back on her corner of the couch sucking her finger and disinterested in our departure. I didn’t beleaguer our parting and withdrew after a hasty good-bye. I was miffed that the grandmother wasn’t there again. It didn’t really bother me much the previous afternoon, even though I picked up the kids specifically to see her, but it really bugged me when we took her back home. Maybe it was because the grandmother had asked during the video chat, “When are you bringing her back, so I can be home?” She did call me about half-way through our trek back home and was very happy that everyone had a good time and said we all need to get together soon. She also mentioned older siblings and wanting Chica Marie specifically to meet up with them. And that’s when I had to get honest with myself. Mini Momma might be able to fit into the current living situation with no serious regression, but I don’t think Chica Marie would fare as well.

 

Chica Marie needs structure, it is the only way she can cope. Our routine has become predictable to her and so she is able to transition and not become totally unhinged. I know, from two short visits I cannot say what it’s like all the time, but it seemed like it was no big deal for the step-brother and cousins that they were left home alone with Mini Momma. The step-son is about Primero’s age, maybe a year older, and the cousins are both older than Mini Momma, but I would have major concerns leaving Chica Marie there for a sleep-over. She has been asking for a sleep-over at her grandmother’s house for a very long time. But, I would be very uncomfortable leaving her there if the situation was the same as when I dropped off Mini Momma. Chica Marie would be hanging from the drapes in a matter of moments. I might be more comfortable with a sleep-over if Grandma was there the whole time, but it doesn’t seem like that happens. I might be ok with it if her partner were there, but I didn’t see her either. Just the kids. Sure, I leave Chica Marie and Love Bug with Primero from time to time, but it’s in our home where everyone knows the rules and expectations. I wouldn’t leave Mini Momma with him and the younger two for more than a hot minute simply because that would be too much for Primero to handle.

 

The other worry I have is about Chica Marie seeing older siblings, specifically older brothers. I don’t know what truly happened, but CYS determined it was not a good idea for the younger sisters to be with their older brothers. Given how unstable Chica Marie has been with her behaviors, I worry about a serious regression that could have serious consequences if it were to happen at school. I wouldn’t want Chica Marie to be thrown into something that could trigger her without preparing her first. And, I think it’s something that I would only consent to after speaking with CYS and her therapy team to help me help her prepare for it. I mean, she hasn’t seen any of her older brothers since she moved in with me two years ago, so it would be something even without the extra layers of concern. I certainly wouldn’t want Grandma to trundle Chica Marie off to see her brothers and set off a domino chain of events that cause her harm. Yet, the question is, how do I convey all of this to Grandma without jeopardizing our relationship?

 

CYS and CHOR have touted my relationship with Grandma as some amazing feat, but in reality we hardly know one another. When Love Bug was tiny and Chica Marie had first moved in with me we would visit with Grandma once a month at a diner roughly half-way between our homes. The last time we had such a meeting was in January of 2015 when Love Bug was just 6 months old. Grandma attended Love Bug’s first birthday party roughly 6 months after that and that was the last time we saw her. We have spoken a few times and texted a few times, but nothing that feels very concrete to me. I want to keep her involved in the little ones lives and be able to have visits and a connection, but I worry sometimes about striking wounds that haven’t even been unearthed in Chica Marie. I don’t suppose I’m the only foster-adoptive mama who worries about this, but trying to navigate it is certainly tricky!

Email Exchange

Email to me:

 

Hi Foster Mom A,

When you take Chica Marie  for med checks, can you please make sure you are having Dr. complete the physician referral form??

Thanks!

CHOR case worker

 

The response I want to give:

 

Hi CHOR case worker,

 

Given that it took 6 weeks for Chica Marie to be permitted to take her new medication prescribed by Dr. AND I can’t get respite no matter how desperate I am, sure I’ll get right on it to make sure I’m making your job easier and to satisfy the bureaucratic need for paperwork without any real assistance. Shall I bend over backwards? How much higher shall I jump?

 

Go stuff it!

Frustrated Foster Mom A

 

Follow up Email to me:

 

I forgot… sorry. To include this in my last email to you.

When you schedule Chica Marie’s dentist appointment, please let me know.  It is due in September.

Thanks!

 

The response I want to give:

 

Today must be your paperwork day, huh?

Last Summer Weekend

Because I am off-my-rocker-insane we had a dual sibling sleep-over this past weekend. Mini Momma came for a night (I will go into more detail about this another time) and Primero had Esperanza sleep-over along with their cousin. For those keeping score, that doubled the number of young people in our house. Here is the Reader’s Digest version of our weekend.

 

Friday: Primero and I dropped the kiddos off at daycare, picked up his last paycheck from his summer job, went to the bank and then onto Dorney Park. I wanted a last hurrah for Primero before school started and CHOR gets discount tickets (and it’s an amazing $20 discount!). Primero is not a thrill-seeker and wouldn’t ride a single roller coaster, barring the Wild Mouse. We did ride other things and I rode my favorite roller coaster, Steal Force, without Primero. The day was exceptionally hot and humid and before long Primero was asking to see a movie instead of riding more rides. Mini Momma’s grandmother had text me asking to pick her up earlier in the day to avoid traffic. I agreed to pick her up around 3:30. We hit traffic getting back home and went to the mall to cool down before getting the kids early from daycare and then driving the hour down to Mini Momma’s place. It was a really HOT day to be stuck in the HOT car (we have no A.C.) and by the time we got back home my head was about to explode. Oh, and I forgot that Love Bug’s speech therapist was coming over, so it was a good thing we stopped at home before going to dinner or we would have missed her. Around 9 pm we picked up Esperanza and Cousin along with some of their laundry. I stayed up too late watching a scary movie with them and was grumpy when the younger three woke me up too early the next morning.

 

Saturday: I spent the morning grumbling while preparing for our afternoon at the pool. No sight or sound from the older three, so we left without them. I think they woke up around 2 pm. We went to the pool with Chica Marie’s therapist and that is about the oddest thing, except it isn’t the strangest thing I’ve ever done as a foster parent. I was really excited to go to this pool because it is a really nice one, not like the one we go to. It is in a fancier part of the county, although still close to where we live, so the crowd is a little less-rowdy. Actually, the pool seemed empty with very few patrons. There are three separate pools; a baby pool which is freezing cold for unknown reasons, a “regular” pool from 3-5 ½ feet and a slide, and a diving pool with two low diving boards (I was bummed I didn’t get to go there, but that’s the sacrifice of a mother). Love Bug wanted nothing to do with the pool, being more interested in the basketball court and climbing the fence. Eventually, I wrestled him into his swimming trunks and carried him into the pool. Chica Marie would not go any deeper than the shallow end and kept telling me and Mini Momma to go and leave her behind. I did swim with Mini Momma in the 4 foot end for a little bit. There is a strange dynamic between the two girls when we are all together. Mini Momma wants to be mothered and not mother Chica Marie, who in turn pushes us both away. When they were playing at home before the pool, it was evident they struggle being siblings together because they never get enough time together to figure it all out. When we got back home after the pool we were filled in on some drama from Primero’s bio mom. It seems he can’t ever get out of the dysfunction. We were supposed to pick Esperanza up from work at 8, after taking Mini Momma home, but I fell asleep after taking a shower and we were late. We didn’t eat dinner until after 9 that night. Oops! The drama from Primero’s mom, in addition to some bad news from school exploded into a verbal brawl between him and me while trying to take Esperanza and Cousin home. The night ended in me falling asleep to Primero texting me to argue more.

 

Sunday: I woke up with a massive and debilitating headache. I had wanted to get the house cleaned up, but didn’t feel well enough to really do much more than a few things. I took some Aleve, tried to relax and eventually did get some laundry done. The only thing on our agenda was to go grocery shopping. Primero woke up around 12:30, right after I put the younger two down for their naps. Primero asked about going to his uncles house and I was hesitant due to the issue the night before and his propensity to use his uncle as leverage to get his way. I discovered on Facebook that we were all invited to his uncle’s for their youngest son’s birthday celebration. I was dismayed that Primero asked if he could go and not if we were all going. I told him we needed to go grocery shopping first and then we would go over. We ended up staying later than I wanted to because it is hard to extract Primero from family gatherings; he always seems to feel like it is his last. We got home and tucked the kids into bed. Before too long it was time for Primero to go to bed so he would be ready for his first day of school.

 

It’s hard to believe summer is over and school is starting, but I am more than ready for some cooler weather and the predictability of a set schedule. #MicroblogMonday

Not sure what #MicroblogMondays is? Read the inaugural post which explains the idea and how you can participate too.

Double Dog Dare

The county case worker was out at our place on Friday. It was a long and somewhat intense meeting. Chica Marie’s mobile therapist was there to talk with the case worker regarding her case and to try to address some of the things that have been lingering with no resolution. I did get approval to start the new medication for Chica Marie and began that over the weekend. Unfortunately, the county case worker does not agree with the psychiatrist’s diagnosis and wants us to find a new one for another reevaluation. I feel like every time I turn around I’m taking Chica Marie somewhere for a new eval for new services and nothing has really been helping, certainly not in the home setting.

 

Before I discuss the lengthy meeting, I need to relay a current and troubling issue that has developed with Chica Marie. While cleaning under her bed last week I found more than the usual detritus of chewed up paper, plastic bracelets, books, and hairball/dust bunnies. I found a bunch of candy wrappers. Now, that sounds like no big deal until you hear the rest of the story. First, I tried asking Chica Marie where she got the candy from, but she lied to me, as is her M.O. She told me she found it on the kitchen floor, which I know to be untrue, she then told me it was on the kitchen table. I didn’t think any candy was left on the table, but some of the wrappers I found were from my sister which she brought back from her trip to China and gave to us around Easter. I found the truth to what had occurred last Monday when Chica Marie was left home with the baby-sitter. When I was driving the sitter home she relayed to me that Chica Marie is able to climb onto the kitchen counter, which advantageously, is at just the right spot to reach our junk food. Again, this doesn’t sound too troubling until you realize that Chica Marie is sneaking out of her room after Primero and I have gone to bed. She is smart enough to not use a kitchen chair, since I would hear it being drug across the floor and it would probably make the dogs bark. The spot where she climbs onto the counter is right next to the stove and the knife block. I keep the vitamins in the cabinet where she steals the candy and she would also be able to reach the toaster (which I generally leave unplugged) and coffee maker as well. And, the coup de grâce in all of this; she would get out of her room to steal candy but not take a few more steps to use the bathroom, choosing to wear and use a diaper instead. Last week was not a good week for us and that was evident to the case worker when she came to visit.

 

Because I pick up three kids in two separate locations after work and because sometimes there is some traffic congestion, we did not get home until a little after 5 on Friday. Both the mobile therapist and the county case worker were there, chatting on our front porch. We pile out of the hot sticky car and scramble into the semi-cool house to the cacophony of barking dogs. As I was getting everyone settled, the county case worker was trying to talk to Chica Marie. She was being mostly nice and certainly not as mouthy as she can be. She was coloring in a coloring book and evading more questions than she was answering. After some time I shooed her away so the grown-ups could talk. Primero had decided to walk to his uncle’s house, so he wasn’t there to keep her occupied and since we hadn’t had dinner both kids were starving and begging for snacks.

 

The county case worker started out by saying TPR should be scheduled for 9/16 but if she can’t get that date, it would be the end of October. I was under the impression the date was already set, so I was bummed to hear it was still pending. She then announced that Mini Momma had officially moved in the grandma and I was pleasantly surprised to hear that she had moved. The county case worker said they were on vacation this week and that Mini Momma doesn’t start school until after Labor Day. At least my fears were for naught and things went in a good direction for Mini Momma. I’m going to reach out to grandma about a visit before school starts. I’m hoping she will be receptive.

 

After those pieces of information were out of the way, we got down to brass tacks and I relayed the latest development regarding the candy and counter-climbing. The county case worker began suggesting or asking if certain things had been tried. Both of us were getting frustrated as each technique suggested was something I had tried and had failed. When the county case worker asked about using a behavioral chart and I explained how we had used one until Chica Marie obliterated it, the exasperated county case worker shouted, “But you’re the mom!” Oh how little she understands!! She went on to tell me how I should take things away from her when she didn’t behave. I told her that was a pissing contest and she interrupted to say, “One that you should win!” No, it doesn’t work that way with Chica Marie. She will lose it all and still be doing what she wants. She simply doesn’t care. The mobile therapist mentioned things that work in daycare and admitted those things only worked because Chica Marie succumbed to peer pressure, meaning the other kids might lose out on a treat if Chica Marie doesn’t behave as requested. And, it isn’t perfect because so often she acts up regardless of the consequences. Simply put, she is smart enough to figure out the “game” and once she does it no longer works. We have gone from therapy to therapist and every time it is the same. She starts off compliant and seems to improve before losing control and a new therapy is recommended. And, while I patiently take her to these appointments, I silently drown alone at home, feeling like there is no help for me to deal with her behaviors. It got to the point where I double dog dared the county case worker to take her for a weekend, just to know what living with her is like. It was a wholly unsatisfying meeting that left me feeling more hopeless than understood. If I weren’t a seasoned foster parent, this would probably be the end of our story. But, I am tenacious and unwilling to give up, so we keep spinning around and around in our vortex of insanity.

Life After Infertility

When I have a free minute (haha!) I like to read blogs, especially infertility and adoption blogs. It helps to have mental conversations I don’t think I would be able to have in person. And, I like reading others thoughts on the complexity of infertility and adoption. But, blogging is a funny creature. I get insight into the inner thoughts and turmoil of people (mostly women) I have never met and who I generally know only one-sidedly. Still, I reread some blogs for updates, wondering how things will turn out; will this time work? Will she get pregnant using this new technique/protocol? What happened to her foster babies? Are they still being sent home? Have the issues she’s mentioned to her case worker been addressed? Lately, I’ve been better about commenting, but for a long time I would just lurk and keep tabs on how their life story was progressing. I haven’t really interacted with other bloggers, barring a few comment conversations, which makes me sad. I started blogging to find other women and couples dealing with this monstrous issue. The one thing that makes me the saddest is when a blogger stops writing because they have become a parent. On one hand, I can understand the new demands on their time coupled with wanting to distance themselves from the pockmarked journey to parenthood. Yet, on the other, it seems like they are invalidating their previous work by not putting parenting on the same pedestal as becoming parents. Some have noted to feeling their blog has lost its purpose, since it was written to document the journey through infertility. I suppose, for some people, blogging has a season and once their goal is achieved the pull to annotate their life is no longer there. Yet, it makes me sad because parenting after infertility is a unique voice. Those who stick around know there is always more to tell. And I look forward to following along, you know, in all my “free” time. #MicroblogMonday    

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Trying Times

The worst thing about foster care from the perspective of the foster parent (or maybe just this foster parent), is the bureaucracy. Important decisions are left to overworked, under-informed, powers that be who don’t really have a child’s best interest in mind when making decisions. They are disconnected, hardly knowing a child’s name, and hampered by rules set to preserve adult (parent) rights at the expense of a child’s rights. No one believes the system works. Everyone agrees there is room for improvement. No one does anything about it. Last year we were informed about new rules that lessened restrictions on children in foster care and gave more governing power to foster parents. Foster parents are now allowed to decide if their foster child can sleep over at a friend’s house, without getting background checks for everyone in the house. Non-foster parents can provide child care, including older siblings, which does make my life a tad easier. We don’t need specific permission to get a child’s haircut, which paved the way for Love Bug’s first trim last year and the two subsequent cuts. We can give permission for children to travel with sports teams, marching bands, and other clubs on overnight trips. And, we can take the children on out-of-state vacations without having court permission. Of course, we still need to tell case workers we are doing these things and they still have the power to put the kibosh on things they don’t approve. The only thing that still requires jumping through the same old hoops is anything medical related. Therein lies my current frustrations.

 

The beginning of April Love Bug fell and broke his front tooth. Luckily, I already had an appointment for him scheduled with the dentist to talk about stopping his finger sucking. When the dentist observed his tooth she said it needed to be pulled because it was broken and loose and at great risk for infection. Since she was the professional, I took her word and scheduled his tooth extraction with her office, advising them we would need special permission because Love Bug is a foster child. I knew from experience these things take time, so I allowed a week for preparation. That was about as long as the dentist would allow him to go with his broken tooth and as soon as she could squeeze him into her schedule. Love Bug needed to be put to sleep to have his tooth pulled because he was too young to allow the dentist to do it with a few Novocain shots. I notified our case worker, foolishly thinking this would be simple. I was wrong. But, here’s the thing. We are talking about a baby. He wasn’t yet 2 years old and he had an accident, something traumatic for him. The professional handling his case (his dentist) determined the course of action, but people who are hindered by asinine rules threw in roadblocks and tried to delay his treatment. Never mind the child was uncomfortable and in pain. His biological mother, who he had not seen in over 10 months, still had parental rights and needed to approve his tooth extraction. In no other world but foster care does that make sense! And, it might not be so bad, if she were easily reachable, but she was not. Similar to when Primero was in need of surgery, the case workers had to scramble to get a judge to sign an order allowing the medical professionals to do their jobs. Ridiculous!  

 

Sadly, that was not the only time we faced an impediment to medical care for Love Bug. This poor child went from dental accident, to dental accident. His second dental emergency was certainly more urgent than the first one. This tooth was not broken, because the dentist had capped it to prevent it from breaking. Instead, when he flung himself into a chair, the tooth was jammed up into his gum with the root almost coming out where the other missing front tooth had been. There is no denying Love Bug was in pain. Nothing comforted him, nothing soothed him. He was miserable and let’s be real, who wouldn’t be? I shudder just writing about it, let alone living it! And, I had already determined I was going to approve the oral surgeon to remove his tooth, to hell with protocol. There was no way I was going to make this baby WAIT for comfort a moment longer for someone to get permission. That was cruel and unusual punishment, which even criminals don’t have to endure. Fortunately, the county case worker was able to reach bio mom and she gave consent.

 

The newest medical issue we’ve been facing has been approval for Chica Marie to begin a new medication to help with her behaviors. What she had been taking seems to help her behaviors marginally while at daycare but not one iota at home. This was observed when she was briefly off her medication and her TSS worker and daycare staff were questioning what was going on because she was nearly unmanageable. She was prescribed the new meds just before the 4^th of July because I remember thinking the email was going to sit for a little bit with the holiday weekend. A few days passed before I heard anything and then the CHOR case worker contacted me regarding her conversation with bio mom. Initially, the CHOR case worker had spoken to bio mom but was unable to secure her consent because bio mom was worried about over-medicating her daughter. Bio mom asked to have a conference call with me but then became unreachable and so the call never happened. Since her consent was not given the CHOR case worker turned to the county case worker to obtain consent through the courts. About a week ago the CHOR case worker sent an email to follow up on permission to begin the new medication and cc’ed me on the email. The county case worker said she was never given the prescription forms, so I immediately scanned and emailed them to her. Earlier this week I sent an email to see where things were at and alluded to there being difficulties in the home and the case worker responded by saying, “Go ahead and start the meds. If the judge doesn’t approve it, I’ll take the heat.” Is that supposed to make me feel bad or guilty? Because it doesn’t. Due to my schedule and the pharmacy hours, I haven’t been able to pick up her medication, but it has been filled and she will be starting on it this weekend.

 

I was speaking to Chica Marie’s mobile therapist when she was over last night and she was recounting how many times she has tried to talk to the county case worker and how frustrating it has been. She mentioned that she was speaking to another therapist who has worked for Children and Youth Services in a different county and she was appalled at how things were handled in this case. The mobile therapist stated she felt the county case worker was being neglectful because of her lack of communication or sporadic communication and inability to take care of certain things in a timely manner. We discussed how many times the county case worker had made plans to come out to my house and then didn’t show up or cancelled the visit. As we talked about it, I realized just how often the schedule/reschedule cycle has happened and just how few times it resulted in an actual face-to-face visit. TPR was initially scheduled for June 13^th but didn’t happen for unknown reasons. It has now been rescheduled for September. The children had a permanency hearing in June, which was rescheduled from May. They have another one in November and hopefully by that point TPR will have actually occurred. During a WIC presentation at work, I had joked with a friend that Love Bug might be off WIC before he’s adopted, but now that is a lot less funny. If their case follows the same trajectory as Primero’s, we have roughly a 9 month wait from TPR to adoption. That puts us into June of next year when Love Bug will be turning 3 and will have been in care for nearly 3 years and not had visits for 2 years. How insane is that?! Yet, case workers wonder why they can’t find good foster families? And, I haven’t even mentioned how hard it has become to get respite. I have a tough kid and my case worker tells me I’m a saint, but I can’t get a break, a breather to recuperate. Really, who would sign up for this?!

Leaving the Nest

Primero and I have been watching a show called, “Switched at Birth.” If you haven’t seen it, I would recommend finding it on Netflix. For a lot of reasons, the show resonates with us for various reasons. One thing that is hitting home for me right now is the one mother’s inability to let go of her young adult children. Their oldest, who just graduated from high school, got married against their advice to wait and then moved out of their home. The mom demanded the father “do something” to force their son to move back in and I felt it; that sense of confusion in no longer parenting a teenage child but allowing a young adult the room to make their own decisions and mistakes. The mother in the show seemed to be suffering a deeper identity crisis, since she spent most of her adult life as a stay-at-home mom with no outside job beyond caring for her home and family. This, I do not identify with, but her sense of loss at watching her children pull away from her and set out on their own, this I understand.

 

I have been parenting at an accelerated rate since Primero moved in 2 ½ years ago at age 14. I was jumping into motherhood of a teenager, of a child who had already experienced a lot of life and had formed a lot of his own ideas and moral codes. In the beginning, I felt like I had my hand on the rudder, gently guiding Primero along to make good choices. But, my influence has been minimal and Primero has been mostly resistant to my attempts to steer him down a better path. Now, at 16, he bristles at the idea that I parent him at all. Many moons ago, following one of our disagreements, Primero confessed to struggling with allowing anyone to parent him. He acknowledged he had spent too many years governing himself and chaffed at anyone else telling him what to do. Of course this is not just a foster-adoption issue, this is something all teenagers believe; they can take care of themselves. Still, full disclosure, I fear losing Primero and I dread the day when he decides to spread his wings and fly on his own.

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Second Familyversary

Today marks two years since Chica Marie officially moved in with us, which makes it two years since we became an unofficial family. We have been through a lot these two years together and we have all grown in our own ways. In a few weeks Chica Marie will start school. It’s crazy to think of how small she was when she moved in and how much she has grown. It’s sad to think she has spent almost half of her life in foster care and the end is not yet in sight. I did get notification, via an email forwarded from the CHOR case worker, stating TPR has been rescheduled for September, six weeks away. At minimum, Chica Marie will have lived with me for 776 days and been in the foster care system for roughly 980 days. And, TPR is only one step necessary for adoption, with many, many more needed before finalization can occur. What is irritating is that all the paperwork I did for Primero’s adoption will expire and I will have to do it all over again. It took roughly 9 months from when TPR happened for Primero’s mom until finalization. And things were rushed in the end to have the adoption completed before the new year. If things take as long for this adoption, Love Bug will be a few weeks shy of his third birthday when he is finally adopted. That is insane!

Vacation Fail

We tried to go away last weekend, just two measly nights! The trip started off with tire issues. The front tire caliber malfunctioned and while my father was able to fix it, in doing so he discovered two of the bolts holding my tire on were broken and he snapped a third taking the tire off. So, we had to spend the night with my parents in their un-air conditioned house, on a sweltering and unbearably humid night. There was also a bug incident, which sent Primero to share a bed with Chica Marie because she had a ceiling fan in her room (my old bedroom), which acts as a bug deterrent. Meanwhile the only way Love Bug would sleep was stuck fast to me - and I do mean stuck, by his sweat and mine. We slept on the living room couch. Needless to say, I didn't sleep very well. We did manage to make it to our destination, where they gave away our room and the only thing left was the suite, for more money. When we went to hike, on the hottest day of the year, Primero got mad because Love Bug was scared and initially unwilling to walk (we went to see waterfalls and the sound scared him). Chica Marie was angry about something, but eventually she came around only to announce she had to pee and we were barely half-way through the hike with no bathrooms and she wouldn't even consider other options. Sigh. I tell myself it was the thought that counts, right? And, the kids did get to see some nature and beautiful scenery. Then, I came home to loads and gobs of laundry and trying to get ready for the busy week and really felt like the whole ordeal was simply not worth it....

 

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