Self-Taught

Earlier this week, the mobile therapist was over at our house. She had been absent for most of the month, citing new clients and a confusing, busy schedule. She stated she has been seeing Chica Marie more in school than at our home, which is not helpful for us to be perfectly honest. I’d rather she leave school to the TSS worker and spend her time in our home. She said, because Chica Marie is have her re-evaluation next week, she is going to ask for more TSS hours in the home, believing this would be beneficial for the TSS worker to transfer the things that work into the home setting. I don’t disagree. I explained to her my discovery of Filial therapy with a new therapist. She had never heard of it, so she looked it up on her phone and then scoffed,” Psh, this is what we do already.” Um, no it’s not. Sure *YOU* play with her, but you don’t teach me a thing, you don’t really engage me and half the time I’m not sure if I’m supposed to even be in the room when you are there. So, no you don’t do the same thing. How do I get us what we need when the professionals who are supposed to be helping us aren’t doing what they are supposed to be doing? The current mobile therapist is our third and I haven’t found a single one of them to be terribly helpful. Our first one was super kind and a great advocate for us, but terribly ineffective with Chica Marie. She let Chica Marie walk all over her. Our next mobile therapist was also nice, but she was so scattered and she flung ideas at me but never put them into practice or really gave me any concrete ways of putting them into practice. Our current mobile therapist has been more stern in sticking to her boundaries with Chica Marie and she seems to have some promising techniques but she’s working with Chica Marie exclusively and thus far, not transferring any of her techniques to me. And I think that is the biggest thing we need. It is obvious I need different parenting tools to work with Chica Marie. And while I have read a ton of books on varying subjects and ideas, I can’t seem to put into practice the head knowledge I have gained. I have some bothersome disconnect, a huge stumbling block preventing me from instituting the things I’ve read to do. I feel like I need someone to model it for me, to literally show me how to do xyz when Chica Marie does abc. The mobile therapist does not do that. She tells me how tough Chica Marie is, what is not working, what other ideas she has, but nothing I can turn around and at least try. This week, for the first time, she mentioned over correction as a method to teach Chica Marie to not react in anger and throw things or destroy things. So, basically, if Chica Marie gets mad during her homework and tosses her pencil across the kitchen, I’m supposed to ask her to retrieve it, then place it back where it was and ask her again, and repeat this process so she is discouraged from throwing her pencil. Wow! What an aggravating  endeavor! But, sure I wll try it! I will try anything because I really, honestly and truly want Chica Marie to have the best life possible. I don’t want her behaviors to keep her from having friends or healthy relationships or being allowed to do things, like join teams or community groups. At this point in her life, she cannot do these things. Her behaviors preclude her from being just your average first grader.

 

So, for my own edification, I am listing all the adoption and child behavior books I have read. Not all of them were with Chica Marie in mind, in the beginning I was reading about open adoption to help me deal better with Primero and his biological family. Without further ado, here is my short list of books:

 

• “The Open-hearted Way to Open Adoption: Helping Your Child Grow up Whole” by Lori Holden
• “Three Little Words” by Ashley Rhodes-Courter
• “Three More Words” by Ashley Rhodes-Courter
• “Beyond Consequences, Logic and Control: A Love-Based Approach to Helping Attachment-Challenged Children with Severe Behaviors” by Heather T. Forbes and Bryan Post
• “Dare to Love” by Heather T. Forbes (I haven’t finished this book because I started it before I realized it should follow the Beyond Consequences book, not precede it.)
• “To The End of June: The Intimate Life of American Foster Care” by Cris Beam
• “You Don’t Look Adopted” by Anne Heffron
• “How to Talk So Kids Will Listen and Listen So Kids Will Talk” by Adele Faber and Elaine Mazlish
• “The Whole Brain Child: 12 Revolutionary Strategies to Nurture Your Child’s Developing Mind” by Daniel Seigel    *** I just got this book from Amazon, so I haven’t read it yet, but I am beginning it as soon as I finish the above book (I’m reading the end of it now). I also got the workbook that goes with it.

 

You would think, that having read as much as I have and gone to as many trainings as I have done, I would be some expert by now, but I am not. I still have a lot to learn and maybe that’s how everyone feels, raising children with trauma backgrounds. I don’t know. What I do know is, I won’t stop until all of these skills just spill out of me naturally, until my old habits are extinguished and these new habits are entrenched in my psyche. I will keep working towards being a better parent for Chica Marie and Love Bug and Primero.  

No Decisions

Our CHOR case worker came out last night. Apparently, after her phone call cancelling the meeting that wasn’t happening anyway, many emails were still zipping back and forth between various CHOR and county staff. The meeting is definitely not happening before court because no one (except me) has any time to make it happen. I guess finding an agreeable time for 3 county staff, 4 CHOR staff and me is just not an easy task. Or so it seems. So, in light of the meeting not happening before we are all standing (well, sitting) before a judge, our CHOR case worker asked what was to be expected in court. My fear has been being blindsighted by the county declaring a move to grandma’s in the middle of the court hearing. The response from the county case worker’s supervisor was stating that nothing will be decided at court and nothing will be decided before a meeting. This is slightly reassuring. In response, the CHOR adoption case worker came to my defense in addressing why this is even an issue because I never said I wanted Chica Marie removed or that I didn’t want to adopt her. Never. The email the adoption case worker wrote was eloquently beautiful and really cut to the heart of the matter in expressing exactly what I have been feeling and trying to understand how this has all happened. We are not out of the woods yet, the county is only warming up their case, I think. But, at least they aren’t going to rush in front of the judge and demand an immediate removal. Or so it would seem.

 

All the parties are still struggling to find a mutually agreeable meeting time because the one thing everyone agrees on is that a meeting is necessary. And Chica Marie’s GAL wants to be there too. My goal is to make this meeting about the children, Chica Marie and Love Bug, and not me or CYS. The things I’ve thought to mention thus far is the stability and familiarity Chica Marie has in our home and with us. The longevity of this placement and our commitment to one another as family; it’s been well over three years. We are all bonded. The sibling connection Chica Marie has with Love Bug. While she remembers living with her sister, Love Bug has no memory living without Chica Marie. He was barely three months old when Chica Marie moved into our home. There’s my commitment to keeping their extended family involved in their lives and, even with this recent hiccup with Grandma, I am still committed to keeping them in touch with their family, I know it is important. Chica Marie struggles mightily with change, so this upheaval would definitely set her back. I would really hate for her to lose her first grade teacher because she is working so hard to get through to Chica Marie and I don’t know of any other teacher who would dedicate so much of herself to one student. Mostly, I don’t want to do a lot of the talking at the meeting. I want to simply state I never said I wanted Chica Marie moved but was amenable to the therapeutic foster care if that was going to get us the help we needed. Nothing since then has swayed my opinion, although I am now more than ever fearful of moving her to therapeutic foster care, making it easier for her to stay gone.

New Foster Dog

Two weeks ago, just before all hell broke loose, we got a new foster dog. In his picture on the agency website his eyes looked very intense. When he came in person his eyes reminded me of my beloved Canela. He has the same uncanny ability to look into my soul in a a loving way, just as Canela had done. Our new foster dog is a two year old beagle named Sherlock. When he came into our home, he reminded me of some of the foster children on their first night. He was scared and confused and cried a lot. Being a beagle, his bayed in a pitiful howl, crying for his lost family. He slept in my bed because it was the only way he could be comforted. I woke up to him army crawling up my chest to stick his nose in my face. In the two weeks since he has been with us we have all grown to love him. And I think the feeling is mutual, since he howls when we leave him and sometimes can’t even go outside alone. He is much more laidback than our first foster, the crazy chocolate lab and he just has an old soul feeling about him. We are total smitten and have already professed our desire to keep him, which as his foster family we get first dibs. He gets along with everyone in the house; he is gentle with the kids, indifferent towards the cats (he does bark at them when they fight, which Canela used to do and I’d joke she was yelling at them), and mostly tolerant of our dog Prancer. He is very loud when he barks, usually because that leads to the infamous beagle howl, but he stops when I tell him to, usually. He’s a very good dog, with a little separation anxiety, and his gentleness is a balm to our aching souls at the moment.

Last Minute Meeting that Wasn't

I posted the previous post, written earlier. During my lunch break at work the CHOR case worker called me, informing me she had just gotten an email at 12:30 stating the meeting was on for this afternoon at 2 pm. Um, what? Nothing like last minute notice! Crazy panic and a bevy of emails later and the meeting was off because the GAL couldn’t make it. I didn’t even know the GAL was going to be there. Partially, I’m impressed that the GAL wanted to be there, but also scared. This is such a big deal right now! As far as I know, we still have court Tuesday morning. Last I heard the powers that be are trying to get a meeting set for next Friday afternoon, 3 days after court. The question remains, what’s happening at court? And how will I not pepper anyone willing to listen with umpteen questions when we are at court on Tuesday? I hate this whole mess!

Helpless and Hopeless

My distaste for our county CYS continues to fester. Two weeks ago the county worker dropped a bombshell into our lives via an email to our CHOR case worker. She immediately asked for a meeting, a moment to recuperate and hopefully clear up any misunderstandings. Yet, despite a flurry of emails sailing around between the two agencies and my input into some doodle scheduling calendar, the meeting has yet to materialize. This afternoon was a time everyone on the list was available. The only time all of the players involved would be available. The next best option is next Friday, conveniently after our next permanency court date, which is on Tuesday. I don’t see how I’m going to see this case worker and not try to talk to her about things. I don’t know how, short of a needle and thread, I’m going to keep my mouth shut. Why drag this out? What game are they playing? They just want to say whatever they want in court and never mind this huge disgusting mess they’ve made? I am so furious! And, if I’m supposed to be a para-professional (as has been asserted by CHOR trainings), why are you disrespecting me this way? What have I done to warrant this treatment? And, for the love of God, what about the children? Oh, right. They are just collateral damage…

 

In addition to feeling frustrated with the county, I’m also disappointed in the kids grandmother. I had hopes that we would be able to talk about things and maybe clear the misunderstanding regarding my intentions and whatever words the county may have put into my mouth. I called her Saturday afternoon when the children were napping. When she didn’t answer I left her a message asking to talk about things and to set up a visit in October as she had asked. I apologized for being busy when she initially contacted me. I have not heard back from her. I thought about trying her again, but then I got angry and stubborn. If she wants a visit she needs to contact me and we need to talk. That’s all there is to it. I really thought she would contact me, sadly I was wrong.

 

Maybe I’m being too quick to think negatively about things. I know I’m not the only case the county case worker has, I know she is perpetually busy. I don’t understand her thought process. I don’t know why she has done what she has done. And I don’t see her as being very willing to take responsibility for misunderstanding and not clarifying. But, rather than owning up to her mistake, she keeps pushing things in this misguided direction. It’s hard to not feel like she has a vendetta, it’s hard to feel like she doesn’t like me and therefore is trying to find a way to pry a child from my home and plop her into an unprepared home. My fear is, once the misunderstanding is explained, she will try a new tactic, calling me inappropriate for Chica Marie, citing the grandmother and her wife as better equipped. Except, I see them as brushing behaviors under the rug and not advocating for more interventions that might actually help – based on how long it took them to get Mini Momma into therapy and how often it seems the older kids are left to care for the younger kids when I’ve been there picking up or dropping off a child(ren). I have expressed concerns at the lack of parental/guardian oversight when the wee ones visit. I can only see that as catastrophic if the two girls are left to their own devices. And, if you are calling me an unfit mother for Chica Marie, why not go whole hog and yank my license? I mean, how do you call someone who has endured all that I have with Chica Marie and never once said “take her away?” I can tell you there are many foster homes who would have had Chica Marie move on, in fact there was one that had her only a few months and put in a notice. I never did. All I’ve been asking for is HELP. Help us find the services that will work for us, the services that will see improvements. Instead, I get called unfit, inappropriate, not the best option, incapable. But, I’m still good enough to get her scheduled for various assessment appointments and take her to get blood drawn which resulted in black and blue shins (she hates getting blood drawn) and I’m good enough to keep working with the school and keep pushing to find a therapy that will work because I haven’t given up.

 

I’ve had friends tell me to remain positive, to not think all doom and gloom about things. The truth is, they don’t know the whole story (because they can’t) and they also have not personally witnessed the insanity of the CYS. I don’t think of myself as a negative person, but it seems foolish to try to sugarcoat this or try to find a silver lining in this storm cloud. I’m a realist. I realistically know my chances when it comes to the county. I have no rights. I am the last person on the totem pole of options for a foster child. It does not matter if the new home will provide adequate mental health care services, if they are kin they are in. Twice in this mess I thought I saw a glimmer of hope – once, when our case worker came back from medical leave and thought the option of Filial therapy was a plausible option and the second time when I thought we would actually have this meeting before court. Both times my hope has been dashed to pieces. It’s eerily familiar to the monthly hope/crush of infertility. Hope is a cruel and punishing mistress; arrogant in her ability to keep positive in the face of adversity then pathetic and humbling in her loss. Simply put, hope is a bitch.

 

I don’t know what to do, other than pray. I don’t know what course of action can derail this insanity train. I don’t know how to fight the good fight. I hate feeling so helpless and hopeless. I hate feeling like I’m sitting around doing nothing, just waiting for others to decide my fate. I feel like I’m a mushroom; just keep me in the dark and feed me bull. That makes it easier to railroad me, right? But, I gotta tell you, I am one angry mushroom…  

Stressed Out

My body is trying to tell me something. It is showing me the telltale signs of stress overload. I learned to ignore these signs in college at my peril. Still, there isn’t much I can do about being in this particular stressful situation any more than I could avoid end-of-semester exam stress in college.

 

Headaches – this is usually the first sign my body gives me when it comes to enduring too much stress. In high school and college I suffered from migraines and it was almost a given I would have one or two prolonged headaches when the end of semester stress got to be too much for me. A few weeks ago I had a headache so bad I was in bed before Love Bug. I slept most of the night and my headache was mostly gone the next day but if I hadn’t put myself to bed with some Aleve it would have been a full-blown migraine. And I need a migraine like I need a hole in the head.

 

Poor Sleep – I don’t sleep well to begin with, due to my own sleep issues (I wake up a lot at night for no good reason) or because of kids and critters interrupting my sleep. Sadly, when I’m stressed out I seem to wake up even more often and tend to lie awake longer, trying to will myself back to sleep. Last night that happened twice. Lack of sleep makes me so grumpy and no fun to be around. It also turns me mechanical, just power through all the stuff of the day but don’t expend any extra energy.

 

Sugar Craving – I like my sweets any time and way, but I seem to crave it when I’m stressed. It’s almost like a person quitting smoking craves a cigarette when something is stressing them out. Only for me, it’s chocolate. That first taste in my mouth almost feels like it can cure the world….

 

Eye Twitching – Ugh, this little bugger! It feels like my eyelid is trying to crawl off my face and it happens repeatedly all day long. It bothers me, but I’ve watching in the mirror and it’s barely perceptible to others looking at me, which only makes it more annoying because then I have to act normal!

 

Teeth Aching – This one is new. I’m guessing I must be clenching or grinding my teeth because they just hurt Like all of them just throb for no other reason. My jaw does not hurt, but my teeth do. I might look into getting a night guard to see if that helps.

 

Forgetfulness – I’m not going to say I have the best memory on the planet, but I usually do ok. When I’m stressed I tend to forget things, or often times have a dream about something and therefore believe it happened in real like. For example, I was sure I told Primero that I had to take the dogs to the groomers (oh yeah, I forgot to write about our new foster dog, a beagle named Sherlock) Monday evening, but he asked to go see his cousin because I didn’t actually converse with him about it, I dreamt that I did. Talk about confusing!

 

So, I try to find time to relax. We didn’t really do anything this past weekend. But, until we have the meeting with the county and until things get sorted out, I’ll have no shortage of stress keeping me feeling out-of-sorts…

A Little Levity

Things are still swirling around and my emotions are still very strung out at the moment. So, in light of the doom and gloom, I wanted to bring some levity to my blog and share a funny story about Love Bug. The little guy was potty trained during my fourth of July break from work. In August we went on a bunch of day trips during our staycation. Our longest trip was just over two hours, which is the longest trip I’ve taken with the little ones in quite some time (probably since Love Bug was tiny and we went down the shore for a day trip). As inevitably happened during the trip, Love Bug had to pee when there was literally nothing around but mountains and grass. No rest stops, gas stations, diners or anything for miles and miles. So, I did what any mom would do, I pulled over on the shoulder at a grassy spot and had Love Bug tinkle in the weeds, which was challenging because I had just spent the better part of a month teaching him to aim down whilst sitting on the potty. We lucked out and Love Bug watered the weeds and not us and we were on the road again. The following week Love Bug and Chica Marie were playing in our backyard when Chica Marie can running inside shouting, “Mommy gross look at Love Bug!” I peered out the back door just in time to see Love Bug standing in the backyard, his shorts and undies at his knees. Being the good egg that he is, he had tucked in to tinkle and was peeing behind himself in a long, yellow stream. So it looked like his rear end was peeing. I laughed so hard my ribs hurt! I wish I had been able to capture it on my phone because it was just so darn funny and Love Bug was so proud of himself! He’s such a silly kid sometimes!

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

Massive Miscommunication

Last night the adoption case worker came over. Luckily it is unseasonably warm and muggy right now, so the children were content to play outside while we talked. Emails were flurrying around between CHOR and CYS yesterday trying to find a time for a meeting. It seems like it might be next Tuesday. The adoption case worker read the situation differently than I have been, more of a miscommunication than any vindictive malicious act. Somehow, when we had the meeting in August, the meeting to discuss how best to help me and Chica Marie, the county case worker left with the idea we (me and CHOR) wanted her removed. I guess because we didn’t contest the therapeutic foster care option? I don’t know. I remember saying I wasn’t giving up on this child and we are her home, we are her family. I remember the county worker saying, noting my tears, I was not the picture of a mother giving up and that I loved her enough to let her go. I thought she meant to therapeutic foster care, but evidently she thought removal permanently. I don’t get it. And, when I expressed my bad blood feeling with Grandma, the adoption case worker said perhaps Grandma felt I was not honest with her, if the county called her and said I didn’t want to adopt Chica Marie. So, rather than reach out and ask me, she went with what the county told her, never mind my promise to her to do all I could to ensure Chica Marie returned to my home. I don’t get it, honestly. But, it was moderately encouraging that the adoption case worker thinks this whole thing is salvageable, that it might not be a done deal. I don’t think she is sold on the Filial therapy discovery I made, but at least she reiterated all of the CHOR case workers and supervisors were on-board for Chica Marie to not be removed permanently. I’m so glad they have my back.

 

I think the saddest thing is when professionals working in the field have a jaded view of how the decisions are made. When we were talking about things last night, it dawned on me that Chica Marie and Mini Momma have not lived together in 3 years. I was commenting on how hard it would be, how much therapy would be needed, to get the two girls to have a healthy sibling relationship. The adoption case worker said, “The county doesn’t care. That’s Grandma’s problem. They just see a kinship home willing to take Chica Marie and that’s all.” Wow! I mean, she isn’t wrong, but that certainly isn’t helping Chica Marie or Mini Momma or their grandmother and the rest of the family. It’s actually quite cold and callous. Still, legally, the county gets a gold star for placing a child with kin. High five! It’s just another case of ignoring what’s best for the child(ren) in favor of what’s best for CYS.

Living Like I'm Dying

It is Wednesday and I still know nothing. It makes me so angry that the county case worker is treating me this way, but I’m not surprised. I do not live with the delusion that CYS is anything but a bloated, power-hungry bureaucracy incapable of human emotion. How else can you explain this whole f-ing mess? My case worker told me yesterday the county worker promised to look at her schedule to get a meeting set-up. Just a gutless ruse to put us off, is what it really is. I believe I deserve a face-to-face meeting about this new development, but I don’t think she’s got the cojones to look me in the eyes and tell me what she wrote in the email to my CHOR case worker. Way to be a decent human being! Excuse my sarcasm, I’m just so angry and worried and stressed and sad and on-edge – I’m a big fat mess!

 

In light of the uncertainty swirling around our lives right now, I’ve been consciously trying to soak up as much of our life together as I can. I hug longer and tighter and more often – squeezing the tears back as I think “this could be the last.” It’s a horrible way to live. Not the staying-in-the-moment part but the this-could-be-the-end part. I feel almost like I am dying, like I’ve been given a short time to live before some disease takes the rest of my life from me. I kiss those sweet cheeks and think some other lips might be pressing into them. I catch my breath when I see their radiant smiles, trying to burn the memory into my brain so it doesn’t fade like all the other beautiful smiles I have loved. I try to prepare myself for the crushing pain, the deep and visceral agony I will feel at their loss. Yet I know, there is nothing I can do to prepare myself. No matter what, the pain swallows me whole and the loss overwhelms me in the total systematic shut-down. Right now I hold it all in but inside I’m screaming long, loud guttural screams that bubble out in hot, angry tears. I’m holding it together. For now. But, the stress of it all is taking its toll. I am not sleeping very well; even worse than I usually sleep, if you can believe that. And I’m beginning to get daily headaches, a sure sign that my stress load is just too high. I’ve also started having a new symptom. My teeth have begun randomly hurting, not like a lock jaw issue, but all of my teeth with just begin throbbing. I might be grinding or clenching my teeth in my sleep – those few hours I manage to get. It wouldn’t surprise me, honestly.

 

I would like to have some answers because at least then I can stop dreading the unknown. I would like to have this meeting so everything can be brought to light, rather than feel like everything is a back-room deal and the wool is being pulled over my eyes. I want to understand, but I don’t hold out hope that I actually will understand this madness. Still, the decent thing to do, in my humble opinion, is be honest to look me in the eyes and tell me what’s what. Hiding behind email is not professional. Regardless, she needs to see me in court in a few weeks and if she thinks I won’t come in with all the questions I have now and then some, she is dead wrong. As much as I am permitted, I am going to vocalize my dissent and demand someone explain this to me. And I’m going to have to do something to keep the bad blood I feel with Grandma from falling out of my mouth….

Deus ex Machina

I have no new news. I have not spoken to my CHOR case worker since Friday, she was not in the office yesterday which I only know because I called her. I have not heard from the county worker, not since the Friday school meeting in August. She never responded to my email questioning if I should entertain the new therapy and she hasn’t reached out to me since dropping the enormous bomb of Grandma stepping forward for Chica Marie. Nothing but radio silence. This is the worst part of being a foster parent, this suspended animation, sitting and waiting for the guillotine to drop and lop off your head while you are powerless to stop it. I am perpetually on the brink of tears. I feel totally and utterly worthless. I feel raw and undone, almost like I’m an alien in my own skin. I move, I perform tasks, I breathe in and out, but I do not feel. The pain has drained all feeling from my body, leaving me numb and empty. Most of the time I find it hard to get a good deep breath.

 

On Friday I posted on Facebook, “Never ask how things can get worse. Because they can. Be less trusting because trust leads to hurt. You never know who will stab you in the back.” Grandma hearted it and responded, “Hang in there (a nickname I only allow close friends and family to use on occasion)!” On Sunday she posted, “Most important people in children’s lives are their loving family. Family they have create memories with. Period!” Friday afternoon she called me while I was at work. I did not answer. She left a message asking if I had heard from the county case worker and if we could set up a visit with Chica Marie. She knew about what was going on, that is evident by her referencing the county case worker and because she only asked for Chica Marie to visit, not Love Bug. Yesterday afternoon she sent me a text message. “Hi (nickname I would rather she not use), I spoke with Chica Marie’s CHOR worker on Friday and she explained that it wasn’t a time for Chica Marie to visit, but to call on Monday to setup a date. So I am reaching out to find out a date in October that the kids can visit.” I responded, “I don’t know our schedule right now. I’ll take a look and let you know.” And she said, “Ok thanks.” No mention of the county worker or the transition and now, it seems, she was including Love Bug, like it’s any old visit. I’m feeling so jumbled I can’t make heads nor tails of all of this. I feel like she is being duplicitous right now, after I was painfully transparent. If I am given a choice, I would not have the children spend the night, rather a day visit with me present. The end of last month I felt like our relationship was getting easier and more comfortable. Now, I feel like I cannot trust her and want to distance myself and keep the children more sheltered. I’m not saying cut ties, just pull back and be less trusting. I feel like I need to circle the wagons for self-preservation. I need to play my cards a lot closer to my chest and put on my poker face.

 

Part of me is trying to give the benefit of the doubt – maybe the county presented things to Grandma in a way that made it sound like I’m ok with this or I’m on board or maybe even that I asked for this in some way. Maybe things were blown out of proportion…. But, if I really sit and think about it, I know this is not true. At the very least, why didn’t Grandma talk openly with me, like I did with her? I don’t know how things got to this point. And, because I have a feeling the county worker is going to evade a face-to-face meeting, I don’t know if I will ever understand the illogical logic behind this mess. We have court the beginning of October (unless this gets changed by the county). At our last court hearing 6 months ago the former county worker was confident the adoption would have been finalized by this point in time. Now, instead, we are dealing with this mess that makes no sense. I truly believe the county worker owes me an explanation, but clearly she doesn’t see it that way. How she could so callously email this new development to the CHOR case worker and not give it another thought is beyond me. She can’t have a conscious or any shred of humanity. She sat in the meeting last month and watched me cry, telling me it’s the sign of a good mother. Curiously, she said I’m proving my love for Chica Marie by being willing to let her go. In hindsight this comment seems more sinister than it did at the time. At the time I thought she meant letting her go for therapeutic foster care but now I believe she had a different agenda.

 

I want to believe someone, somewhere will look at this mess and say, “Hold on a second!” I wish I could believe the Guardian ad Litem would observe this Deus ex Machina move and tap the breaks on it. But, I don’t get a chance to talk to the GAL, the county has her ear. And, I am sure if they ask Chica Marie where she wants to go she would say Grandma – she’s said it to me on various occasions. She would choose to live with her sister because her sister was her stand-in mother, her care-taker from a very young age. Besides, what little kid wouldn’t say they want to live with their grandparents? I loved my grandparents and at 6 I might have said I’d rather live with them, they didn’t discipline me like my parents did and my Nana made really good pies! Would the judge see this and question the reasoning of moving a child after being in a pre-adoptive home for three years? Probably not because biology reigns supreme (never mind the fact that they share no biological connection). I don’t get to speak in court except to say I am present. The only person to take the stand and testify is the county worker and I’m sure she’ll have some glib spin on things. So, who would question her? The whole system is rigged and I am silenced because I am “just” a foster parent. This is what sucks the most about foster care. The all-powerful CYS throws their weight around and the courts and all other parties kowtow to their demands. If it’s this bad for a semi-savvy foster parent how much worse is it for an uninitiated biological parent? *F* you foster care!

Emotionally Rough

This weekend was rough emotionally. Primero knows a little about what is going on but the wee ones are oblivious, as they should be. Still, Chica Marie knows something is up. She caught me crying, just a few tears leaking down my cheeks in an unguarded moment, and she came to comfort me. First, she tried getting me to tell her what was wrong. “You can tell me Mommy, I’m your daughter you don’t have to keep secrets from me. I won’t tell anyone.” When I explained I could not tell her, but that she shouldn’t worry she patted my shoulder and said, “It’s ok Mommy. I’m your daughter. I’m right here and I’m not going anywhere, ok?” It took all I had to not break down sobbing. (To better understand the emotional dynamics to this exchange, read here and here)






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From Bad to Worse

I had an inkling I wouldn’t like what I heard from my CHOR case worker and I was right. While CHOR might approve of the Filial therapy plan, it seems the county has a different agenda. According to my case worker Grandma and her wife have come forward as adoptive resources for Chica Marie. CHOR has asked to have a meeting because a) they are not a therapeutic foster home and b) they would like to discuss this less-drastic option of therapy. I feel betrayed. I feel like I’ve been stabbed in the back. I feel like the new county worker does not like me and has her own agenda regarding Chica Marie. I fear Love Bug might be their next move and why not? He’s potty trained now! I feel jaded and immensely hurt. But, worst of all, I am totally and utterly powerless. I have no rights. I have no say. And, if I push too hard I know the county will retaliate and they will always win. I hope we do have a meeting to talk things over but I half suspect the county worker simply won’t entertain such an endeavor. It’s nice to know CHOR has my back but their hands are as tied as mine are – they can’t risk losing funding over a squabble with the county. Therapeutic foster care felt like hell, this feels even worse.

All My Eggs in One Basket

I wrote about how the new therapist I am seeing suggested I present a different solution to CYS, giving her six months to work with me and see if the Filial therapy techniques will be effective. She told me to fight for my daughter. So, when our case worker, who is back from medical leave, came over Wednesday night I presented this alternative idea to her. She was utterly flabbergasted to hear what had happened while she was out and was asking me to explain it to her, which I couldn’t. She felt like this new plan, the Filial therapy, was exactly what I had been asking for and she felt it was worth another conversation since the county has not responded to questions on where things are at the moment. She promised me she would talk to her supervisor to get a better sense of why therapeutic foster care was the suggestion and try to explain it to me. I felt some momentary relief, thinking all might not be lost. These past four weeks (it has been four weeks since our meeting!) have felt like a very slow progression to execution – the death march to the end. The noose has been placed around my neck and the anxiety of waiting for the stool to fall has been excruciating. I don’t know if this will stop the plans that have already been set in motion. Our case worker confessed to me the county worker has expressed concerns about the adoption for Chica Marie. She didn’t say specifically what that might be, but she indicated her response was, “Well, yeah! She isn’t getting any support in the home.” I have to admit, I am rather frustrated with the new county worker. She’s been our county worker for like 6 months and already seems to think she knows me and Chica Marie better than we know ourselves. She seems to have judged our family and found us wanting for reasons I do not understand. I do remember the county worker telling me at the meeting that I am showing how much I love Chica Marie by letting her go. But, I find it hard to believe moving her out is in her own best interest and I believe that even less after hearing of this therapy that sounds exactly like what I’ve been searching for all along.

 

My case worker sent me an email yesterday, which I didn’t see in time before she had to leave the office, asking for us to have a conversation. She said she has things to discuss with me but didn’t want to just put it in an email. She also wants to know my availability to have another meeting with CHOR staff and the county sometime next week to talk about things again. Oh the talking about things! I’m nervous to make the call. I keep telling myself that it cannot be worse than what it already is right now. The worst case scenario for the phone call is that no one is willing to give the Filial therapy a try and we keep the course we are already on for therapeutic foster care. Still, it’s scary to have all my eggs and hopes in this basket, knowing it can easily be scoffed into oblivion. The irony is, the case worker supervisor was the one who suggested I seek out a form of family therapy using my insurance which led me to this new therapist and her Filial therapy option. I will update after the phone call. Fingers crossed.

The Lost Cause

I don’t remember if I wrote about finding a new therapist specifically for the parenting/bonding/behavioral issues with Chica Marie. It was a decision based on the suggestion of the case worker supervisor from CHOR on her first visit to our place the beginning of August. This was before therapeutic foster care was decided. Yesterday I had my second session with the new therapist and I’m not sure how I’m feeling about it. I left the first session feeling totally hopeless as the counselor said numerous times she wasn’t sure how she could help me. Mostly, I think she was saying this because our appointment came after the therapeutic foster care decision had been made and I expressed how tenuous our situation was at the moment. Still, I when I left I was pretty sure there was no help and no hope for us. Tomorrow it will be 4 weeks since the decision has been made making things feel less tenuous, but only as a ruse as things are moving behind the scenes I am sure. I asked for an update last week and no one at CHOR has heard anything. Lovely. At least our case worker is back from her medical leave; back into this big mess, that is…..

 

The therapist started off our appointment by saying she had some ideas on how to help me/us. I didn’t tell her how dejected I felt after our last meeting. Yet, to me there seemed to be a lot of contradictory comments/ideas at the appointment yesterday. On one had the new therapist suggested CYS doubts my home is a good home for Chica Marie because I’m overwhelmed with three kids, especially with one having high needs. On the other hand, she suggested I plead my case to have time to work with her and see if the therapeutic techniques she will teach me can help at all. I admit, I got frustrated with the comment about our home not being the most appropriate for Chica Marie. It made me defensive because, if Chica Marie were my biological child no one would say that. And, plenty of families have a black sheep or two (ahem, my brother The Alien), so you could argue there are children who don’t fit with their biological families for one reason or another and yet they are not whisked away into therapeutic foster care. Her observation that I’m overwhelmed with three kids as a single parent also ruffled my feathers. I’m not going to say it isn’t hard because it is, but I’ve been doing it for three years now and if anything, it’s easier because we have a system and the little guy is older and slightly less needy. She asked me to describe a typical scenario when Chica Marie might get upset. I described how it is when we first get home. Typically, Love Bug is screeching for food, juice or attention – usually all three. I just want to put my work stuff away and change into my old clothes so I can start dinner. I have Chica Marie change out of her school clothes and usually ask her about her homework. Sometimes, this causes her to erupt and that’s where the therapist paused my story and suggested I not have her do her homework at that moment in time. So, I explained how if I don’t have her do her homework at that moment, and I wait until after dinner this is not a good time for me. I want to get the dishes done. And once the dishes are done and the kitchen is cleaned up, it is usually time for the kids to get a bath so I can get Chica Marie’s hair done (it takes me some time, depending on how intricate of a style I do) and get the kids to bed. I did push back when the therapist suggested the dishes can wait or I should have Primero do them. Lately, Primero has been doing the dishes more often but, short of a princely bribe, I won’t be able to get him to do the dishes every night. And, at this point is where the therapist suggested I’m a shit mother because I don’t want to wash the dishes at 9:30 at night. Ok, ok, that’s just my conjecture. But, I did feel pretty damn awful when she suggested by not throwing myself on the sword and rerouting my routine I wasn’t doing what Chica Marie needed, thus I wasn’t a fit mother for her and I was probably too overwhelmed to be a mother period.

 

On the complete polar opposite of this declaration, the therapist suggested I try to talk the county out of putting Chica Marie in a therapeutic foster home, citing my dedication to her. She suggested I fight for Chica Marie, fight her removal and try using this new level of therapy as an excuse to keep her in our home. She believes Chica Marie is just pushing boundaries and doing her worst because she is trying to see what my breaking point will be, when I will give up on her like her biological mother did before me. That makes it sound so much more detrimental to remove her, even temporarily. She said she would write a letter advising of the treatment she would be offering, if that would help persuade the county to pause the removal. She asked for 6 months. Six months to do what no one else could do in three years. I can try, I can talk to the staff at CHOR and email the county worker. But, I know I am limited in what I can do and, to be perfectly honest, I’m unsure about trying to go toe-to-toe with the county again. The last time I tried standing up to them ended in disaster. Granted, I made some pretty big mistakes, but just knowing how those mistakes came back around when I was starting the adoption process or Primero makes me worried about how it could affect me if I tried getting rowdy again. The county still holds the power. If I kick that hornets’ nest I risk both Chica Marie and Love Bug. This reality often stays my hand when I most want to fly off the handle at the seemingly illogical decisions of CYS. Chalk it up to a lesson well-learned. I can plead my case but I need to be careful because there are numerous ways this can backfire. The county could question the validity of what I reported previously, thinking I was making mountains out of mole hills. They could react because this option wasn’t presented sooner. They could do with the above plan, give us six months and then, if things aren’t better, wash their hands of us because we didn’t take the help they offered when they offered it. They could cite not wanting to hold up Love Bug’s adoption, so if I’m a good mother for Chica Marie, I’m a bad mother for Love Bug. And, there are probably other things that I haven’t even thought of that could ripple out from this decision. It’s hard to know with so many players in the game. The system sucks.

 

So, the plan for right now is for me to go back to see this therapist again, hopefully with a more concrete understanding of what is happening and when. She is hoping to be able to teach me Filial therapy techniques that I can use for “special play time” with Chica Marie, helping to strengthen our bond thus hopefully lowering the behavioral issues. She won’t need to see Chica Marie to do this training, it will be focused on teaching me, so I can help her. This makes sense to me, this feels like the thing we’ve needed. Is it a day late and a dollar short? Maybe. Is the name of the saint of lost causes Ashley? Because I feel like I’m the queen of the lost cause; my tenacity often times makes me question my sanity. I’m hoping the county continues being unable to find an adequate fit for Chica Marie. The longer that drags out, the more I will be able to keep working on things from my end. I’m going to talk to our case worker when she comes out to our house tomorrow night. I’m hoping to use her response to gauge how this whole thing might fly with the county. If I could at least get her for an ally, that might help me. I don’t know, but I can’t not try. Prayers for the lost causes!

Should I be Offended?

Two recent events had me sitting and pondering – Should I be offended?

 

Quick background information to understand scenario one. I’m not sure how much I wrote about it, but Primero had been getting close to a young man at the end of the school year in the spring. They came close to messing around (physically) and the young man seemed rather interested in Primero as more than just a friend (although, to me, it seemed like the young man wanted less of a relationship and more of a booty-call situation). That is, until the young man’s parents found out their son was hanging out with my son who identifies as bi-sexual. They quickly put the kibosh on the situation and forbade their son from even communicating with my son, who was rather hurt by the whole thing as you can imagine. I expressed indignant outrage when the boy's mom rebuffed my son’s (very mature) efforts to let her get to know him before passing judgment. She said he wouldn’t be welcome in their home but could come to their church. I gave her a scathing tongue lashing (not in person because we have never met – thank goodness!) and concentrated my efforts to helping heal Primero’s wounds. Fast forward to the start of the new school year and this young man is in one of Primero’s classes and seemingly trying to rekindle whatever it was they had before. Somehow recently, because this is a small town we live in, Primero’s mother met this young man’s mother and, having been informed of the above issue, “went ghetto” on her, screaming and threatening to fight her for being “ignorant” towards her son. Primero, in relaying this story to me said, “You can’t imagine how angry she was about This Boy’s mom saying what she said.” To which I replied, “Yes, yes I can because that was me about 4 months ago when this first happened.” I mean….. hello?! It’s hard to not feel some type of way about this, you know what I mean?

 

Not long after the above exchange, where Primero’s mother came riding in as the righteous and conquering hero to an old situation, Chica Marie looked at me and said, “You know Mommy, you’re a good mommy. Almost as good as my Mommy V.” Face palm. I’m done!

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Too Much Baby Ish

Yesterday at work there was a rare occasion for us to stand around talking; one of our co-workers is retiring. Due to a large change in what company fills positions where I work, we have had a large influx of new people. Most of them have been young-ish (twenties would be my guess) women with young children. I made the unfortunate mistake of standing near the pregnant co-worker and, because it is the only topic allowed to be discussed with someone who is obviously pregnant, the discussion was about how far along anyone was before they let the world know about it. For a brief moment there was discussion of infants getting things in momma’s long hair, which I was able to join, but too soon the talk shifted back to pregnancy and I quietly excused myself. Today I got the email I have been dreading – the surprise baby shower for the pregnant co-worker. I don’t want to go, I don’t want to participate and I kind of resent the fact that it’s sociably enforced – meaning, I’d look like a royal bitch if I didn’t go. My co-worker friend and fellow infertile is going to ask her mom to make a baby quilt and I can go half-sies with her on that, saving me a tear-inducing visit to the Baby’s R Us registry hell. Part of me is feeling disgruntled because no one sent even so much as card to me when I welcomed my child into my family officially (when Primero was adopted). The other part of me is feeling so raw and disconcerted from the impending removal of Chica Marie. So, I’m not in a good emotional place at the moment and not feeling mentally fit enough to deal with all the pregnancy/baby ish that’s proliferating around the office at the moment. I sound like one of those grumpy old ladies who simply cannot be happy about anything. Maybe that’s what I’m becoming, I mean we do have an awful lot of cats at home….     

No News is Not Good News

No news is good news, or so the old adage goes. But, it is wrong. I haven’t heard much news in regards to Chica Marie’s move, but that isn’t necessarily a good thing. Rather than knowing this could mean something good, I know it is just prolonging the inevitable. I’ve got the hangman’s noose around my neck, they just need to kick the stool out from under my feet. I know that’s a morbid way of looking at things, but it definitely describes the feeling of anticipated dread I am feeling.

 

Our case worker is back from medical leave this week, which means this whole mess gets tossed into her lap. Her supervisor, our temporary case manager, said she would follow up with the county worker last Friday. If she heard anything, she has yet to pass it along. The only update she had last week was knowledge that the referral was out there, the county officially began seeking a therapeutic foster home via whatever channels they use to communicate such a request. In my theatrical mind, it’s an old Western-style wanted poster, with Chica Marie’s innocent face and list of wrong-doings posted under WANTED in bold, black letters. I’m sure it’s more of a simple blurb in an email, but it certainly feels more ominous than that to me. It’s hard sitting here waiting for notice, not knowing what is going on behind the scenes.

 

We had a long weekend, with the kids being off from school Friday and Monday and me being home Monday. We didn’t really do anything except lounge around the house. I think all the running around and the stress of things had me worn out, so we did very little and while that makes me feel guilty and like I wasted a weekend, it was also very needed. For naptime on Monday Love Bug very much wanted to sleep on the top bunk with Chica Marie. I told him he could, if he was quiet and actually went to sleep. I was willing to work with him but when I went to the bathroom, Primero’s reign did not allow one peep out of the kid and so he was whisked off into his own bed. Chica Marie had already fallen asleep so I could not reinstate Love Bug in her bed. Instead, I sat with him as he sobbed, “I want Chica Marie!” crushing my very soul, as I know too soon he will really have a reason to miss his sister (who he calls his brother which bugs her and makes me chuckle). I may have cried a little with him.

 

Later that day Chica Marie sat on the kitchen floor listing for me all the reasons why she doesn’t want a baby brother (Love Bug had broken something of hers and she was very distraught about it) anymore. Mostly I just listened because if I had spoken she might have heard the tears I was trying to hold back. I have no idea if there will be other kids in the home she is moving to, but I know Love Bug won’t be there and I’m sure she will miss him.

 

When the case manager was out at our house she wanted to know how I was doing and kept telling me “they” were here for me, to do what they could do to help me. I talked with her about Love Bug’s case and the possibility of him being adopted before and without his sister and how this didn’t sit right with me. She cited the 15-22 rule of foster care, meaning children who have been in care 15 of the last 22 months legally have to have their case reviewed and the county must move for permanency. Funny how it applies NOW when it didn’t apply the many long months the county drug their feet on TPR. I mean, give me a break! Love Bug has been in foster care all 38 months of his life and NOW the county wants to rush things along? Lovely system we have isn’t it?

 

I met a new therapist last week, one who is supposed to help with the family issues we have. She thinks I need to stop seeing my personal therapist for insurance purposes. My personal therapist doesn’t think that’s the case. I need to figure that out before the next round of appointments next week. I also need to get our foster kitten an appointment for his neutering. And, we are preparing for one or possibly two Hurricane Harvey foster dogs making their way north. Our agency is hoping to help at least 10 dogs, if not more. As always, there’s a lot going on!

Insecurities

While we were waiting to take the ferry across the Delaware River from Penn’s Landing to the Adventure Aquarium in Camden, we walked along the river, stopping to take pictures and loiter. Primero hates when I take pictures of him and I can only occasionally convince him to reluctantly let me get cute photos of him with the kids. His friend, who has been spending A LOT of time with us, had no qualms with me snapping as many pictures as I wanted with him and the kids and he even posed in front of a ship holding Love Bug. Due to a physical resemblance, Primero snarled, “Look, you can get all the pictures you want with Friend. Maybe you should have adopted him instead of me.” His words floored me. First, I wasn’t henpecking him for pictures as I sometimes do. I wasn’t even joking about how his friend took pictures with his siblings when he refused. In fact, unless there was a cartoon bubble above my head showing him my thoughts (which probably would have read, “I need a beer!”), I have no idea why he said what he did because it was not a reaction to anything I had said. Maybe he was going on my past comments used to guilt him into letting me snap a few shots, I don’t know. But, when he said what he said I felt my heart break in my chest. A sadness flooded me. Nearly four years together, almost two years adopted and my son still has some feelings of insecurity. He thinks I would want to swap him out with a more compliant teenager just for some good photo ops. I like his friend, he’s a nice kid, but he’s not my Primero. Are there some rough edges I’d like to soften with Primero? Sure. I’m sure he feels the same way about me. The only thing I said at the time was, “I don’t want to adopt Friend.” Primero wasn’t listening, having walked away while I found the best angle to get the kids and the boat behind them. I haven’t brought it back up since, but it’s been on my mind. Just one simple comment, but the weight it carried was phenomenal.

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Things Swirling Through My Mind

The things swirling through my mind:

 

What do I pack for Chica Marie when she leaves? Do I pack up everything that is hers? Do I send just her clothes? What about toys? Or her art supplies? I’m going to have to clean her empty room. That’s going to suck.

 

How often and how soon will we be allowed to visit? When would we be allowed to take her with us to various events or family/social gatherings? Will her new foster parents keep in touch with me? What if she decides she likes them better?

 

Will we be allowed to spend her birthday with her? What about Thanksgiving and Christmas? Can we take her trick-or-treating?

 

I’ve been begging to have her stay in her same school. I know I have no control, no say in the matter, but I won’t stop pleading with whoever will listen because her first grade teacher is so awesome and so wanting to have chance to work with her. I mean, what other first grade teacher do you know who stops over at your house the Friday before school starts just so the child can put a name with a face and feel just a tad less anxious about starting first grade? Don’t take her away from that! Don’t take her away from absolutely EVERYTHING she knows – how can you do that and expect her to improve? Hell, I’d be a mess if you did that to me! Who is going to tell the school she is leaving? I hope she’s still here for picture day.

 

When is this happening? How much notice will we be given? When will I stop crying?

 

What is the likelihood that she will return home? How often do children successfully move from traditional foster care to therapeutic foster care and back? How long do you give for the behaviors to improve?

 

I have to tell the daycare. And she will lose her spot in the assistance program that helps pay for daycare, so I’d have to re-enroll her when she comes back.

 

Love Bug is going to become more clingy, which seems impossible since he is already so clingy, but he won’t be competing with anyone for my attention, in fact he will have all my attention poured into him and I think he’s going to be even more of a momma’s boy. And, he won’t have anyone to play with at home, once his sister is gone. I think he will get lonely and bored and I will have to find ways for him to entertain himself, since he relies on his sister for a lot of that. It will be so sad when he wakes up on the weekends and wants to go to her room to wake her up and she won’t be there. How do I prepare him for this? How will he handle it when she comes home? What if she never comes home? CHOR thinks the county will push his adoption forward, citing the 15-22 law, meaning a child who has been in care for 15 of the last 22 months needs to have their case readjusted for permanency. So, in essence, they will use the same law they chose to ignore when it took them more than 15 months to complete TPR. Using the law to their advantage after choosing to ignore it for so long, yet another reason to hate the system.  

 

The more I sit in limbo the more these same questions keep swirling and swirling through my mind with greater and greater intensity.

What's on Our Minds

Chica Marie asked me Monday morning, “What made Mommy V not a good mommy so I couldn’t stay with her?” I was rushing to get Chica Marie ready for her first day of school and this is where her mind was at the time. Not on where her seat would be in the classroom, not what friends from last year are in her class this year, but what made her mom unsafe, what made her end up in foster care. I answered generically, telling Chica Marie her mommy didn’t always take good care of her and sometimes left her places. I didn’t have time to elaborate and if I had said her mommy was sick Chica Marie would have been very upset, not understanding mental illness at her young age. Of all the bad timing for such a question! Chica Marie was not satisfied with my answer, declaring her mommy did take good care of her and when I told her the judge didn’t agree she said he needed to look again. Sigh. Flubbed that one!

 

But, I got a second chance, since she asked me again while getting a bath that night. She asked me why the judge said she couldn’t be with her mommy, because she loves her mommy and wants to be with her. I explained that her mommy didn’t always make good choices (this is wording used to explain Chica Marie’s behaviors, so I thought she might understand it a bit better) and reiterated she left Chica Marie alone too often. Chica Marie was indignant, yelling that she wasn’t alone, she was with Mini Momma and she was fine and not scared. She kept pressing me so I said that sometimes her mommy took bad drugs that made her make bad choices that were not safe. Still, Chica Marie was not placated. So, I said the only thing I could – I know it sucks you can’t be with your mommy, it’s not fair. It’s never fair when kids can’t be with their biological families. She asked to see pictures of her mom on my phone (ones I captured from Facebook so I could print them for Chica Marie to have in her photo album). She calmed down a bit after seeing the pictures and talking about her. She also wrote her a note that I promised to get to the county worker who could pass it along to her mom. She peppered her anger towards the judge (this is my terminology for her, rather than trying to explain “the system” to a child) and promising to never forget her Mommy V. I told her she never should forget her mommy and I'd do what I could to help her remember. Given what's happening, this exchange was extra poignant.

 

My mind has not been firing on all cylinders since the meeting last week. All I’ve been thinking about it when Chica Marie might be leaving, how long will she be gone, will she need to move schools, will we see her for her birthday, for Christmas, will I receive training (because I think I need it) to deal with her behaviors once she comes back home? And now, will her therapeutic foster parents understand her talking about the judge and her Mommy V and all this big huge mess. Swirling and swirling and sprinkled with – I’m an awful mother, I can’t help her (because this was said to me numerous times), I’m not good enough for her. I’ve buckled down on watching the Beyond Consequences videos I’m borrowing from CHOR. I’m re-reading the book and also reading another recommendation I was given. I emailed the CHOR staff asking what more I can do, what trainings can I get – they told me I need to take things one day at a time, this has to be a process for Chica Marie to go through and once “they” (the therapeutic foster team) has figured it out “they” will let me know what works and what does not work. “But!” my mind screams, “But! What about connection? What about continuity?” I clamp my mouth shut and try to accept things for what they are, but relinquishing the control is not an easy thing to do. And, it strikes me, this is how biological family must feel when a child is removed from their home. This sense that they KNOW the child and they KNOW what’s been tried and what has worked and what definitely won’t work and the world is spinning around them and no one is listening, no one is hearing their words because the professionals are in charge now. Thank you for your concerns, but here’s where you stop and we begin. She hasn’t lived with them for three years, she’s been with me – but they know what is best. I’ve been dealing with these behaviors and working with them for three years now – but, I cannot help her. The psychiatrist doing her evaluation told me she is “too damaged” for me to help her and she predicted Chica Marie would end up in residential care. Good God! The child is only SIX years old!

 

I don’t want to sit idly by and I hate being in this gray limbo world. I suppose, in the eyes of the county and CHOR, I should be relieved, I’m finally getting the help I’ve been begging for! But, this is not what I wanted. I wanted someone to come beside us and help fine-tune my approach to Chica Marie so we functioned better, so we communicated better and so we could get the behaviors out of the way and just be mother and daughter, a family. I didn’t want someone to come rushing in and sweep her away in a tide of “we can do better.” I don’t feel relieved by this plan, I feel anxious. The latent anxiety I had for a potential future has revved up to a pulsating anxiety I have for the immediate future. I try to keep the what if questions at bay but I hear them rolling around in my brain, popping up with new ideas every time I’m reminded of what is happening. I hold my breath and tell myself to not put the cart before the horse or some other unhelpful advise proverb. I spend a lot of time willing myself to not think about it, to put it out of my mind. My success rate on that is low. This whole things is constantly on my mind. Just like with infertility, it’s the unknown that is knowing on my insides, spinning my brain into hopeless mush, and coloring my world a bleak gray.  I look at Chica Marie and try to imagine her not being there and I cannot fathom it. I think of her room sitting empty, being pilfered by Love Bug playing with her toys and trying to recreate the games he played with his sister. My heart seizes and I fight back the tears in my eyes – this is so hard! And, it isn’t going to get any easier anytime soon!