Therapeutic Foster Care

The Tuesday before our staycation I received a phone call from Chica Marie’s mobile therapist. Apparently, Chica Marie had been telling a story at daycare regarding a hot bath, her hair being pulled, and a belt. The TSS worker, knowing this sort of thing could constitute a call to the child line, called her supervisor asking what she should do. The supervisor asked the mobile therapist to call me. I was blind sighted and confused, but even more than that I was scared. Mini Momma had made accusations, in fact that is what started her bouncing from one foster home to another. I was terrified to think Chica Marie would start doing the same thing – not just for myself but also for the boys. There are a lot of ramifications if we have to endure an investigation. And, it would be especially damaging knowing it was all based on a lie. At training that same night I alluded to the fear I felt and my family worker pulled me aside afterwards to get some more details. She suggested I write an email to herself, the acting case worker and the adoption case worker detailing Chica Marie’s behaviors. Everything I could remember. The email, when printed out, is over 7 pages long. And, I have since remembered some more things that I haven’t added to the list because what’s the point?

 

The last time the adoption case worker came over she said she would set up a meeting for all parties involved in Chica Marie’s case to discuss where things were and where they were going. It was planned to be before the psych evaluation that the county had already planned due to reports of behaviors during camp. I had been dreading the date of our meeting regarding Chica Marie. What had started as a simple question – is the county worker putting the brakes on the adoption due to Chica Marie’s behaviors? – turned into a full-fledged intervention, with the ultimate decision being removal. Prior to the meeting the case worker supervisor/our acting case worker asked me to think over how I felt about a partial hospitalization program or a two week intensive evaluation done out of the home. She asked me if I thought our home was the best home for Chica Marie. How do I answer that? What is best about not being with your biological family? Would Chica Marie be better off as an only child in a home with two parents? I don’t know. I don’t think I can answer that objectively. Or honestly, without my emotions coloring the answer.

 

I went into the meeting with a feeling of dread and left feeling numb. I could get angry about how things were left to get to this point, but that won’t help me right now. Is it fair? No. But, nothing in the system is fair. I was told that, while I do a good job of notifying staff of the issues as they happen, it wasn’t until I wrote it all down (well, typed it up) that the full weight of what I’ve been saying all along was evident. I could blame this on the bevy of case workers we have had during Chica Marie’s tenure with me, but again, that won’t help matters. I’m better off dealing with what is – Chica Marie has been recommended to therapeutic foster care. When they talked about removal during the meeting, I cried. I know, I know – as a para-professional I’m not supposed to let my feelings cloud my judgment, but good God I’m not heartless! Chica Marie is my child. While I’ve struggled with her and even wrestled with the idea of trying to move her out, I always came back to the fact that she is my child. Nothing made that more evident than hearing she would be taken away. “We are her family,” I declared and so there is hope she will be able to return to us once her behaviors have stabilized. At least, this is the hope.

 

Before the meeting with the school on Friday (more on this later), the county worker informed me the referral for therapeutic foster care had been made. I think she expected me to be, I don’t know, happy? Relieved? All I say was, “oh, ok.” And my heart sank. This was one less hurdle for the county. Next, they take this move to court, where I’m sure they will have no problem acquiring the approval and once they find a home she’s gone. I begged to have her stay in the same school, to give her some continuity. “They” think she needs to learn to deal with upheavals in life, this is part of her problem. I see them setting her up for disaster, at least in the beginning.   This whole everything is just so hard! I want to believe, as so many of the professionals have told me, this is the best thing for Chica Marie, this is giving her the best shot, but it does not feel that way – it feels like I’m giving up on her and sending her away. And that hurts like hell.

Baby Prepping 101

I spent the better part of morning at work trying desperately to not hear a conversation between my co-worker and her customer and handling the emotional fall-out from failing to avoid what they were saying. I’m not in the most sympathetic place right now, which will probably be evident. My co-worker is pregnant with her first child. She is due in December. She was answering the customer’s questions on how prepared she is for the new baby and she expressed fear in only having the glider, changing table, and crib set up in the baby’s room. She stated she was anxious because not everything is ready and she is worried the baby will come early and they won’t be prepared. When I was a new “mom” for the first time the only thing I had ready was a crib, which we quickly needed to convert into a toddler bed because our “baby” was two. The first time I had an infant, I had roughly 2 hours to get home from work and dig the car seat and bassinet out of the basement before not only the newborn but her older sisters showed up on my doorstep. I’ve never had a glider. Or a proper changing table, for that matter (I sort of made one on the end of a long dresser – it worked fine until Love Bug got too big!). It is entirely possible to go with very little baby paraphernalia, barring formula and diapers, in all honesty. And, she has a husband who can make a Target run for anything she cannot live without. I had to call my mom to help me take the three girls out to buy the oldest a coat since it was November and she came in just a long-sleeved tee-shirt and pants. I had a little more time with Love Bug; an entire weekend to get prepared seemed like a luxury compared to just a few short hours! I guess I can understand the anxiety as a new mother, but I just never had the luxury of 9 months to prepare for a specific child, just generally gather things I might or might not need, depending on the age of the child coming into my home. And, oddly enough, my first child – the one who actually became mine legally – came as a teenager, so no crib needed!    

Staycation 2017

Before I write more about the bad stuff, I’d like to relive some of the good stuff. Last week I took an entire week off of work for the first time since I-don’t-know-when. Definitely not since the kids have been with me! Not to say I haven’t taken time here and there, but usually only a long weekend away, not an entire week off of work. I mean, sure I was home with Love Bug when he was brand new but you can’t really call spending two weeks with a newborn a vacation! So, it was over-due and much anticipated. Primero requested a few days without the kids so they went into respite for the first time since my sister got married last July. I didn’t really plan for us to go away anywhere, we just did little staycation activities, visiting local attractions and whatnot. So, here is a recap of our staycation 2017.

 

Sunday – I took Love Bug and Chica Marie to a train festival. Ever since we took my college roommate to the train station, Love Bug has been obsessed with choo-choo trains. At the festival we were able to board some of the trains (they were on dead tracks, so we weren’t going anywhere), see a large model train, ride small hand-peddle trains (the kids did this, I did not), hear and watch them start a large train engine, and visit the train museum with more model trains and finally a toy train track the kids could touch! Love Bug was in his element, so much so that he didn’t want to leave. He expressed his displeasure at leaving my scratching my arm red as I tried carrying him from the event.

 

We went home and ate a quick dinner before heading out to the park to play because it was such a nice day. We played until it started getting dark and then went home to watch Moana and eat popcorn. This was clearly Love Bug’s favorite day because he kept telling me about seeing the train, going to the park and eating popcorn.

 

Monday – We went to visit Lake Tobias Wildlife Reserve. It was a bit of a drive, just under 2 hours away and the day was cloudy and threatening rain. Primero went along, begrudgingly because teenagers. I was excited to take the kids, having had a great experience previously with a different foster child. So, we bought the tickets for the safari and walked the wilderness path, past a few cages of golden pheasants (they are gorgeous!) to reach the safari station. I knew the kids would want to feed the animals and as we waited in line to purchase a cup of carrots, Love Bug spotted the popcorn, which was also an animal treat option. So, we ended up with a large bag of popcorn and a cup of baby carrots. The kids snacked on the animal treats while we waited to board the bus. We chose the last seats on the bus, me sharing with Love Bug and Chica Marie and Primero snagging a seat to himself. A wandering emu sauntered over to the bus much to Chica Marie’s delight. She called it a “pietro” for inexplicable reasons and tossed a few kernels of popcorn his way before the bus pulled out of the station and our safari began. The clouds cleared up a bit and there were peaks of sunshine as we moseyed around the pastures viewing and feeding bison, various deer, water buffalo, cattle and elk. Chica Marie complained most of the trip and declared it boring when she ran out of carrots. Primero wanted to leave after the safari ride but we talked him into seeing the lions and tigers and bears (oh my! – yes, we did this A LOT while we were there). We walked to the reptile building and the kids got to pet a snake (I forget what kind) and small alligator. When we went back outside it was raining and Primero was definitely ready to go. So ready, that he offered to fetch the van on the other side of the reserve while I waited with the kids under the roof of the reptile barn. The rain let up a bit and the kids wandered over to pet the miniature ponies and feed them and the donkeys who came ambling by for some snacks.

 

Tuesday – Primero needed the van to go to an appointment with the young adult program where I work. He wanted to go to the bank first to withdrawal some money from his account. Somehow, instead of going to the appointment he ended up joyriding around after going to the bank and he missed the appointment. I was annoyed because I had planned to take the kids to see Lost River Caverns and could have left earlier if he had planned on not attending the meeting. I did end up taking the kids and we had a nice time visiting the quirky cave. The kids were a little hard to manage and Love Bug did not understand the no-touching rule (eek! Cave damage!) The cave was on the smaller side so the tour didn’t last too long – I’d say it was just about right for the kids attention span. They were most excited to get the pretty swirly lollypops I promised them after the tour.

 

Wednesday – I took the kids to the respite home in the morning and drove back home. The plans were for Primero and I to go down the shore but those plans changed when his sister and friend both decided to crash at our place. Instead, we went to the pool. It was a perfect pool day and we had a lot of fun swimming and diving together. After the pool we went home to shower and then went to see a horror movie – Annabelle Creation. I was scared and the kids thought that was loads of fun. We went home and played a crazy funny video game together called That’s You – basically you answer questions about a person and if someone else agrees with you, you get a token. The person with the most tokens wins the game. It was hilarious and we laughed a great deal.

 

Thursday – The big kids decided they wanted to go a local recreation center with has a restaurant and arcade plus go-carts and a huge trampoline area. We drove the go-carts first and I did a terrible job thanks to my many years as a responsible, careful driver. Still, it was lots of fun. Then we went to jump on the X-treme trampolines and flop into the foam pits which were really hard to get out of! I was the only mom jumping and not sitting, watching my kids. Oh well! Their loss!

 

Friday – We picked up the kids and the rental car that morning. I wanted to get an earlier start to the day because we were driving to Philly for the Adventure Aquarium. Initially I had wanted to take the train, but it would have been too expensive for all of us, plus I wasn’t sure how we’d get to Penn’s Landing. So, we drove and somehow the GPS was taking us a REALLY long way and we got there so late that, after riding the ferry across the Delaware River, we only had about 45 minutes in the Adventure Aquarium. We made the most of it and pet some sting rays (they are more mushy and slimy than I thought they would be!) and we saw the hippos before heading to the shark tank. There’s a tube you can walk through to see the sharks and fish swimming above and around you and there is also a cargo-net bridge where you can walk over top of the tank, just feet above the swimming sharks. I was pretty amazing and worth it even if we didn’t get time to do much else. Love Bug was so, so crabby and uncooperative that day. It was so bad I don’t even want to write about it, let alone remember it! Chalk it up to being in respite, not getting a good enough (long enough) nap, and not having snacks whilst on our sojourn. It was a long, long day!

 

Saturday – Still dealing with a crabby threenager, we made our way to Penn’s Cave, which was just over a two hour drive into the more mountainous region of the state. I liked the second half of the drive, it was rather scenic. But, I’ve pretty much ruled-out any lengthy car travel for my crew, given how grumpy the lot of them became after only a short stint in the car. The cave we visited is permanently flooded, so the entire tour is done by boat. We walked a short distance from the gift shop, down a steep flight of stairs and onto the much cooler waiting dock, where I tried desperately to distract a very scared Love Bug by feeding the largemouth bass fish. Love Bug pitched a fit about getting on the boat, but he did eventually join us and we set off into the depths of the cave. It was an amazing tour and this is a cave I would see again. The cave river flows into a small pond before spilling into a local creek. So, along with our cave tour we saw elk, ducks, and a groundhog drinking water perched on a rock. It was spectacular and I only wish Love Bug had been more calm to enjoy it.

 

Sunday – We crashed back into reality with issues on the van’s breaks that necessitated a visit to the farm, which of course ended in s’mores.   

Isolated

A picture is worth a thousand words, so they say. I was flipping through Facebook the other day and came across a photo my former college roommate posted. It was a group shot of her, her family and other friends from college and their families. Looking at their smiling faces, I felt cheated. Not because I wasn’t invited to the get together, but because this was how I envisioned my life was supposed to be. Me, my husband, my kids and our college friends hanging out and reminiscing. I don’t know why, but the picture made me feel so isolated and lonely. I do keep in touch with some friends from college, but haven’t seen most of them in years. I think the combination of being away in the Peace Corps, being married to someone unwilling to socialize much with my group of friends (you could blame it on the language barrier, but he also didn’t mix me and his friends together either), dealing with infertility, and becoming a single foster parent and I’ve mostly made myself a social pariah. When I was married my ex didn’t like me to leave a lot, so it cut down on visiting and spending quality time with friends. When he left and I became a single foster parent it was the hurdle of finding respite for the kids in my care that made gathering with friends more complicated. Now that I’m at a point where I could be most social I look around and it seems like there’s no one left. I wish I had that one really good girlfriend who I could call with any problem and she would listen, or show up with a bottle of wine or drag me out for a girls night or just come eat ice cream on the sofa and talk. I would want to be that person for someone else. I just don’t know how you make that happen. I have friends, I have people I can talk to, but I also feel like I lose people. Am I too needy? Do they feel I never make the time for them? I liked the photo of my roommate, her kids and husband and the other college friends with their spouses and kids. I just wish it didn’t leave me feeling so empty.

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All the Feels

I have a lot to say and not a lot of energy to say it. I’m sad and angry. I’m tired and lost. I’m heart-broken and numb. My world feels unsteady and my future cloudy. This morning there was a big meeting regarding Chica Marie. It was me (obviously), the CHOR family worker, the CHOR adoption worker, the TSS worker, the mobile therapist, the county worker and her shadow for the day (maybe an intern?). Prior to the meeting, at the prompting of my family worker (in relation to an issue that I haven’t written about yet), I sent a very long, detailed email including as many things (behavioral-related things) as I could remember or had record of occurring. When I printed it out, it was 7 pages. Typed. Three long years of issues and things and incidents  - all of which have been reported either in person or via email to case workers, therapists, psychiatrists, and anyone else who would listen (professionally, not as in I shared private information with other’s who didn’t need to know). It was only once I sat and typed it all out that I was taken seriously. It was only when the weight of what we’ve been dealing with in our home on a constant basis was actually felt by the length of the email and the frequency of the happenings. Only NOW are things actually being added together. The help I’ve been begging for is finally here, only it’s not the help I thought I wanted. This morning it was recommended that Chica Marie, who has spent half of her few years in my home, should be moved to a therapeutic foster home because no one believes I have the ability to help her. The mommy she has known for these three long years might not be the mommy she thought was adopting her. Right now, I have more questions than I have answers. I don’t know when this move will happen. The county worker said it would be just weekends at first. I don’t know if this is temporary, as in get her stabilized and me better trained, or permanent, as in some other family will eventually adopt her. I don’t know what this means for Love Bug, although I know his placement is not being disrupted, I don’t know if his adoption is moving forward or stagnating with Chica Marie’s. So many, many unknowns. And I ache and hurt and wish things were not what they are right now.

How are We Here Already?

I remember being 16. I remember how exhilarating it was to get my driver’s license and suddenly have a freedom I had never known before. I wonder if my parents sat at home having heart palpitations while I was out enjoying my freedom? I wonder if their airways felt constricted contemplating all the things that could go wrong while their child was sipping their first tastes of adulthood? I’m sure they did, I’m sure most parents pace the floors worrying about their new driver being out on the road alone. I know it is natural for a young man Primero’s age to want to be out with friends, to take the car and zip around town willy-nilly but I personally hate it. I’m not ready for this! My heart constricts in my chest when I think of Primero becoming a legal adult in less than 6 months. He might never have been my literal baby, like Love Bug, but he’s still my baby, you know? I feel like we’ve hardly begun to be a family and he’s already talking about when he gets his own place (thankfully, I think he’s more realistic about this than his older siblings were) and how he can pick up a friend and drive them around. And my mind keeps screaming, “No-no-no-no-no-no!!!” How are we here already? So, I teeter between calmly settling appropriate boundaries and desperately clutching him to my chest, trying to mother hen him back under my wings safe and warm. I drive myself insane and then I beg him for forgiveness, telling him I’m new at this and it’s freaking me out. He mostly complies, knowing I have the power of hiding the car keys, but I know it bugs him too because he’s a good kid just trying to grow up. I’m sure we will find our footing as this becomes more mundane and regular, but until then I’ll just have to have a glass of wine and try not to worry while Primero is out and about.

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Real Mom

She’s only 6 but Chica Marie has already used the “real mother” verbiage. It happened at dinner. I don’t remember what we were talking about but she told Primero to “go ask” to his “real mom.” Honestly, I think Primero was more shocked about it than I was; I thought it would happen this first year in kindergarten when the kids mentioned the racial discrepancy between her and I. Primero was also more offended by her off-handed comment, insisting she take it back and never say it again. He must have forgotten the times when he said “you’re not my real mom” in anger. I let it slide. I calmly asked Chica Marie what she meant by saying “real mom” and she didn’t really answer me. So, I told her that she, in fact, has two very real mom’s. One of her mommy’s had Chica Marie in her tummy and one of her mommy’s was helping her grow up, but both of us are real and both of us are her mommies. Primero took it a step further, pinching my arm and saying I felt real to him. It was odd having Primero so staunchly argue the use of “rea mom” but hopefully it helped Chica Marie to understand the term isn’t one we use in our house. Usually, just saying “your mom” is enough to indicate which mother we are talking about and if not, we use first names. Here on the blog I use bio mom but I don’t use that with the kids because it’s redundant. I wonder how old Love Bug will be when he pulls out the “real mom” wording?  

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Some Answers

I met with the Nutritionist/RN on Monday to review the results from my lab work. What I had guesstimated was mostly correct – most of my levels were considered within normal range except my LH levels (hormones that show if my ovaries are working or not, as is the case with mine) and progesterone. But, while my levels were technically normal they were flirting with being too high or too low and so the Nutritionist/RN recommended a whole host of natural medications to help.

 

She started with my iron and Vitamin D levels. My absorption of iron was low but my overall iron level was fine. So, she has me taking three iron pills in the morning and this weird Vitamin D paste (because you need Vitamin D to help your body absorb iron) that I have to lick off my hand. I think the iron pills might be giving me headaches and if they persist I will have to ask her about it. Next, she prescribed a medicine that will help stabilize by cortisol levels so I can get better sleep. I take three pills at night before bed. The progesterone is prescribed as a lotion that I was instructed to rub into the crook of my elbow from days 12-26. The cream is being made specifically for me and will be shipped to my house once it is ready. Hopefully I will get it by day 12 (today is day 10). I am taking two pills twice daily to help my LH/hormone levels and I have a teenie tiny little pill I’m taking for my thyroid twice a day. As she explained it, my thyroid is sub-clinical and would not be treated by a regular MD but she feels it is lacking. Basically, if my thyroid was a baseball team, I have a pitcher tossing a ball but I have no bat to hit the ball.

 

Never have I ever been on so many medications! And, they were quite costly too! But, she is testing my thyroid again in 6 weeks and all my levels again in a little over two months, so she hopes I won’t have to be on these medications indefinitely, which is good because I don’t’ think I could afford it! I just still cannot understand why this level of explanation was not done when I was going through infertility? I’m sure they did some of the same lab work. I remember the nurse telling me that whatever levels indicate egg quality (or was it quantity?) was on the low side but still ok. I remember the doctor feeling my thyroid and thinking I might need to have an ultrasound done, but never sent me for it. Could the measures I’m taking now have been effective in helping me get pregnant in the past? It’s hard to not think about it and feel fairly annoyed. I suppose, when you go to an infertility doctor their goal is to get you pregnant and not necessarily to “fix” out-of-whack hormone, endocrine, and adrenal systems – I mean, what money is there in that? There is really no point in looking back and thinking, “what if” because that is only painful and not helpful in the slightest. I’m hoping that I will begin to feel better physically and emotionally as my systems balance out and stop working against me. The Nutritionist/RN believes losing weight will be easier too when my body is in better working order. Fingers crossed!

Your Mother is Your Mother

Several weeks ago in conversation Primero referred to his mother as “the egg donor.” He called her this, I found out after admonishing him for calling his mother such a thing, because she told Hermano she “doesn’t talk to him” meaning Primero. He felt justified in demeaning his mother based on what she had or had not done and I let him know in no uncertain terms that wasn’t ok. I also reminded him that he might be hurt and feeling this way at the moment, but he would certainly challenge anyone else who dared to speak poorly of his mother. And, I assured him, they would soon patch things up again and be in communication and he might feel poorly for saying what he said. The one thing I can count on is for the downward trajectory to swing back up when considering the past cyclical nature of Primero’s relationship with his mother.

I’ve been reading the book “To the End of June” regarding children in foster care and the not-so-great state of foster care in America. The author wrote about her own experiences with her mother, who was often times neglectful and she sympathizes with the teens in foster care who, even when they are angry with them, can’t seem to let go of the thought that their mother might take them back. I don’t talk to Primero much about being adopted. I mean, we talk about his family and my family and our family together, but we don’t often talk about the action of adoption. I know, from our conversations, Primero does think about his mother and worry about her and perhaps on some level, he still wishes he lived with her. When I was reading about the teenagers in “To the End of June” I was amazed to learn they all professed a yearning to return to their biological mothers; even those who were adopted. But, then I thought about my mother and how I would not be readily willing to cut her out of my life, so I guess that isn’t so different. Not that my mom was abusive or anything, she was a pretty good mom growing up. It seems lately things are more rocky with my mom, but still I wouldn’t be too quick to cut ties and walk away. When I look at it that way, it does make a lot more sense. For better or for worse, your mother is your mother.  

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Two Out of Three

I feel bad that I don’t have the same relationship with Chica Marie that I do with Love Bug. I wish, with all my being, that I had been able to have those baby moments with Chica Marie so that we might have the same amazing connection. There is no denying the love between me and Love Bug – he is a total momma’s boy, no if’s and’s or but’s. And for me, he is my ray of sunshine, the little ball of boy who keeps me grounded and makes me want to be the amazing momma that he thinks I am. Sometimes I feel so fiercely close to him that it actually breaks my heart.

 

Lately, as I have been tucking him into bed at night, Love Bug has demanded I lay with him, smooshing my cheek to his cheek while he wraps his arm around my neck and stuffs his fingers in my hair. He chats with me about random things like the fire alarm going off at daycare (it was a drill) or going to the dentist (I go to dentist. He brush my teeth.). Recently, he has started playing imaginary games, telling me I’m the baby and he’s the princess (or vice versa). Last night he was especially adamant that I lay with him until he fell asleep. He laughed when I pretended to be the princess, talking in a falsetto and cooing to him, the baby. He then said, “You not a princess. I not a baby. You Mommy and I Love Bug.” I don’t know what it was about this adorable utterance, but I burst into tears. I was thinking about how hard things are with Chica Marie and how long things have been hard. This made me think about losing Love Bug and the sheer thought of never again smooshing my cheek to his and breathing in his little boy smell while he drowsily talked to me just shattered my heart. I felt a physical pain at the thought of no longer being my Love Bug’s mommy. He truly lives up to the name. He loves on everybody and is mostly just a happy, funny little boy. His impish smile with his missing front teeth turns me into a pile of goo. His giggle and belly laugh make me smile in the worst of moods. When he says, “I need you Mommy” I would move heaven and earth to be by his side, holding his little hand in mine. It’s almost like all the love I was missing, waiting for my child to arrive, is pouring out of Love Bug and into my life right now. We look nothing alike but he is undeniably my son.

 

With Primero it is different. We clearly have shared affection, but the sweetness that flows through my relationship with Love Bug isn’t there with the big guy. Not to say I don’t love him fiercely and wholeheartedly, but it’s different. I entered Primero’s life when he was already staring into young adulthood. We fit seamlessly together as mother and son, but we lack the history of his baby and boyhood. So while the love and the trust bond we have is strong, it really is different than with a snuggly little rascal like Love Bug. I don’t think Primero would take too kindly to my cheek being smooshed against his. He does hug me, pretty freely for a teenage boy, but smooshy kisses and a no-no. Every now and again I can snag a quick cheek kiss, but those are fleeting moments. Still, our open conversations and willingness to share with one another undoubtable points to the depth of our connection.

 

I feel like Chica Marie would be open to cheek smooshing. I think she would suck up every ounce of attention, physical contact or displays of affection that I could muster. But, with Chica Marie it’s like trying to hug a porcupine. The spines of her behaviors get in the way of pressing our cheeks together and snuggling until she falls asleep. Love Bug says he needs me and I melt, yet the aching desperate insatiable need of Chica Marie drains me dry. I look at Love Bug and realize that Chica Marie wasn’t much older than him when she moved in, yet he still seems like a baby to me and she felt much older. Why couldn’t we connect back then? I remember the first night she stayed with us and she was scared, so both Primero and I laid in bed with her until she fell asleep. There aren’t too many times that I laid with her until she was asleep. Mostly because she would not fall asleep when I was laying with her. She would stay awake and cling to me with a vice grip. Sadly, much of her ravenous need feels manipulative in nature, probably because she never seems quenched. When I do try to fill this need it feels impossible to extricate myself from her, her neediness traps me, causing me to struggle until I break myself free. I wish I didn’t feel that way. I wish her smile would make me melt, instead of make me suspicious. I wish her hugs would feel warm and sweet instead of like a death grip around my neck. I wish we could smoosh our cheeks together and breath each other in and yet still be Mommy and Chica Marie instead of her aching hole of need trying to suck the marrow from my bones.

 

Our case worker is out on medical leave for a few weeks. While she is out her supervisor is handling our home visits. She was over  one night last week for a very long time. She brought along an intern, who happened to know Chica Marie from school last year. She was a TSS worker for a different child, but had interacted with Chica Marie and remembered her. During the course of our lengthy conversation, the case worker supervisor suggested I look into getting family therapy for me and Chica Marie through my insurance or my company’s EAP (Employee Assistance Plan). It seems worth a shot to getting some help, so I’m going to look into. My insurance is already covering my personal therapy, so I would have to see what the parameters are for further counseling, but I figure it’s worth a shot. The intern/former TSS worker suggested I tell Chica Marie’s TSS I need help in certain areas and have her develop strategies to help us. Both were sort of pushing me to be more aggressive with the therapy team we currently have, which I can also try to do but I feel like I was very clear about what I wanted when this new crew came on board and it got me nowhere. The case worker supervisor suggested respite, to which I laughed and said I haven’t had that since July of last year. She is going to look into getting respite for me and Primero to spend a night at the beach. Hey, it’s something. In the meantime, I’ve spoken with the school vice principal to have a meeting for the school staff, new teacher, me, the mobile therapist, the TSS worker and the two foster agencies (CHOR and the county) to get on the same page for Chica Marie’s new school year. The meeting is tentatively set for the Friday before school starts. I’m hoping it helps, but I feel so jaded that at this point I feel it’s like taking a water gun to battle a wild fire – rather pointless. I want to me less negative about Chica Marie and maybe once the car scratching incident blows over I will find my inner Suzie Sunshine, but at the moment I just can’t muster much optimism.      

Interesting Findings

When I was digging into the information the lab tests gave me, I noticed issues with LH levels in children can be due to chronic illnesses. When I was around a year old I had a seizure while my mom was napping with me. She felt me get warm and as she was rousing herself I seized and stopped breathing. She called my dad at work while performing CPR on our kitchen table and was able to rouse me before the ambulance found the house (our house is the last on a dirt drive way nearly a mile off the paved state road – and back when I was a baby there was no GPS to help find the location). I checked out fine in the hospital and the seizure was blamed on a sudden spike in my temperature. For the next 3 years I was constantly getting fevers and sore throats, to the point that when my parents felt me getting warm they would take me fully clothed and jump into a tepid shower – children’s Tylenol did not work fast enough to stop the fever from building and causing another seizure. I was prescribed bubblegum flavored penicillin on a regular basis until I had my tonsils out at 4 years old. Then the fevers and sore throats stopped. It was all blamed on my tonsils, but in my searching recently I believe I was misdiagnosed. Or maybe this diagnosis didn’t exist when I was a child. I believe I suffered from periodic adenitis pharyngitis aphthous ulcer syndrome (PFAPA). Basically,  what this mouthful means is that I would have cyclical bouts of high fevers accompanied by sore throats, mouth sores (which I don’t remember) and body aches for seemingly no reason. Between episodes I was symptom free. In my reading I discovered often times having the tonsils and adenoids (I still have my adenoids) removed, for reasons unknown to the medical community, can stop the cycle. If not, most children grow out of PFAPA by the time they hit double digits.

 

How strange to read about a syndrome and see it describe your life to a T but never having been applied to you by a medical professional. The sad part is, I was doused with antibiotics to the point where penicillin does little for me when this would not have been necessary, according to my research. I did not uncover the answer to my original question, if this has anything to do with pushing my body out-of-line with certain hormones, but the discovery was notable regardless. The other thing to note is that this syndrome is genetically connected, so if I had been able to have children they might have had the same issues. I know my father had his tonsils out as a child but the doctor had claimed his were truly infected, at least from what my grandmother recalls. So, did my dad unknowingly pass this along to me? I guess it’s possible. It seems unlikely there is any link between PFAPA and PCOS so, theoretically I had two separate syndromes affecting my life and my health. If the precluding syndrome (PFAPA) kicked off the future syndrome (PCOS) due to chronic fever/inflammation in my body, it might explain why my sister doesn’t seem to struggle with the same weight/menstrual issues that I do and follows more closely to our mother’s experience. Genetics are a big old bowl of crazy and the combinations and possibilities often times seal our fate even before we were born. Academically, it is interesting to learn, but emotionally, it’s hard to think I might never have stood a chance. I’m curious as to what the Nutritionist RN will say about what I’ve uncovered.

Unprofessional

The adoption case worker was over for her third visit last week. I was telling her about the first home visit of the new mobile therapist for Chica Marie and how I was feeling so apathetic about the whole thing I wasn’t able to muster up enough energy to really help formulate a plan. Essentially, she admonished me for not being “professional” enough to at least tell the new mobile therapist I was feeling apathetic and explain why that might be, so I wouldn’t seem like I wasn’t interested in the services or unwilling to participate in whatever plans the MT cooked up. Sorry, I forgot I’m supposed to be a robot and show no emotions. I wasn’t rude to the mobile therapist but she kept asking me where we wanted to start and all I could say was I just didn’t want us to be where we are right now, I wanted us to be less adversarial. I’m sorry that I worked all day, came home to make dinner for children who refused to eat but the mobile therapist fed her ever-so healthy cheese curls (which she washed down with Red Bull and then forgot the can in the living room and Love Bug made sure he got the last drop!) so it’s all good. Never mind that I dealt with 3 toddler meltdowns in the first 15 minutes of the mobile therapist’s arrival and didn’t get to eat my own dinner until after the mobile therapist left. And, lest you forget, this is our third mobile therapist in a little over a year. This is the THIRD time we are starting over. Yes, I was an unprofessional foster parent or maybe I was just a tired momma – hard to tell the difference some days.

 

A few days after the dressing-down from the adoption therapist, I opened the trainings CHOR sent out only to see one of the two was talking about Foster Parents as Para-Professionals. What timing! The paperwork I read talked about how the foster parent should always act professionally and never allow emotions to cloud their judgment or enter the picture at all. It talked about setting boundaries with case workers and other professional staff and how to dress and act in court. Ok, I get it and I agree, to a certain extent. The thing is, I am a professional at my job in workforce development for the state and hey, guess what? I GET PAID TIME OFF! Do you know the last time I had time off from being a “para-professional foster parent?” Any guesses? Other than the one day when Chica Marie was watched by another foster family the second time she was suspended from school, the last time I had the kids in respite was when my sister got married, which was July 2016. So, essentially, I have had two days off in two years! Does that sound like any way to treat a para-professional? I think not.

 

So, I had planned on texting or calling the new mobile therapist to grovel and apologize for acting the way I did. But, when I read the material, it got my hackles up and I decided not to do it. I do everything that is asked of me as a foster parent, but dammit I AM A HUMAN. When the children entrusted to my care are in pain and have to keep suffering for a bureaucracy to get their head together – I will get upset and I will voice my displeasure on behalf of the children because I am their voice, their advocate. You can’t say in one breath say we are supposed to treat the child like our own and then in the other breath tell us we can’t get emotional when certain things happen to or with those same children. How does that even make sense?   I think of myself as rational and professional, but there are times I have cried in front of a case worker and there have been a few occasions when I’ve had words with a case worker because there are some situations warranting tears or anger. I never flew off the handle, I never made irrational declarations or anything like that. But, if you are telling me a little child who needs emergent medical attention and the case workers are fumbling around trying to get permission from an absent parent, I’m going to speak tersely and let them know in no uncertain terms this is not ok. Would you let your child sit and suffer in pain while you flounder around trying to rouse someone to permit the care? I think not. Still, I do try to keep a lot of my emotions inside and not emote all over the case workers. I try to be understanding of the limitations the system places on all of us, but I’m a fallible human and sometimes I’ve just not had a good day. So, call me unprofessional if I can’t muster up the song and dance routine for a new mobile therapist to start doing the same things that have been done before to little effect – I guess I’ll just have to live with it.

Bad Housekeeping

This post is going to make my cheeks turn red and burn with shame, but it’s been bugging me, so I need to get it out. Apparently, the last time the county worker was out to our house (the beginning of July) she thought the house smelled like cat urine and reported this to CHOR during a phone call regarding trauma testing for Chica Marie. Since our regular CHOR case worker is out on medical leave, her supervisor took the information and passed it along to me via email (also concerning the appointment for the testing).

 

Here are my issues with this:

 

1. Since it wasn’t brought to my attention when it happened and several weeks have passed, how am I supposed to know what she was smelling? Did a cat have an accident that we didn’t have a chance to clean up because we were gone all day and she was there waiting for us when we got home? Did it rain? Because, sometimes when it’s rainy the basement gets a smell that permeates the house and there really isn’t much I can do about it. If this was truly a problem, shouldn’t it have been brought to my attention more readily rather than let it, potentially, fester?
2. The county case worker is new to us. This was only the second time she came out to our house. The first time she came out she accused Primero of hitting Chica Marie. Now this from the second visit. Not a great start to our working relationship. Not only is she new to us, but she came into our home with us – meaning, we didn’t get a chance to clean up a thing before she set foot in the house. Any number of things could have happened during the day while we were not there that we would have handled had she not been there right in our face the second we got home. I mean, really!
3. It seemed totally accusatory since no suggestions were made as to a solution. Basically, she called us dirty. Gee, thanks. Hey, if you don’t like cats that’s fine! But, why take it out on us?
4. In her haste to point out my flaws as a housekeeper she forgot to keep in mind a few things. One, I’m a single parent working outside the home. I only have 24 hours in a day and roughly 9 of the 18 hours I’m awake are spent outside the home. An additional 4 hours before and after work are dedicated to getting ready to leave (that’s mean and 3 other humans) and making dinner the second I walk in the door. Once I am done doing the dishes and straightening up the kitchen I have barely an hour to spend with the kids and part of that time is gobbled up by bathing and preparing for bed. Would she rather my time be spent connecting with the children or making sure my house is white glove clean?
5. Way to hit me in the soft spot! Ouch! My house is not as clean as I would like it to be. There have been rare occasions in the past three years when my house has been clean to my standards. Why you ask? Because daily I have to decide between a perfectly clean house or my sanity and quality time with the children. I do have the children assigned tasks, especially Primero. But, hey guess what? THEY DON’T ALWAYS DO THEM, or don’t do them to my standards. Primero and I had a huge fight about the cats when I discovered he stopped changing the litter boxes as I had instructed. He was the one who wanted the additional cats (the ones we inherited from his sister), I felt that meant he should do the lion’s share of the work for the cats. Well, guess what? It didn’t happen like that and now those tasks are squarely back in my court. Oh, you think I should force Primero to do them or force him to give up a cat or two? Easier said than done! I have pleaded, cajoled, begged, cried, demanded, criticized and bribed Primero but still he resists. He would give up the cats. But, why should the cats risk death (because grown male cats aren’t always scooped up from the shelters) because Primero can’t get his act together? I do my best, but I am one person. One fallible person who has yet to figure out how to make my house stay clean without losing my sanity and have tried my hardest to come to terms with the fact that, as a wise friend put it, cleaning a house with kids is like eating an Oreo while brushing your teeth. But, please County Case Worker, tell everyone you know that you think my house stinks because that’s certainly going to help the problem!
6. Is there a concern that the children are dirty? Do the children smell like cat urine? I have numerous different therapists, case workers, and other professionals traipsing through my house on a regular basis, but this one chick has a problem? Hey, while we’re at it, you should know we have ants – it’s a problem I have had since I moved into the house and no amount of traps or poison or home remedies, prayer, etc. has convinced the little black ants to vacate the premises. They go away in the winter, usually. They like the kitchen sink in the kitchen and don’t bother with anything but the dishes, but you know – we have ants. And, if you really want to get on my case, the outside flower beds are disgusting, totally choked out by weeds and have been for a good portion of the summer due to rain, storms, and stifling humidity. So, if you really want to put me through the ringer, why not drag out all of my bad traits, like leaving clean clothing in the laundry baskets instead of putting it away as soon as it’s clean, or not washing the morning dishes before leaving the house. How about the dust bunnies under the couch or that stack of unopened mail sitting off-kilter on the kitchen counter? I mean, surely all of these things are potential issues for the children, right?  

 

Compelled by her supervisor and my snarky email back after the above revelation, the adoption case worker declared she smelled cat urine when walking into our home and wondered if we were having trouble with one of the cats. I really wish I had had the balls to ask her if she truly smelled cat urine or it was just suggested to her she bring it up since the email exchange occurred that same day. Instead I was defensive and irritated, which was only partially related to the cat urine issue, since I was agitated during a great deal of our conversation.

 

But, you know what? The county case worker did me a solid because that was just the motivation I needed to get the house cleaned. This past weekend that is all I did – I cleaned. From the basement up, I cleaned every nook and cranny. Primero helped me clean out the basement and we got rid of a bunch of stuff and rearranged things so it looks more organized. I bought 4 boxes of baking soda to absorb the odors in the basement and 3 different smelly things to make it smell nicer. I washed all the floors upstairs on my hands and knees and dusted the rugs with baking soda before vacuuming it all up. Seriously, the house has never been cleaner! I’m fairly exhausted and I don’t think the kids had the best weekend (well, other than going to the farm Sunday afternoon), but hey – the house is clean! At least for the moment….

Layman's Terms

I learned that I can look up the results of my lab tests via the lab’s website – the same website I use to schedule my appointment to give the sample. I understand this is a nicety the lab offers but they really shouldn’t. Yeah, sure it’s a good thing for patients to be involved in their care. It is. But, uneducated eyes reading this information and trying to determine what it means is probably not so great. But, I did it anyway. I looked up my results for the plethora of tests and I skimmed through it and then went back and read everything slowly, trying to determine which test held the clue to what’s wrong with me. Some of the tests gave a helpful line with green being a “good” level and red being “not good.” I fell in the green range for those. Other tests gave ranges depending on things like age and where I was in my cycle. The only two I could determine are deficient are my LH levels and Progesterone. From what I can tell, my LH levels indicate I’m perimenopausal (holy F*ck!) and also Progesterone deficient. It appears my thyroid is ok and my sugars, while on the high side, are not dangerously high. So, essentially, my ovaries are giving me the big one finger salute and about to turn into dust. And I’m only 35! On Monday I will visit the Nutritionist RN and see what she has to say about things, since obviously I’m not qualified to determine what the numbers mean. I’m sort of frustrated that it seems most of my levels are within normal range because I was hoping there was some big sweeping change coming to right all the imbalances. Still, from what I’m reading, if I can get the pesky progesterone levels to perk up, that might help with the symptoms I’ve been having. I don’t know if there is any hope for my rusty old ovaries – they might be a lost cause. I can’t say that doesn’t hurt, emotionally, not physically. I mean, who wants to hear their ovaries crapped out a decade before their time? And, if I’m honest with myself, a tiny portion of me had hoped they would still be good, just in case I found Mr. Right and things worked out in our favor. Regardless, if I can get my periods under control and not feel like they are destroying my life, that would really be a good thing!    

It Sucks for Both of Us

When I was visiting with my mom on Sunday, she mentioned being annoyed at the baby shower for my cousin. I knew she was going because she had called me Saturday afternoon for the directions, since she hasn’t figured out how to use her phone as a GPS. She said it was pretty easy to find and she had an ok time, but it was very long and drawn out. She sat with my aunt’s family and some of them were still complaining about the poor wedding food, but thankfully my aunt prepared the food for the shower, so it was good. My mom said there was a priest there, she assumed to bless the baby and the birth and the shower lasted so long that they couldn’t enjoy her opening the gifts because it was taking too long. I saw some decorations on Facebook and it looked nice, but I am glad I didn’t go. My mom reiterated the same sentiment. She said it was hard for her to be there because everyone was talking about their grandchildren and “even though you have these guys (Chica Marie and Love Bug) it’s not the same. I don’t get 9 months with you in a traditional pregnancy.” I’m sorry my uterus has disappointed us both. And, I’m even more glad I didn’t go to the shower to face that disappointment head on. I know my parents looked forward to being grandparents. I’m sorry my body didn’t cooperate to make that happen. It sucks for both of us.