Doubting and What If

I had written an account of our Thanksgiving meals and I will probably still post that, but there has been something else bouncing around in my brain that I need to get out. My mom and I have been on the outs since the incident in September. We really haven’t spoken to one another, which made Thanksgiving awkward because my mom basically refused to talk to me, or even look at me for that matter. On Saturday, my aunt (my mom’s best friend) shared something I had posted on my Facebook the previous year, expressing my thankfulness for my family, including my parents. She captioned it by stating she hoped it was ok she shared it, but she felt it was a good time to do so. I replied that I didn’t mind she was sharing it (she was mentioned, after all) and that the sentiments are the same now as they were last year, to which my mom tagged me and replied, “Really???”  I read it and immediately text my sister telling her “Mom is starting shit on Facebook.” I then tagged her back and said, “Yes, really.” But, I knew, if there was any hope for peace on Earth, I would need to call her.

 

So, I stewed for a bit, then swallowed my pride and called her once the little ones were down for their naps. The conversation lasted over 90 minutes and went from terse comments to downright shouting and ended with mundane family conversation and maybe a truce. I think, some of it was my mom wanted to be heard and some of it is the same shit I will always hear from her. At one point, when I brought up my kids and she said, “Oh my god!” in a rather offensive way and then went on to explain how she thinks I’m crazy for being a foster parent, for agreeing to adopt such “difficult” children but if I’m happy then it doesn’t matter what she thinks, I just knew she was never, not ever, going to accept my children as her grandchildren. At least not in the way she would accept a biological child. Two things really stick out at me. The first one was what she didn’t say. She made some comment about biological children and I cried, “That’s great but not something I can do!” I sensed her come-back and she started the sentence, but then stopped herself. Still, I heard what she was going to say. She was going to say how it wasn’t the right guy and that I gave up too soon. She did say something about needing a husband to make that happen. I know she thinks I didn’t explore enough medical options when it came to getting pregnant, but my insurance did not (and still does not) cover a lick of infertility treatments, barring some diagnostic testing that could be labeled as general feminine problems. Without insurance coverage there was no way we could afford the $9,000 + one shot at IVF. Plus, it was evident that the infertility treatments had a very negative affect on my emotional well-being. I was probably clinically depressed in those dark days when infertility eclipsed everything else in my entire life. And, let’s face it, there are no guarantees in infertility. So, despite the doctor’s instance that we were good candidates for IVF because we were young and healthy, we could have saved and scraped together 10 grand and still be left childless.

 

On the tail of the words unspoken came an accusation; my mother does not understand why I have three children. In her “what you’re doing is great, but we think you’re stark-raving mad for doing it” spiel she said, more than once, “I don’t know why one wasn’t enough.” As if children are Lays potato chips and I simply couldn’t eat just one, like a glutton I took on three. I didn’t answer her, I did take her bate on the number of children debate. Because I didn’t tell her, again, the story of how the children all ended up with me, she went on to wish I lived more like my single, child-less friends trotting around the world on glorious vacations. Which, ironically, she chides my sister for doing instead of birthing children. Still, the why three question makes me believe my mom, who is herself a mother of three, thinks I can’t handle it or that I’m not grateful for the one child who is mine.     

 

Mostly, these two points of a very long and difficult conversation, prick the very sore spots I try to soothe for myself. Did I not try long enough or explore enough options with infertility? What if we had had the money, would we have a child together? Would we still be together? Am I taking on too much with three kids? Am I being selfish and discontent by adopting more children than just Primero? These what if questions serve little purpose, yet they have been plaguing me with doubt just as a once-healed wound smarts when the scab is torn off. It is especially hurtful to hear someone else doubting your same doubts.

Should I Stay or Should I Go?

Before my current job, I worked as an admissions counselor in a drug and alcohol rehab for 3 ½ years. I hated the job for a lot of reasons only one of them because I had to hear horrible, heart-breaking stories about people and their loved ones dealing with addiction. It was very hard for me to not take home the residual stress from hearing and documenting these stories day after day, never mind the times we had to call the police because the person on the other end of the phone was about to end their life. I heard a lot of ugly things people did because they were under the influence of drugs or because they needed to get a fix so bad they would do literally anything. And, I didn’t just hear the stories over the phone, I met the individuals when they came into the facility on the worst day of their lives; the day they entered rehab. Some new patients came in so high or so hung-over they could not complete the necessary paperwork for admission. A few people were experiencing the DT’s so bad they had to be sent to the local hospital because their state was more emergent than our small medical staff could handle. I wish I could remember as many success stories as I can the terrible ones, but working in admissions we saw more of the pain and less of the recovery.





While I did go through the drinking phase in college, I never participated in any other indulgences as a teen or young adult. My first experience with people around me smoking pot was when I was in the Peace Corps in Nicaragua. I was invited to a birthday party for a volunteer I didn’t really know but a bunch of my friends were going and so I decided to tag along. We were having a good time, dancing, playing music, having a few drinks, when someone arrived with marijuana. I thought I could just ignore it, keep dancing and everything would be fine, but it soon became apparent that I was going to be the only one not imbibing. So, I left. I walked back to the volunteer’s place (thankfully, the party was being held at her friend’s house). I got myself ready for bed and climbed into the large bed I would be sharing with 2 other women. When the rest of the gang got back, they were high and acting juvenile. They all climbed into the bed with me but wouldn’t settle down and sleep, so it made for a very long and unpleasant night.





You can call me a prude or too conservative, or whatever but I am not a proponent of cannabis. I am also not a fan of drinking copious amounts of alcohol or illicit drug use either. I have seen the destruction of these vices and don’t want to share those similar fates. And I certainly don’t want to be around people using, smoking, drinking to intoxication. I ran into two incidents over the holiday where drug use was happening and I had the little ones with me. The first incident I didn’t know about until afterwards. The second we walked in on, sort of uninvited. I felt uncomfortable and I didn’t want the little ones to be there, but had to complete a task and try not to make a big deal out of it because it’s “just pot.” I find this is a hard thing to navigate – I don’t choose to participate and don’t want to be around it, yet it is thrust upon me due to things outside of my control. And, I don’t live in a state where recreational use is legal, so there’s that added pressure to not be around it for me. As much as it bothered me to walk into a house full of stinky pot smoke, it bothered me even more to know it was happening right under my nose without me knowing about it. Knowing it half the battle, it allows me to make the choice to stay or go. I hate knowing the little children were exposed to this at such a young age and I hope they won’t remember the occasion.    


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"Just" Adopting is Hard

The permanency hearing this morning went better than I had thought it would. There was an awkward moment, while waiting to go into the court room, when mom’s attorney was ranting about CYS. I didn’t hear how the conversation started, but I did hear him mention about a bonding evaluation that would show the children, who haven’t been allowed to visit with their mother, have bonded to their foster parent, “of course.” I cannot tell you how derogatory he sounded, how it seemed like the very word “foster parent” left a foul taste on his tongue. He went on to describe a case he argued in the state Supreme Court about the rights of a father who was incarcerated and not permitted early release due to the words of one parole officer who felt this man was gaming the system. His tirade was cut short by the county case worker announcing we could go into the court room. It’s clear to see that he is all one-sided for paternal rights, which I suppose makes sense since that is his job, to make sure the parents who are his clients get a fair deal. As a foster parent, I just don’t have the luxury of being one-sided and have to see this case and all cases from multiple sides, so I can be engaged in the action and try to stay empathetic towards the parents, who don’t have it easy and make the everyday decisions for what I believe is best for the children. I have to see both sides of the coin, no matter how painful or difficult it might be.

 

Once we were inside the court room things moved fairly quickly. There was a lot of discussion about Mini Momma and how she needs help to understand what is happening because she asked the magistrate when she can see her mom again. The magistrate declared she wouldn’t entertain the idea of visitation simply because there was a date set for TPR, which she wasn’t aware of initially. She said there would be no point for her to make a ruling, only to have it all rehashed at the TPR hearing next month. The mom’s attorney asked about keeping sibling contact, but he asked it in a way that made it sound like Chica Marie and Love Bug would be adopted and Mini Momma would not. This lead the county case worker to believe mom might voluntarily sign-off on TPR for the little ones, but I’m not so sure. There was talk about how Grandma has been pushing for the younger siblings to see and meet their older siblings and how she has managed to make that happen for all but one older sibling. A new permanency hearing was set for the end of April, pending whatever happens in December.

 

After the hearing I spoke with the county case worker about my concerns regarding an older sibling. She seemed to indicate what I had heard from a previous case worker was not correct and there would be no harm in the little ones spending time with their older siblings. I expressed how I am not opposed to those visits and contact but I felt like Grandma went behind my back when she had the kids a few weekends ago because she made no mention to me about her plans, just sent me a picture via text. I would like to know who the children will be exposed to and I too would like to meet their older siblings. I could facilitate visits with the older siblings, if they so choose, once I am able to meet them. But, if Grandma always acts as middle man, that limits the exposure the little ones would have to only when they are visiting Grandma. I think my actions speak for themselves when it comes to sibling visits. I pursued visits with Mini Momma, following her from foster home to foster home, making sure the little ones could still see her. She has spent more than a few weekends at our place and the door is always open for her to be in contact with her younger brother and sister. I can point to many, many examples of visits with Primero and his siblings, including making sure his older brother Hermano got to spend time with his family during holidays when he was in foster care. I mean, my two main baby-sitters are Primero’s oldest brother's girlfriend and his cousin. We spend holidays with Primero’s family, we’ve driven to see his mom, to attend his brother’s baby shower. I literally can do nothing more to prove I support family, especially sibling, involvement. I just think there is a proper way to do it that doesn’t create hard feelings or make it seem duplicitous.

 

So, it seems like the TPR hearing might actually happen next month. The county case worker told me she has over 90 pages of information for the hearing. I’m thankful we do not have to attend that court hearing, especially after the county case worker told me this would go all the way back to the beginning. I’m fairly certain I would sit and sob if I had to be there listening to every little thing that has happened right before and since placement. It is sort of a shitty time for TPR to be happening, just before Christmas, not that there is ever a good time to permanently lose custody of your children. As I knew she would, mom asked me where the kids were when she saw me. I had some pictures I printed out and gave to her, including the school picture for Chica Marie and a drawing she had colored. It certainly doesn’t take the place of seeing her children and I know that and I feel bad for her. Her lawyer brought up Act 101 during the session and I’m sort of surprised it wasn’t mentioned to me previously. My inclination is to do things as naturally as possible and I just don’t like the idea of someone telling me what I must do with the children. Act 101 is a legally enforceable visitation agreement entered into by adoptive parents and biological family. I would rather we agree to be in touch, exchange information and visit as we are able and see fit, so long as mom stays in a healthy place. I don’t really want a set-in-stone agreement stating we MUST see her x amount of times per month or year or whatever. Grandma and I are already in contact and arranging visits as our schedules allow. I don’t feel like we need some legal document telling us to keep doing what we are already doing. I would welcome the little one’s mom to get in touch with me so we could talk about visitations.

 

I’ve been feeling sort of down about adoption lately. I think I have finally come to a place where I am ready to face my own misconceived notions about adoption. I have known, from a young age, that I wanted to adopt. I remember having a conversation with my mom about my aunt who was never able to have children. I remember asking my mom why my aunt and uncle didn’t “just adopt.” I declared, right then and there, if I were ever unable to have children (because, that so wasn’t going to happen to me) I would adopt. When my mom met the woman who is now my nurse midwife, they had a conversation about my willingness to adopt. My mom’s friend, who adopted her daughter from China, gave her a book to give to me; “The Waiting Child” by Cindy Champnella. As a young adult remembering my declaration, this book solidified my decision to adopt. I just assumed things would go as I had planned. I would get married, have 3 children and then when my kids were on the verge of leaving the nest, I would adopt a younger child or two. It seemed so perfect. It’s just not how it happened. Now, nearly a year after my first son was adopted, I have really come to understand the intricacies of “just” adopting. And, while I know it is the right decision for me and I would do it all over again if I had to, it isn’t easy. Sharing your child with people you don’t know is hard. Learning to accept people you don’t always respect is hard. Knowing you family is complicated because there are so many different people with different opinions is hard. Learning to let go of the ideals you had for your family, learning to let go of the moral code you had hoped to instill in your children, is hard. Being ok with raising a child who doesn’t acknowledge your influence in his life and seems eager to be done with you, is hard. Feeling like you might never have sovereign control over your children is hard. Sharing holidays, accepting new traditions and life styles is hard. Witnessing the pain of a child betrayed by family and seeing the heartache of family not raising their biological kin is hard. Explaining to a child seeing their mother is not a good idea is hard. Hearing stories of a tumultuous and difficult past is hard. Staying positive about someone who has made some very poor choices and cannot seem to take responsibility for them is hard. Always being a bigger person, willing to forgive and move forward is hard. Nothing, nothing at all about adoption is easy except for loving a child. I never doubted I would be able to love a child not biologically connected to me. But, love is not enough. And that is hard.   

Thanksgiving Dread

Tomorrow morning is court and  I am fearful for a lot of reasons. I am fearful of having to answer the little one’s mom’s and grandmother’s questions of why they are not there. I fear the potentially aggressive proceedings in court, with both sides defending their position passionately. I am fearful of the outcome and potential ramifications it might have on the case and, more concerning, on the children. Mostly, I just want it to be over, so we can move forward, but I feel fairly certain this case will drag on for quite some time.

 

Thursday is Thanksgiving and I am also dreading this day. Since I’ve become a grown-up, Thanksgiving has become my favorite holiday, eclipsing Christmas. I mean, who doesn’t love a holiday all about food? And expressing thanks for the blessings in our lives? Besides providing a few cans of green beans, I have no other obligation, no presents to buy or cards to write. So, yeah, Thanksgiving has hedged out Christmas for my favorite holiday. But, as much as I love the holiday season, I’ve come to dread it due to the emotional pitfalls that seem to lurk around these special days. This will be the third holiday season with Primero and the little ones, which makes the third time I have to dance the intricate steps of open adoption. This year I am just not feeling as emotionally ready for what is to come. As much as I would like to be the kind of person who can get over grievances with a flip of my hair and a good glass of wine, I’m just not that person. I still hurt from what happened the last time we got together with Primero’s uncle. The fact that he thinks I should just act like everything is the same, after such a betrayal, infuriates me. He made zero effort to man up and talk to me like an adult. When “we” did talk it was actually with his wife. The whole thing has left a very bad taste in my mouth and my respect level for Primero’s uncle has dropped dramatically. I really don’t want to go to his house this Thursday. Like, not even a little bit. But, Primero told me last night that all of his siblings have been confirmed to be attending and that never happens. At first Primero told me their event started at 7, which would work out because I already accepted an invitation to my aunt and uncle’s for 4. But, after speaking with his uncle yesterday, Primero told me their event is starting at 4:30. So, this complicates things. I don’t want to be separated for Thanksgiving. I mean, I’m sure next year Primero will stop attending family functions with us because he will be 18 and, as he believes, can do whatever he wants. I wish I were wealthy and could just whisk the four of us away to some quiet tropical island for Thanksgiving. Did I mention Primero’s mother will be at the gathering? Just to add another layer of uncomfortable. The last time we spent time with her, there was an eruption of unwarranted emotions that derailed the visit and made me question having the little ones around when visits do happen. Yeah, I’m not looking forward to Thursday at all……

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Until Our Fate is Decided

I feel resigned to a fate I cannot control and am hopeless to change. I had to take the little ones in for court this morning. Well, not court, just for them to see their GAL (guardian ad litem) and the magistrate. I have been appealing to the professionals who work with the children, to write letters of recommendation that visits not be reinstated, but thus far I’m coming up empty-handed. It seems the professionals are being advised to not get involved, regardless of their professional opinion on the matter. One problem is that these professionals have not personally witnessed the reactions and regressions that occurred following visits. It seems we will have to do a bonding evaluation, which I believe is basically a mental health professional observing me alone with the kids and then their mother alone with the kids. It seems unfair, since Love Bug does not know her and will respond with trepidation, as he does will most strangers. Chica Marie might respond more positively, but then again, who knows with her.

 

While the county is opposed to reinstating visits, the burden of proof is upon them to argue why visits should (still) not occur. Their mother’s attorney does not have to argue why, after nearly 18 months, the visits should be reinstated. Because she still retains her parental rights, she still has the right to visits. And, as we all know, the parents’ rights always trump the rights of children. Her rights are supposed to be terminated in December, but the TPR meeting has moved to many times I have little faith it will actually occur. Even if it does occur, as the county case worker reminded me this morning, that doesn’t mean it’s over. There is an appeal process, which I’m sure their mom will take, and all of this takes time. As in months of time. While the children hang in limbo.

 

I am opposed to the courts reinstating visits, but I am not opposed to having visits. What I mean by that is, I feel like, if visits could occur like the one we had with Primero’s mother they might not be so hard on the kids. We picked her up and went the mall, had dinner and took her back home. We spent nearly the whole day together and it was (for the most part) a nice time. I could be wrong, but I feel if visits could happen the same way with the little one’s mom, maybe it wouldn’t be so traumatic for them. Chica Marie wants to see her mom, she has expressed that to me on more than one occasion. Yet, she has a lot of big feelings after those visits and those big feelings result in negative behaviors. I think too often the county and the law is all or nothing. I wish we could find a compromise that doesn’t jeopardize the positive momentum the children have made.

 

While we are talking about the law, how about The Adoption and Safe Families Act of 1997? You know, the one that “Requires that States move to terminate parental rights for children who have been in Foster Care for 15 out of the last 22 months” that law? Has the county not provided sufficient and ample opportunities for reunification? Is there a compelling reason TPR is not in the best interest of the children? I don’t know, I don’t have all the details. I’m just frustrated and wish I could do something to resolve this whole mess, but I can’t. I don’t have a say, I don’t have a voice. I still have to attend the permanency hearing next week and sit quietly as our fate is decided.

In the Feels

Tonight will be our annual home evaluation for foster care. I frantically cleaned the house yesterday but didn’t get it as clean as I would have liked. Primero and I spent a great deal of time cleaning out the basement. It felt good to get rid of the things cluttering the space and reorganize it to be able to reach the things I need more consistently. We talked while we worked and Primero told me stories of when he was naughty as a child. At one point he exclaimed, exasperated at my inability to let go of an artifact from my childhood, “Ugh! You have a lot of special things from the past!” He then muttered that he had none. I remembered him showing me a box of little things he had saved from his life before foster care. I knew each item held special importance to him. I know he still has that box tucked away safely. It is the only thing he has from his childhood; no toys, no special t-shirt, just a box of slips of papers, small pictures, drawings and little nick-knack’s. I could see why my ceramic Dumbo lamp that my mom made for me and had in my nursery would upset him.

 

On our way to the pharmacy to pick up a prescription for Chica Marie she declared out-of-the-blue she wanted to go home and have a mayonnaise sandwich. Primero mentioned having to eat mayo sandwiches at times because they had nothing else to eat in his house. It seems the day was full of memories for him. After our second trip to Goodwill to drop off bags of donations, we treated ourselves to dinner at McDonalds. While there, Primero told me about something that happened to him in the past that just made my heart hurt for him, for the little boy he was never able to be. Primero does such a good job of hiding the past pain he has suffered, he doesn’t often let his mask slip to reveal the hurting inside of him. When he wants to let it out, I try to just listen. There isn’t anything I can say to undo the pain, nothing I can do to take it all away and reminding him his present is without those hurts is obtuse and without solace. So, I listen and say how sorry I am to know those things happened to him. He used to share a lot, when he first moved in, but the stories have slowed over the years. I’m glad he no longer has to eat mayonnaise sandwiches and I hope he will always feel like he can share with me when he needs to, when he feels those memories.

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Reinstating Visits

Yesterday I left work early because the headache I woke up with could not be controlled with Aleve. I slept most of the afternoon and woke-up with my headache dulled but not gone. I took one more Aleve and that did the trick. My stomach has been off since Sunday night. I haven’t been sick, but I have been feeling nauseous and like I’m about to be sick at any moment. I have an aversion to food but I don’t find it makes me feel any worse when I do eat. I know a very strong stomach virus has been making the rounds and I’m hoping this isn’t how it starts.

 

Before I left work yesterday I received an email from the county case worker in response to the one I sent her the previous day. I had asked several questions, which she half-answered promising more detailed answers coming soon. Then, she sent a second email asking for me to get letters from the professionals who see the kids and feel reinstating visits with their mother would not be in their best interest. Apparently, their mother’s attorney is planning on insisting visits be reinstated since their mom has been doing so much better. I questioned how this could be possible, since TPR has been scheduled for December 16^th and our CHOR case worker questioned why it would be entertained considering TPR was supposed to happen in June. We are hoping this is just CYS doing a cya, but it is frightening to me that the court would even consider this idea. It’s not that I wouldn’t want the children to see their mom, especially considering she is healthy right now, I’m just worried about how it might affect Chica Marie’s behaviors in school and impact her education. And, for Love Bug, he would need to ease into it in a way I highly doubt would be carried out. In order for him to be ok with the visits, he would need to do a few with me there for the whole time and then slowly wean him down to me not being there. To drop him off and have his mom hugging him and kissing him and trying to hold him, well he would be totally freaked out. And I feel really bad saying that, but he just doesn’t know her. To him, I am mommy. He still has a pretty high intolerance to strangers, especially ones who try to do more than talk to him. He takes a little while to warm up to people, as most toddlers do. The concerns for Chica Marie are even more pressing, I believe. While she would be happy to meet and spend time with her mom, the last time she did (and it was a good meeting!) her behaviors took a nose-dive and we were dealing with several weeks of regression because of it. When she was in daycare, it was manageable and not as detrimental as it could be now that she is in school. She is finally starting to stabilize and get into the groove with kindergarten, I would hate to see her regress and possibly miss out on some learning or worse, be moved into an emotional support classroom.

 

So, after sending an email questioning how this could be happening, I called and spoke with our CHOR case worker and Chica Marie’s mobile therapist. Last night I asked Love Bugs OT to write a letter, which she readily agreed to do. I called Chica Marie’s psychiatrist and her mobile therapist agreed to follow up with him as well. Her TSS worker will write about her behaviors at school and I asked the daycare to write what they could remember about her regression the last time she saw her mother.

 

I just don’t understand how this could be possible. I don’t understand anything about this case. After nearly 18 months of not seeing their mother, it seems unfathomable that the court would insist on bi-weekly visitation when TPR and adoption are just around the corner. And, it’s not just that I don’t want the children to see their mother, I just want the children to be stable and healthy and be able to emotionally process the big feelings that might come with seeing their mother. I don’t want to see them be forced into bi-weekly visits if they aren’t able to handle it. And, I certainly don’t want Chica Marie to have any stumbling blocks in front of her when it comes to improving her behaviors in school. I’m very nervous about court now.

 

The ironic thing is, Chica Marie and Love Bug will be going into CYS a week earlier to meet with the GAL so they don’t have to be there the day of court and risk seeing their mother, as they did in the summer. It was brought up during a meeting with the school and the county case worker mentioned the children could be seen ahead of time, rather than during court. How is that not evidence enough that reinstating visits isn’t a good idea?

 

This morning the county worker sent me an email about a bonding observation test. I’m not sure when she is hoping to have this performed or what exactly it will entail, but I’m sure it will have something to do with the plea for visits to resume. I can’t wait for all this insanity to die down again.

The Intrusion of Others

I’m struggling with open adoption again. It is such a hard thing! I feel like I have no control over parenting, my hands are stayed by biological connections perceived as stronger than my daily caretaking role. This feeling of melancholy stems not only from feeling like I lack parental control, but also my only family issues revolving around my grandfather’s impending passing and my mother’s damaging self-victimization. I feel a mess; just a total jumbled mess of confliction, self-pity, and confusion on which way to turn, what decision to make. I’m trying to pin down my unrest, untangle the intricate parts in hopes of allaying fears and moving forward.

 

Saturday I had a mostly child-free day. The little one’s grandmother came to pick them up before 9:30 in the morning. I was just finishing Chica Marie’s hair when they arrived. After a brief visit and wrestling the car seats into the back of Grandma’s car, the children were gone and I was on my way to the lab. For work we have to do a Get Healthy routine lab work in order to get a fairly significant discount on what we pay for our health insurance. So, every year I begrudgingly head to the lab for some unnecessary poking and prodding because I can use every penny I earn. Fortunately, the lab was not busy and I was in and out before the actual time of my 10 am appointment. Even though we don’t have to, I fast for the lab work, so  I was hungry. I had planned on going to breakfast with Primero, but he didn’t get out of bed before I left and wasn’t answering my texts. I decided to forego breakfast out and went home to make some eggs and coffee. Then, I headed to the farm.

 

My father had contacted me on Friday, warning my grandfather’s health was failing and suggesting I try to see him as soon as I could. I figured it would easiest for me to go alone and so I drove the distance there after my breakfast at home. When I arrived at my grandparents place on the farm, there were an abnormal number of cars parked in front of their place. I thought everyone had come home to see my grandfather. Inside the house I encountered my aunt and uncle, my oldest cousin, a spiritual advisor and a nurse talking to my grandmother. When my grandfather was at the doctor last week, he finally convinced my grandmother to get hospice help for my grandfather to keep them both at home safely. My grandmother has been caring for my grandfather since he got sick and in his current frail state he really isn’t able to do anything for himself and she is growing weary. The commotion soon died down as one-by-one the other visitors left and I was finally alone with my grandparents.

 

My grandfather, who has always been thin yet surprisingly strong, was frail and weak, sitting propped up in a chair in their living room. His skin, once browned by the sun and wind from working outdoors, was ghostly white, barring the various spots of burgundy from bruises that dotted his paper-thin skin. His strong work-worn hands hung limply off the arms of the chair and his once piercing blue eyes, now sunken in and dulled to gray, held mere flashes of recognition. He was but a shell of the man he had been, the surgeries, cancer and other health ailments that have dogged him this last decade have sucked all the life from him. It hurt to see him looking so forlorn, to see him so fragile and frail. I sat and held his hand while my grandmother went to the barn to care for the animals. It took all I had to not sit and sob, the tears having escaped more than a few times while I hugged him and tried to tell him how much he meant to me, what a great and wonderful grandfather he has been my whole life.

 

After my grandmother returned from her duties at the barn, we sat and talked. Interspersed among our reminiscence of times past, my grandmother unloaded a lot about my mom. Some of it I knew about, some of it I found hard to believe, and some of it was just downright troubling to know my grandmother felt the way she did about my mom. The floodgates opened when I mentioned my mom and I weren’t really talking, since the incident in September. I didn’t respond to much of what my grandmother had said, I just listened. As my sister and a friend said, she has been going through a lot taking care of my grandfather and just needed to unload. Still, a few things were disturbing to me and I worry that my grandmother actually believes what she said. And, while demonizing my mother, she praised my aunt for being a “gem.” I view my aunt differently, but I don’t want to keep going with the character assassination and so I will just leave it at everyone has both good and bad qualities. I stayed with my grandparents until after 2 and then hustled to get back home.

 

Primero had slept until well after noon but was awake and ready to go by the time I got home. We ran a few errands before having to get back home to meet the kids by 4. Grandma had sent me a text with a picture – she had taken the kids to see some of their older siblings. I didn’t feel ok with this for a few reasons. One, I sent the kids to visit with their grandmother and older sister, Mini Momma. Grandma never mentioned to me they would be seeing their other older siblings or anyone else for that matter. I hated being left out of the loop like that. And, I worried about behavioral reactions from Chica Marie. I also worried about how the county would respond to such a visit when I tell them what occurred. I know at one point the county had requested the girls not see their older male siblings due to some worries I cannot speak about here. I don’t know if those worries are still valid so I emailed the county to find out. I also feel like with the grandmother running interference, it doesn’t give me the opportunity to help build a relationship with the older siblings for the little ones. I feel like Grandma has put herself smack dab in the middle and, while I’m sure she sees it as forging that relationship, it really hinders a more organic development. Am I wrong to think this might have been something Grandma could have mentioned before taking the kids for that visit? Because I do worry that it’s my own fear and fragility rearing its ugly head. I’ll be honest, when Grandma brought them back home and immediately asked for a sleep-over, stating she’s ready, my heart constricted thinking she was going to ask for custody of the littlest ones too. And, since I have little to no trust in “the system” making rational and sound decisions, I worry the biological connection would out-weigh my 2 plus years of care-taking and devotion. I’m not ready for a sleep-over, not just for all the reasons mentioned, but because I also worry about how much supervision there is for Chica Marie specifically. I know these two are not yet my children, but for the love! Love Bug has known no other mommy but me. Chica Marie has had a stable home with me for over 2 years. It’s really hard, after all that time of autonomy, to give it up and let the children be taken wherever someone else wishes. And I have no say in the matter.

 

Following in that vein, Primero spent the night at his uncles last night. My qualm here is more with what I feel is disrespect to my station as his parent than anything else. When things went down in September (apparently September was not a good month for me!) I tried to bridge the gap, asking for a sit-down meeting between myself and Primero’s aunt and uncle. A terse phone conversation, days after living on pins and needles thinking they were going to move Primero into their home, was the only conversation we had on the matter. And we have not really talked since then. A few weeks ago Primero was talking to his uncle and was asked why he hasn’t been over. Primero replied because we had never met and talked as planned and I wasn’t comfortable having Primero go over there until that happened. That still never spawned a conversation. And, because I was massively hurt by how things happened during that horrid time in September, I have slowly been giving up Primero. I felt I had no choice when he mentioned spending the night because to say no would cause damage, no matter how I felt I was treated, no matter how insignificant my position had been rendered. To me, they are saying Primero is allowed to treat me like a revolving door in favor of his more lenient aunt and uncle. After all, despite my lawful position as his parent, they are blood and therefore their decisions are allowed to outweigh mine. They can claim to be willing to take legal action to take custody, no matter what the courts have already decreed on the matter. I find it unforgiveable that his uncle let me live for days believing he would be coming over to take my son at any moment. I find it deplorable that my request for an adult meeting went unanswered and I am expected to carry on, business as usual. And yes, I worry about what promises they might make Primero while keeping their game face on in front of me. It’s sad to think this all could have been avoided if only his uncle had been willing to have a frank conversation with me. Now, I am left wondering where I stand and what other plans might be made behind my back?

 

I am growing weary of open adoption. I am tired of the intrusion of others on my life. I despise having my rules, my desires for how I wish to raise my children be trampled callously. I ache to be able to feel secure in my position as mother, yet worry at the tiniest unraveled thread that my whole world will come crashing down around me. I’m frustrated at the insistence that biology, not secure attachment, not giving and caring daily, but mere biology reigns supreme. Times like these I wish everyone would go away. I wish we could be left alone as our own nuclear family. I am weary. I am tired. I feel like giving up.

 

Sunday evening my mom text me, “Thanks for stopping up to see me yesterday!” adding fodder to my already blackened name on her long list of hurts, I didn’t visit with her when I had come for the sole purpose of seeing my ailing grandfather. Shame on me.    

Birthday Hooky

Today is my beloved Primero’s 17^th birthday. It is his third birthday with me and I cannot believe he is so “old” already! He has started talking about turning 18 next year and being a legal adult. I wish he would spend more time thinking about what his academic and occupational future will hold, but maybe that will come as the next year wears on. When I look back on the early pictures of Primero and I together it is easy to see how much he has grown physically and it also reminds me how much he has grown emotionally too. He is truly a gem, a wonderful young man and I am so proud of all of his progress and growth. I know he will eventually spread his wings and leave the nest but my heart constricts at the mere thought of it. I want to soak up all the time we have right now and bottle it for when he isn’t around as much, out doing his own thing. I know most parents feel this way about their child leaving home, but for me it seems especially poignant, given our short time together as a family. Cue the waterworks!

 

For his birthday I let him play hooky from school (I have never done this before, I promise) and plan on taking him to a dinner/movie place as a special treat. I took off of work to surprise him and spend some alone time with him, which we haven’t done in way too long. I also really want to plan a mother-son get away this coming summer, one last hurrah together before he’s legally all grown up. I might cry a good deal, so let me just refocus on him being 17 and enjoy this time right now. Happy birthday my sweet, precious Primero!

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

Odds and Ends

Here are some odds and ends that have been bouncing around in my head but haven’t made it here yet:

 

Last week I had to take Primero to see a neurologist for numbness in his elbow. We were referred by his pediatrician when we reported the numbness at his annual physical in February. The process to get the referral was a mess, but we persevered and finally had the appointment. Fortunately, everything is fine and since the numbness is localized, it should resolve on its own with no further intervention other than a daily massage. The doctor seemed very thorough and he definitely took his time with us. As is customary when meeting a doctor for the first time, he asked a lot of background medical questions. He asked about Primero’s birth weight and I shrugged nonchalantly and said, “I don’t know.” I think I read in his paperwork he weighed the average 6-7 pounds, but I honestly didn’t remember. The doctor sat and stared at me. Crickets chirruped and I shifted in my seat uneasily. He said in a measured tone, “You don’t know?” as if saying, “What kind of mother doesn’t remember her baby’s birth weight.” I sighed as I realized I would have to out myself. “Oh, well he’s adopted, so I didn’t give birth to him.” The doctor’s countenance changed to a more congenial look as he asked how long I have known Primero and then moved along to other information we could answer. I felt defeated. I hadn’t wanted to bring it up and make it a thing, but there it was again, the giant scarlet letter A – ADOPTED. I promised myself to commit all the information from his paperwork to memory, so I could answer these questions without having to proclaim how we are different from traditional/biological families.

 

Chica Marie and Love Bug are going for a visit with their grandmother this weekend. She contacted me last weekend asking for a visit. When I asked her what she had in mind, she asked to have them over, to give me a break. How could I say no to that? I expressed reservations before about Chica Marie spending the night, but I’m hoping a day visit will be a positive chance to interact. Primero expressed greater anxiety for this visit than I did initially. I had asked him if it would be ok with him, since this is his birthday weekend. He worried that Grandma was having secret visits with the little one’s mother and that was why Mini Momma acted strangely at our last visit. I told him I wasn’t worried about hidden rendezvous with their mom, I was a little worried about how much supervision the kids would have, but I have to let it go. I want the visit to be positive for everyone, so I have be positive about it. If Chica Marie acts up, I hope there is someone there to get her back on track and if not, we will work on behaviors when she gets home. I worry Love Bug will be upset and nervous being left somewhere he doesn’t know, but I have to believe he will be distracted by his sisters and others playing with him and keeping him occupied. I worry too much about uninitiated people watching the kids; people who are unfamiliar with foster care and trauma issues in kids. But, the grandmother has their older sister, so I am sure she has now been initiated and she stated she was up to the challenge of taking both the little ones for an afternoon, so I will just take this chance to get some down time. I really hope it all goes well!

 

This past weekend Primero reported to me that his mother’s boyfriend had been killed. I found information in the newspaper from the town in the county south of us and it said he had been shot in the head and his death was considered a homicide. We had met this boyfriend over the summer. I don’t know what happened, although police reports state the shooting wasn’t random, so I guess he knew whoever shot him. It is such a tragedy, he was young (only a few years older than me) and had a lot of life left to live. Primero’s mother is not taking this very well, calling Primero crying and lamenting being so far from family. I saw him watching a Facebook live post of her sobbing and wondering what she was going to do, how she was going to heal from this. Primero tried to get his uncle to talk to his mom, but last I heard his uncle didn’t want her to bring him down out of his happy space at the moment. His mom also reported to him her identity had been stolen and she had to make a new Facebook account. Her SSI check had also been taken, which is where she is guessing the person got her personal information to steal her identity. Primero does what he can to bolster his mom’s spirits and help her find the strength to move on. Just this morning he was telling me how he talked to her again and tried to convince her she was strong enough to overcome this and prove to her haters she was the strong woman she claims to be. I’m glad Primero is such a caring young man, who truly wants to help others, but it breaks my heart to hear him talking to a grown up like he’s the adult and they are the teenager. I hope his mother is able to heed his words of wisdom and find the strength to pull herself out of this apparent nose-dive. Primero recommended professional help and I hope she is able to find a wise and caring therapist to help her through the recent trauma and her past as well.

 

My dad text me this morning asking me to call him when I had a moment. I called him right away. I suspected why he had called me and I wasn’t wrong. My grandfather, who has been in ailing health for some time now, was told by his doctor yesterday that he doesn’t need to make any more follow up appointments. My dad describes it as my grandfather is tired and has given up. He is down to 105 pounds of skin and bones and doesn’t have any fight left in him. My dad wanted me to come see him as soon as I can because it certainly seems like the end is near. In our brief conversation I could hear my dad getting emotional. He ended our call abruptly because I think he was about to cry. I have never seen my father cry and that hurt my heart almost as much as having to say good-bye to my beloved grandfather. I wrote about him a few times. My grandfather might have seemed stoic and  stern, but that’s only if you didn’t know him. He was a real prankster and joker and he loved to tease us all as children. He has always been a real hard worker, staying out in the fields until the job is done, lending a hand where he knew one was needed. My grandfather only has an 8^th grade education but he is smarter than some college educated people I know. He loved reading the farming newspaper that came weekly and while he pretended not to care, he was always the one giving extra treats to the barn cats. My grandfather has been a wonderful grandfather, simply the best. He could be counted on to help out in whatever pinch you found yourself in, maybe grumbling in protest, but always making sure you were ok. I will go to visit with him tomorrow after the children are off with their grandmother. I have to work on my poker face because I don’t want him to see my crying, it will make it harder for him. I’m so sad my own kids never knew him the way that I did because he truly was an awesome PopPop.

 

The saga of Chica Marie’s tooth extraction extravaganza continues on into week number four. The oral surgeons office began calling CHOR because they didn’t get a response from the county case worker after having faxed her the information last week. I called the office to find this out and to understand what was needed. Then I emailed the CHOR case worker and the county case worker to see what could be done to expedite the process, since Chica Marie bumped her mouth playing with Love Bug this past weekend and complained the tooth was bothering her. She also started picking at the abscess making it bleed and she has a hard time eating due to the loose front teeth. The county case worker first emailed that she submitted the paperwork for the court order last week and hasn’t heard anything back. She then emailed later stating bio mom’s lawyer refused to sign the court order since bio mom has agreed to make herself available to sign the consent. So, the county case worker called the oral surgeon’s office advising them to contact bio mom for consent. If I don’t hear anything next week I will be making more phone calls and round and round we go until a final resolution weeks after the surgery could have been done if bureaucratic red tape didn’t stand in the way. What a stinking mess!

 

Love bug spiked a fever at daycare late yesterday afternoon. I left work an hour early to pick him up and take him home. He fell asleep not long after I got home with him and Chica Marie. Because he had a fever of 102, he wasn’t allowed back at daycare today. Fortunately, Esperanza was willing to stay with him during the day so I wouldn’t have to use one of my personal days I was saving for the holidays to be home with him. He seemed to be doing much better this morning, no fever, so while I reported his sickness to his grandmother, I don’t think it will prevent him from participating in the visit tomorrow. He had no other symptoms, other than being grumpy and a little lethargic.

 

So, that’s what I’ve got for now. I could really use a nap, so maybe that is how I will spend my free time tomorrow. Most likely I end up doing laundry, ha!

My Life as a Rom-Com

My dating life, or lack-thereof, is reminiscent of a standard girlie rom-com, only sans rom. I have flirted with online dating for many moons since the demise of my marriage. I even dated someone briefly and just found out he got married in June. I’ve tried match.com but found it to be pointless to use as a non-paying member. I tried to register on eHarmony, but they wouldn’t have me because, at the time, I was separated but not divorced and I foolishly answered that question honestly. Lately, I’ve used OkCupid because a friend hyped it up after finding her husband from this particular app. I find it is the best to use without having to pay, since most features are available and you can communicate for free. Still, I haven’t found Mr. Right-for-me after wading through plenty of duds. Some memorable interactions include a young man who pretended to be someone else, fake pictures and all, because he wanted to lose his virginity to an older woman. One man I saw a few times gave me a humidifier for my little ones for Christmas. He demanded I return it to him when I broke it off a few months later. He would text me nearly obsessively, at first demanding I return the humidifier and then trying to reconcile. He recently found me on the site again and I’ve blocked him. I’ve had dates where the expectation for intimacy was palatable and where I chattered on and on while trying to get the guy to open up and say a few words. I had one guy secretly follow me home and leave me flowers on my porch and show up uninvited. Three guys have gotten mean and nasty, calling me names. One got mad because I asked him to stop calling me ‘babe’ and because I wasn’t interested in playing along with his scheme to financially dominate him while he pretty much dictated everything else I did. Another called me a dike because I cut my hair and told him I wouldn’t grow it out for him. I by-passed the foot fetish guy who wanted me to send him pictures of my feet constantly. I dodged the needy guys who simply could not survive going one minute without a text from me. One guy I was into and we set up a time to meet then he ghosted me for no reason. There are the hanger-oners, the guys who send me the same text day in and day out and we never really get anywhere because I don’t know them enough to even want to meet them. And, the most insidious of all, I avoided the men who thought they could get me pregnant by their sheer manliness, never mind my diagnosis or past treatments. So while the guys I’ve talked to have run the gamut from total needy train wrecks to narcissistic jerk wads, the guy for me has just never shown up.

 

In the rom-com movie I see in my mind’s eye, I have a quirky and kindhearted best friend who sits me down and tells me about myself. She tells me I’m too hung up on finding someone I deem the best fit for me that I am not giving anyone a chance to get to know me. Over cheap wine and popcorn at a girls night in at her place she admonishes me while I page through my potential matches and nix each one for various minor issues. “This one called me ‘hun’ the first day we “met” so he’s out.” “Oh, it says here he drinks often and I don’t, so we wouldn’t match.” “This guy’s profile says he doesn’t know if he wants kids or not, so we would never work out.” My bff would grab my phone and hook me up with a guy, telling me I had to follow through or else. Slowly, after a few more dates with guys way hotter than I’d see in real life, I would have an epiphany and realize what I was doing wrong. There would be a montage of me alone looking wistfully out a window or walking slowly in the rain and then wham-o! I would find Mr. Right-for-me and the movie would end with us being deliriously happy together. Cue the credits.    

 

Sadly, my life is not this rom-com movie. I don’t have a pithy friend shoving me out of my comfort zone and other than knowing I’m being picky, I have no real idea why I can’t seem to find someone to date. I know I think too much about it. I know I try too hard to make the unknown future make sense to me because I don’t want to be hurt again as massively as I was when my ex left. I know I use the kids as my shield, my get out of jail free card. And I find the effort to arrange my schedule and child care daunting and often times not worth the effort.  I give up too easily, not taking up offers on second or third dates because the first one just didn’t live up to my impossible standards. Most days it all feels so impossible. I want to believe in romantic love again, but I feel I’ll just be that lonely old lady with a ton of cats at the rate I’m going now. At least I’ll eventually have grandchildren, right?

This is Halloween

I’m sitting here just grimacing in pain. My back cramps have migrated front to abdominal cramps. Fun. I know no one likes getting their period, but I hate mine to the point of sheer loathing. It’s bad enough my uterus and ovaries couldn’t get their act together to produce a child, now they need to torment me with heavy periods and painful cramps. Gee, thanks. Hmm…. I might also be PMS-ing, but who’s to say?

 

Despite my vicious back cramps, we went trick-or-treating last night. I had planned for us to have spaghetti with sausage. I didn’t cook the sausage the night before, but since I couldn’t sleep anyway due to a cat biting my nose, a dog whimpering to go outside, a hand that had fallen asleep and my own internal workings that simply won’t let me rest, I cooked the sausage yesterday morning. I was in a foul mood all weekend and the same cankerous spirit persisted through Monday morning as well. I should really talk to my doctor about getting a handle on my PMS. But, that was no help for my period, so why should I expect anything different for my hormones? Anyway, after a ghastly morning of rushing around and running late, I managed to make it through the busy day at work and come home to cook pasta and eat dinner. Primero was preoccupied on putting the final touches on his Greek god costume, applying the gold tattoos I found on clearance at the dollar store. Chica Marie was chomping at the bit to get her costume on and Love Bug was grumpy. We rushed through dinner and I hurriedly got the children ready. Chica Marie was a witch, so I painted her face green and added some other witch-y touches like purple eyeliner, black eyebrows and of course the obligatory black nose wart. Primero busied himself spray-painting a pair of my socks gold, since it was chilly and he only had flimsy gold sandals to wear. Love Bug didn’t eat much dinner and refused to put on his FBI vest, tie and ear piece. Primero convinced him to wear it as I threw on yoga pants, a white tank top and fleece jacket for my soccer mom outfit. We headed off to the neighborhood where we usually go trick-or-treating. We stopped at my friend’s house and then set off. Love Bug was happy to eat a lollipop and Chica Marie was set on collecting candy. Primero kept stopping to retie his lace-up sandals and my back cramps became more and more unbearable as we marched around the area for nearly an hour. Primero convinced me to stop over at his uncles house on the way home, but his uncle didn’t answer the door because he thought we were trick-or-treaters. I was glad to be back home but I had to get Chica Marie’s face cleaned off so she could get ready for bed. And I had the dinner dishes to wash. Primero sequestered himself in his room taking pictures of himself in his costume and Love Bug begged for more candy while watching TV. Fortunately, I had done dishes that morning so there weren’t as many to wash. Primero finally came back upstairs when I was done and trying to cajole Love Bug into his pajamas. I put Love Bug to bed and took a shower before sitting down to watch Dancing with the Stars (we taped it).

 

This past weekend I was a total shithead mother. I was pissy and miserable and it just wasn’t one of my finest moments. Esperanza spent the night on Friday and we rented the new Ghostbusters movie, which I really liked, but it meant staying up to late to watch it. So, there was strike one not in my favor. Love Bug cannot sleep past 7:30, so he woke me up too early Saturday morning. I dozed for another 30 minutes after Love Bug got up and when I found him in the living room, he had made a massive mess and got into some of Primero’s things. Strike two. Before I could make the kids breakfast, I had to wash the two sinks full of dishes. Strike 2 1/5. I made breakfast and started cleaning, which almost always makes me grumpy. Then I found cat pee in Chica Marie’s bedroom and that was it, I was a miserable mess, griping at having to clean and then re-clean because as we all know, cleaning with kids is like trying to brush your teeth while eating an Oreo. Primero and Esperanza finally drug themselves out of bed around 12:30, after I put the kids down for their nap. I had to get ready to take Chica Marie to karate and I was short with her, rushing her to get into her new uniform, getting angry when I realized we forgot her nun chucks, only to get there and find out the class had been cancelled. Sunday I did a little better, but I was still immensely crabby and short with the kids.

 

Of course, when I act stupid like this, I get down on myself. My negative inner voice does not help the situation, telling myself I’m an awful mother and how could I get angry with these precious children when they are what I wanted for so long. I need to work on taming my inner beast better, swallowing more of my angry words and trying to be nicer to myself when things aren’t perfect. Easier said than done, but something I need to keep striving towards.