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.