The Hunger Games

I have a headache. I think I’ve had one pretty much every day since the end of August, or at least it feels that way. I also feel like I’m being one of those people, the one who calls the case manager over every little thing and needs their hand held just to take a deep breath. To be fair, there has been A LOT going on and it seems whenever I try to do things on my own, it backfires on me, so I’ve lost the confidence to just do my own thing. Yesterday afternoon, on the ride home from daycare, Chica Marie confided in me a secret Mini Momma told her during court. She mater-of-factly informed me that she would be moving in with her sister and her grandmother would be adopting her. I was angry. First of all, why would this child know anything about what is going on with her sister? Was she told this? Did she overhear adult conversations? Secondly, it was not her place to tell Chica Marie this was happening, assuming that it was indeed happening. Which, I guess, is why she told Chica Marie to keep it a secret. I said, “She should not have told you, she should have kept her mouth shut.” And that set Chica Marie off. To be fair, no matter what I said, it would have set her off. The night, which I knew wasn’t going to be easy because of court, was made even more difficult as I tried to explain to Chica Marie nothing was decided and then deal with her emotional fall-out; her anger, worry, frustration, sadness and her need to push every single button because she felt unadoptable. Last night was not pretty.

 

Earlier today Grandma text me stating, since the dust has settled now, could we go back to scheduling visits and when were the children available? O.M.G. So, in court the magistrate was told we were having a visit this weekend. I told the county case worker and my CHOR case worker we have plans this weekend and next, we are available on 10/21 for a visit. My case worker called me again yesterday afternoon to talk about it. So, when Grandma text me, I called my case worker, leaving her a message again – after the angry message I left last night about Mini Momma spilling the beans and on the heels of the email I sent her regarding the new therapeutic recommendation from the MT/TSS agency. I don’t think I’ve ever pestered a case worker this much! I couldn’t not respond to Grandma, not after complaining loudly that she never called me back the last time I tried communicating with her. So, I text her stating I would like to go back to scheduling visits but I would really like to have a conversation about all these things first. I don’t’ feel like the dust has settled at all and unfortunately, I am very busy today and tomorrow but would be available to speak to her Friday afternoon, at which time we can also schedule a visit. I needed to try to put her off until after we have our meeting on Friday and I know better what is happening, what I’m expected to do, what I’m being forced to do, etc. She responded back stating by dust she meant the therapy issues I've been having with Chica Marie. What? Via text it's hard to tell if she was confused or just being bitchy. I didn't respond and have no plan to respond before our Friday meeting.

 

To be perfectly honest, I’m really hurt by the things the grandmother has done. I was honest with her. I was open with her. And, instead of being open and honest with me, it feels like she is stabbing me in the back. Whether it is her intention or not, there was a lot of shade thrown my way in court yesterday, while they were praised for being a miraculous, perfect family. I was painted out to be mediocre, because the little ones aren’t enrolled in all of the wonderful, fantastic after-school and extra-curricular activities like Mini Momma. I was perceived to be incapable, since these behaviors of Chica Marie have been going on for so long and they have not gotten better, while Mini Momma is without blemish, no reported behavioral issues to speak of. They were both present in court, but I was alone. They can be my respite resource because I must need it, being the lousy mother that I am. Apparently asking for help equates being incapable, unable, totally sub-par. If I weren’t a strong person I would have left the court yesterday and handed in my resignation as a foster parent. Luckily, I saw it all for what it was worth – a smear campaign to paint the grandmas out to be spectacular and me to be inept. It did hurt, I did lose some self-confidence, but I’m regaining my footing. I don’t like feeling as if we are on opposing teams, but that is how CYS has painted it. It’s not a game, but it almost feels as if it is; some Hunger Games-esque style duel to the bitter end where no one is really the victor. The thing they don’t know about me is, I’m a fighter. I get knocked down but I get up again, each and every time. If I got nothing else from infertility it is this indomitable spirit to keep on keeping on. The game is not always won by the strongest or the fastest, sometimes it is won by the one who just keeps hanging on.