Vindication

Throughout the whole saga with Chica Marie and her grandmother, I sensed and said out loud to our case workers, that things with Mini Momma were not a rosy-posy as we were made to believe. I didn’t mean it to sound like sour grapes or like I wished for there to be difficulties, I actually hoped things were as wonderful as reported. But, it also felt like it was made to paint me incompetent when I expressed the issues and struggles with Chica Marie. Still, the reports to the county were of sunny perfection, so that was the story we had to follow. But, as it turns out, I was right.

 

Last night our case worker was over and she shared a secret with me. Apparently, her supervisor was at a holiday party with CYS staff and overheard a conversation between the current supervisor and someone who retired. They were talking about our case and possibility of having two separate adoptions for Love Bug and Chica Marie and somehow Mini Momma was mentioned. The current supervisor explained how things weren’t going so well and how Mini Momma was struggling and having a hard time. OMG! The truth had finally come out! Don’t get me wrong, I am not happy to hear Mini Momma is having a hard time, but it was vindicating to hear things were not as perfect as portrayed and I’m not a shitty parent for expressing the issues I’ve been having with Chica Marie. I know my case manager didn’t have to share that with me, but she did and I was grateful that she did. I was right that the grandmother was sweeping things under the rug and not a total bitch for saying so. And, hopefully, help is being provided for Mini Momma as it has been for Chica Marie.

 

The other piece of news we spoke about was regarding the separate/together adoption for Chica Marie and Love Bug, CHOR is still pushing hard for finalization of Love Bug now and Chica Marie later. They worry something could happen and Love Bug could be disrupted like Chica Marie almost was a few months ago. I asked her what the county needed to see to proceed with Chica Marie’s adoption and she said she didn’t know. She asked me if I was ready to adopt both kids and I said I would meet her a the court house in the morning, if they were ready to go. She is going to ask the county case worker what they want to see to move forward with Chica Marie’s adoption and reiterate that Love Bug is ready now. I hope we have an answer on this soon because I’m ready for it to be done.   

A Not-so Merry Little Christmas

I’m a fan of social media. I like peeking into the lives of other people, cheering their successes and lamenting their losses. But, this time of year I hate social media. So many family Christmas pictures! With matching outfits and adorable props! And I just can’t. I don’t want to sound ungrateful for the life and family that I have, and maybe I will just sound like I’m complaining, but geeze it’s not easy! I spend the holiday season gritting my teeth and wishing it were over as much as I try soaking in every last minute to remember it all. Sometimes it works out, but so often it feels like a giant waste of my time. We got our Christmas tree yesterday. Primero fought me tooth and nail to not get a real tree but I hate fake trees and really doubt our ability to keep a tree decent in our basement from year to year. So, a real tree it is. Primero was in a terrible mood putting up the tree last night, growling at the excited children and locking them in Chica Marie’s bedroom lest they interrupt his complaining. It was the total opposite of Christmas cheer. The little ones did get to put a few ornaments on the tree before being ushered off to bed, but it was not the Norman Rockwell Christmas I dreamt of when I was trying to start a family. I wasn’t even there because I over ambitiously decided to make two cookies for the daycare cookie exchange as well as two food items for gifts for the daycare staff, the teachers and therapy staff at Chica Marie’s school, and my co-workers. And, in the midst of my madness, I took the little ones to see the Muppet Christmas Movie at a local brewery, who offered free hot chocolate, cupcakes and the movie, so how could I pass that up?  So, when I finally sat down last night, at 10:55, and had a chance to reflect on the day, I had tears in my eyes thinking of how hard it is to squeeze out even the faintest of family traditions. Mostly, I just wanted to get it all over with, since it’s not like I could share family Christmas portraits on social media anyway. And, even if I could, it would show Primero with a grumpy face at being forced/bribed into the picture, exuberant Chica Marie, cherub Love Bug and an exhausted, slightly peeved me. Bahumbug.

Comedy Sitcom

I swear I do not live in a comedy sitcom. I can’t make up the stuff that actually happens to me. Here is an example:

 

Last weekend I was home alone with the little ones on Saturday night. I had spent most of the day Saturday nursing a terrible hang-over (I don’t drink much, but I went out Friday night and had mostly wine until someone bought me a mixed drink and well, I paid dearly for drinking it). The kids came home early from their visit with their grandmother because it snowed more than we thought it was going to and the roads were getting slippery. Primero went to a friend’s house and didn’t plan on coming home until 11 pm. I took the little one’s into Chica Marie’s bedroom to get them into their pajamas since it was already after 8. My house is on the older side, not cool old with a neat history or quirky qualities, but older than new homes. So lots of things don’t work like one would hope they would. Like the door knobs. I have replaced them, all of them, but they keep stripping causing the handle to pull apart. Chica Marie’s bedroom door knob is frequently pulled apart because her and her brother pull on it incessantly. So, I stopped replacing it because it became a near weekly endeavor. Usually, this isn’t a problem. Last Saturday it was. Love Bug shushed the cat out of Chica Marie’s room. I turned as he pushed the door shut, but I was like a cartoon character comically moving too slowly and he had the door latched before I could reach it to stop him. My phone was in the living room, of course. I tried using the small stub of the handle sticking through on our side but I couldn’t get enough traction to pop the latch. We were stuck. Chica Marie immediately began panicking, nearly hyperventilating in fear of being trapped in her room. I really saw only one solution, that was not sitting in her room until 11. I would send her out the back window. Our house is all one floor, but it’s sort of strange in that the front is closer to ground level, but the back is a little steeper. Still, it wasn’t more than 8 feet or so and even less because the basement door was under her window. My idea was to dangle her out the window onto the basement floor and she could come in the back door (which I believed to be open because the kids had let the dogs in and they don’t usually lock the door like I do) and free us from her room. She cried and trembled as she put on her shoes so I decided it was better that I go out the window. Now, I’m not in the best shape on a good day, but this day I was certainly not in top form. Still, I shoved one leg out the window and, with Chica Marie shoving my other foot, I managed to find precarious footing on the top of the basement door. In an awkward split, I tried gently putting my right foot on top of the air conditioning unit until I could jump down onto the grass. I don’t know what went wrong, but I suspect it had something to do with the slippery snow. I fell. And slid down the basement door, landing on my back in a pile of freezing fluffy snow missing one shoe. I flailed around a bit until I could stand up and stagger up the back steps, praying the door would be open. Thankfully, it was and I was able to free the children from Chica Marie’s bedroom before running to the bathroom to strip naked and stop shivering in warm, dry clothing. While changing I discovered I had somehow cut my left elbow. The extent of my injuries were not evident until the next day when a huge black and blue mark blossomed on the top of my right thigh. I also discovered a few black and blue marks on my right elbow. My mom wisely advised, via a comment on my Facebook post about the event, to stop climbing out of windows. I plan on following her sage advice. I also plan on replacing Chica Marie’s bedroom door knob. And, maybe next time I can get a stunt double?

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Crisis Averted

Last night I was feeling sad and somewhat hopeless. This morning my stomach hurt and I had an overwhelming sense of dread, I was so sure something awful was about to happen any moment. I don’t struggle with depression or anxiety. The things I was feeling were temporary feelings, which I knew would pass. Everyone has a bad day every now and again, I am no exception. My feelings were mostly related to events that had occurred, thus expected reactions. I don’t have a mental health diagnosis, I cannot sit here and pretend to know what it might feel like to feel that sad, empty, hopeless feeling every single day. I have no idea how someone deals with the feeling of dread and doom looming over them day in and day out. Both biological families of my children have more than their fair share of mental health issues. Yesterday was a particularly scary moment with one of Primero’s loved ones. We rushed home to find an ambulance and three cop cars in front of our house. Thankfully, help was there and the crisis was averted. I’m hoping the help will be accepted but we learned the loved one had already signed themselves out of the hospital that same night, so I still worry.

 

After the ambulance and cops left, those of us left behind were in an awkward position. It was too cold to talk outside and one neighbor had already called and text me from all the excitement, so I invited them inside. Soon I was serving a piping hot cup of coffee to Primero’s mother, sitting on my couch. She had never been to my house before. And, as if the situation wasn’t already awkward enough, after crying about what a terrible mother she has been and accusing her children of not caring about her, she began talking about me as if I weren’t there. “I never said I hated this woman. Everyone thinks I do, they think I hate her, but I don’t. She did what I couldn’t do and you (Primero) have become the man you are today because of her.” She rambled on some more, reiterating the same sentiment. What does one say to such a thing? It was fairly evident that what she denied saying, she did actually say, but I wanted to believe she was sincere, so I thanked her for her kind words. Most of the time I wasn’t even sure she was talking to me, but I figured it was better to respond in some small way than not at all. It was not exactly how I thought my afternoon was going to play out, but at least the drama died down after the initial fear of the crisis was averted. Still, if I ever imagined Primero’s mother in our home, which honestly I didn’t, it would not have been how it was yesterday. It is strange, the situations I have found myself in because I am involved in two open foster-adoptions. God certainly has given me a lot of grace to handle all of it, that’s for sure. It isn’t always easy, but it is almost always worth it.

Breaking My Silence #MeToo

I have been reading about the TIME Person of the Year, The Silence Breakers – women who have made public their experiences with sexual assault and harassment. Months ago, when I first saw the MeToo hashtag, I thought, “I’m so glad that’s never happened to me.” But, as I read more about The Silence Breakers, I realized I was brainwashed. I thought the incidents I have experienced were just a fact of life. I honestly didn’t give it much thought, but deep down I believed it was simply something women have to endure, like periods and pantyhose. But, now I know I join the ranks of millions of women who can say #MeToo.

 

I think I was 15 years old. This guy who liked me invited me to a concert with him and I liked the artist, so I went along. At his house his step-dad pushed my loose shirt against my chest to see if my nipples were reacting to the cold air conditioning in the house. He laughed saying it wasn’t cold enough. I was so young and naïve I didn’t understand what he meant.

 

This same young man became my stalker. He said he liked me because I was nice to him and he would not leave me alone. He would always find a way to be around me or try to get me alone and he never took no for an answer. One time he was caught watching me sleep during a church Youth Group sleep-over. He was asked to leave the group after that incident.                                                                                                                                                                                                                         

 

I won’t even get into the many, many times I was harassed in Nicaragua. Sadly, it’s a cultural expectation.

 

When I was in college I went home with my roommate and we went out clubbing with a bunch of her friends. We came home pretty liquored up and crashed on her living room floor. Her older brother had a thing for me and tried to touch me, kiss me, and fondle me while I tried to plaster myself to the floor to prevent him access. At one point I got angry and escaped to the bathroom. He tried to push his way in but the noise woke their mom and she yelled at him to go to bed. I down-played what happened to preserve the friendship but always stayed away from her brother.

 

Several years ago at my current job, an older male co-worker got too friendly with me. He would invade my personal space, touch me unnecessarily and one time when I was seated at a desk he came and stood behind me to show me something. He used the opportunity to push his crotch into my arm so I could feel him getting hard. I had a male supervisor and I was scared to death to tell him but I needed this to stop. So, I took my boss aside and explained what was going on and that I needed it to stop or I was going to have to report it to our union. He spoke to the man and he never came near me again. But, he did try things with other co-workers, so he did not learn his lesson. Thankfully, he’s retired now.

 

A different co-worker at the same job would take every opportunity he had to stare at my breasts, having full conversations never lifting his eye above my neck. One time he held a door for me so I would have to pass in front of him. I knew he wanted to look down my dress and hopefully feel my breast brush past him. I wasn’t in a good mood and so I demanded he move, stating, “I’m not giving you an opportunity to look down my dress.” He told other co-workers I was an uptight bitch.

 

I’ve had a first date stick his tongue down my throat, uninvited. And he kept calling me even after I told him I didn’t want to see him again.

 

I’ve been grabbed, pinched, swatted, tapped, and groped while out dancing with friends or drinking at a bar. Something about liquor makes it seem ok to accost a woman, I guess.

 

When I was talking to men I met online I had one man get mad at me because I wouldn’t let him come over to my house, I wanted to meet in public first. “Oh right, I forgot every guy online is a rapist,” was his caustic response. When I asked him why he didn’t want me to feel safe, he stopped responding, but he is still out there, demeaning women who have had the above and more happen to them just because they are women.

 

I didn’t share in the #MeToo social media campaign because I didn’t think I had anything to share. Sadly, I do. More than anything, I want to see this culture of entitled abuse to end so my daughter can’t write a list like the one I’ve written. At the very least, I’m going to talk to her about it so she doesn’t think it’s just something women have to deal with simply because we are women. And I'm going to raise sons who don't think any of this is ok because it's not and no one should be treated this way. 

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

All Systems Are Not Go

So, the friendly little nodule on my thyroid turned out to be not so little, according to the weight management doctor. At my follow up appointment with him yesterday he mentioned the nodule was quite large, noting it to be about 4 centimeters. He believed the endocrinologist would most likely biopsy the nodule in the office, but said he couldn’t be sure, based on the size. When I talked to my mom (she’s a nurse) about it, she said the biopsy is likely a local anesthetic and then a needle into my neck. The weight management doctor said it wasn’t a big deal to which I replied, “Easy for you to say, you aren’t getting a needle shoved into your neck.” He chuckled and said, “True.” My mom is a little worried about this whole thyroid thing, I’m sure it isn’t always comforting being a nurse, but I’m pretty indifferent. Mostly, I want answers, hopefully ones that will help me with my unbalanced hormones and extra weight. I explained to my mom my valid reasons for not wanting to take the medication to help with weight loss because it would also mean using the birth control pill which will not help with my hormonal issues. My mother seemed to think I could just tell the doctor I was celibate and call it a day, until I reminded her I have a boyfriend and no insurance company will let a doctor take a patient at their word. I feel very stuck because using the medication to help me lose weight might help regulate my hormones and make my bitch of a period calm down. But, if I am moving in a positive direction with my hormones (please dear God!), I don’t want to undo it all with the pill. Why must my body be so damn complicated? I notified the Nutritionist of the ultrasound results and also reported how I still spotted for a week before my period came and I had the worst cramps I’ve had in years. I mean, I always have cramps, but they are usually like a bloaty-heavy-blah feeling. Sunday I had cramps so bad I had to lie down. My cramps hurt so much they gave me a headache. Thank God Aleve helped so I could get up and make dinner, but I haven’t had cramps that bad since I was in my late teens, early 20’s. I don’t really want that to become a monthly thing. I go back to see the Nutritionist in January, so I won’t have any more information regarding my thyroid before then, but I will have another cycle (if my body cooperates, ha ha) to see if the progesterone is helping or not. Hopefully, answers and help are just around the corner. Fingers crossed.   

To Grandma's House We Go

So, the kids have another visit with their grandmother and sister coming up this weekend. Their grandmother asked if it could be a sleep-over again. Last month they went for just a day visit and things went well. When I saw her, Grandma acted like nothing happened, like we were same-old, same-old. I was awkward and quiet, all business and little chit-chat with her. I was deeply hurt by how they handled things and, barring a real honest conversation, I will be keeping my walls up and solidly in place. I wish I could be one of those free and open people, but that just isn’t me. Especially when I feel like I can’t trust someone.

 

I had been contemplating the sleep-over thing versus just a day visit and I needed to respond to Grandma’s request, as I promised I would. Begrudgingly, I would be ok with a sleep-over but I feel the need to throw in some stipulations, like having the kids to bed at a decent hour (not up all night) and making sure Love Bug is restricted liquids after 8 pm because he doesn’t sleep with a diaper anymore but does occasionally have an accident (like he did in my bed, for the first time, one night last week). It’s hard to tell through text, but I sensed Grandma reluctantly accepted the guidelines I asked her to follow. She might say yes to my face and do the exact opposite. My mistrust of her has my worry about the lack of structure in their home on high alert. Maybe I’m too up-tight, but sometimes their house feels like the Wild West to me and my kids go crazy. Then they come home and I have to reign them back in again. And no, it’s not like other kids who go to see their grandparents and get spoiled, it’s lack of adult supervision (at least direct supervision) that I am talking about, not too many sweets and all granny’s attention. In fact, many times their grandmother isn’t even around when I’m there to pick up the kids. Different strokes for different folks, but if my grandkid was visiting, I’d be sure to be spending time with them. I’m being judgmental, I know. I have to get over myself, I know. But, it’s hard when I feel like that’s exactly what was done to me, only worse because I never threatened to take Mini Momma from them.

 

Adding to my worries is Chica Marie’s fun little digs at me. When she is angry or when I don’t let her do something she likes, she will tell me she wants to live with her grandmother and not me. Sure, kids say they want to live with Grandma all the time. But, she tosses in the adoption thing and, while I don’t let her see me react, it does get to me. Sometimes I feel guilty for having the kids, for them not being with their grandmother. But, she had every opportunity to take them before now, I’m sure it was suggested to her when Love Bug was born. So I worry about what Mini Momma will say to Chica Marie, given how badly things went in October when she said Grandma was adopting them both. I think I have very valid reasons for hesitating. Last week I had a nightmare that the county took the children from the daycare and placed them with their grandmother. When I raised hell about it, they brought Love Bug back because he wouldn’t stop crying for mommy.

 

Yesterday morning I got an email from the county case worker, in response to what I had said last week. She wants to hold off to finalize their adoption at the same time. There are two ways to look at this. One, it’s going to hold things up for Love Bug and so the fear of both of them being removed will stay alive and well in my heart. The second is, they are still contemplating allowing me to adopt Chica Marie. Given the shake-up, I’d say that is good news. I want to ask her what they want to see about Chica Marie before they will proceed with her adoption. Did the GAL intern coming to our house help us? Did it clarify things? What is the new GAL’s stance on the whole ball of wax? I feel bad for Love Bug because his adoption could have been finalized, signed sealed and delivered. I wish the whole damn mess never happened. I will be so glad when it’s all over, truly I will!

Prying Questions

Our Thanksgiving was fairly average this year, with the exception that Primero went to his uncle’s place and I took the little ones to my uncle’s. The thing with going to my uncle’s for Thanksgiving is that it is a three-ring circus at their house. So, my uncle is my mother’s brother; one of three, only two are still living. But, my aunt, his wife, is one of like a million siblings (honestly, I think it’s 10). Not all of them show up, but a good many do and their children and their children’s children are there too. So, in a modest house, there are literally people everywhere. It is loud and crazy and I don’t know half the people. I go because it’s where my parents go, thus really the only family option for Thanksgiving.

 

I figured by this time, most of the people semi-understood the composition of my family. But, there was someone new this time; a friend of my aunt’s I think. She was introduced to me by my cousin, who also pointed out the two little one’s as my children, commenting my eldest was not along. The new woman innocuously asked the ages of my children and I dutifully listed them for her. When she heard my oldest child was legally an adult, she raised her eyebrows and said the same line I always hear, “You don’t look old enough to have a son that age.” Ok. I’ve grown accustomed to graciously accepting this backward compliment and leaving it at that, so I simply said thank you. But, she was not mollified. “No,” she went on, “I mean were you like 12 when you had him?” Um ok? I get that I look young, I hear it all the time and at 36 I still get carded. I’m lucky that way. But, it’s none of your business how old I was when my son was born. Do you want to hear me say I was a teenager when he was born so you can judge me? Yet, I could not stop myself. I was distracted by a very dysregulated Love Bug who needed my attention and so I answered, “He’s adopted” and walked away. It wasn’t until later that I was fuming at her insistence on getting an answer from me and my own compliance in responding – it’s the people-pleaser in me. What I should have said was it wasn’t any of her business. Yes, I am old enough to be the mother of my son. What does it matter how old I was when he was born? I certainly wasn’t 12, but even if I was, why do you stranger whose first name I don’t even know, need to be privy to that information? I need to practice a more snarky answer because people like that woman do not need, nor deserve, to know our story. I sensed, as I turned away from her to attend to Love Bug, she wanted to pump me for more information and the only sliver of satisfaction I have is knowing I didn’t give her the chance. I just have to be better prepared for the next time I’m faced with this question.

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

Foster Care on This Is Us

*Warning* Spoilers for those who are not caught up on This Is Us.

 

I love the show This Is Us. I feel like so much of my life is portrayed in such terrific nuance, I can’t help but to watch. And cry. At the end of last week’s episode about Kate’s miscarriage, they previewed Randall’s story for this week, showing a glimpse of things happening with his foster daughter. I was nearly outraged because the clip shown did not feel real-to-life as the rest of the show has been. So, I watched the latest episode with a wary eye, thinking they were going to get foster care all wrong. Thankfully, they did not. They did take some liberties, I mean it’s a TV show after all, but I wasn’t displeased and some of it was spot on.

 

I am a foster parent. I have had 11 children with me in the nearly 6 years I’ve been fostering, not including the many weekend respite placements I had. So, I’d say I know a thing or two about fostering, or at least how it is done in Pennsylvania and while each county is slightly different, there are a lot of commonalities. Never once have I had a parent show up at my house demanding to see their child. I understand parents are able to request the address of their child’s foster parent, but it would not bode well for them to just show up. I know some families who have invited the family’s over or who have hosted visits in their home, but those things were pre-planned and approved by the county agency. So, this part of the show was the one thing I felt was not spot on.

 

The parts I found so true to life were Randall’s indigent reaction to the news that Deja’s mom was going to get her back and how Deja handled her mom when she did show up to Randall’s house. I remember feeling the same anger Randall felt with my longest foster placement. The two little kids came to me from a different foster home and had been in care for several months before I came into the picture. I did not have the best interaction with their mother; her distain for me was palpable. But, her children capture my heart and it was hard for me to contemplate sending them home to her and a brand new baby brother. If I had the means, I might have threatened to hire a lawyer. But, I learned a very valuable lesson with my first placement and that was how powerless I was as a foster parent. And, foster parents who rock the boat are not foster parents for very long. I didn’t have the same come-to-Jesus moment as Randall did, but I did learn to understand the importance of keeping children with their families, even if those families don’t meet my personal criteria for quality parenting. I learned not to be as judgmental as I had been.

 

With Primero, I have witnessed similar interactions between him and his mom, where he steps up and calms her down as if he were the parent and she was a child. He watched the show with me, something he hasn’t done in a while and so he kept asking me questions about what was going on. But, when Deja went home on the show, Primero commented, “She’ll be back” meaning in the system, “They’re always going back.” From his personal experience, he didn’t trust her mother was going to stay on the straight and narrow, but devolve back into her old ways, thus shoving Deja back into foster care. It made me sad to hear him predict a negative outcome for a teenager in foster care, but I understand why he did. I’m sure he understood how Deja felt, that internal tug-of-war over leaving a safe, happy place to return to someone you love dearly but don’t always trust. He didn’t indicate the show bothered him, but I was sniffling and trying to hold back tears when Deja hugged Randall.

 

I’m slightly perplexed why they didn’t show any scenes in the court room. In my experience, court is where the decisions are ultimately made and Deja would not have gone home without court consent. I remember the case worker was talking about court, but the children are required to be in court, even if the county doesn’t require the foster parents attend (I’ve had both experiences – one county requires foster parents to attend court and a different county never made me go, the case worker would take the children). I find it’s an integral part of fostering and certainly a tough thing for all parties involved. Perhaps there will be more shared with the next installments, as it seems Randall’s family will be getting a new foster son soon.

 

It is refreshing to see foster care portrayed mostly realistically or at all really. I do watch the show The Fosters but it is not an accurate portrayal of foster care at all. I chalk it up to the show being set in California because if Stef and Lena were foster parents here, they wouldn’t be foster parents anymore. Still, at least it’s does show some of the difficulties of fostering, fighting the system, navigating relationships with biological family, how foster siblings interact, things like that. But, it’s more like a soap opera than anything resembling real life. In This Is Us, I felt like I knew Deja, like I’ve met her in my own foster care experiences. Randall’s reaction when he began seeing how the system works, I’ve felt just like that, I nodded my head at his righteous indignation. And, I felt him loosen his grip as he finally began to understand. I was glad when both him and Beth agreed to continue fostering. I have no doubt they will do things differently the second time around. I’m anxious to keep watching!