Can I Get A Witness

 In September my foster daughters were abducted from my home by their parents. It was a traumatic event for me and my children. Fortunately, we have been able to work through it and other than wishing we could have said good-bye to the girls, we have basically put the incident behind us. We even had a placement since they left. In my mind, it was all over. I had signed up on the registry website to see when the parents might be release from jail and I found, after they were returned to our state from a neighboring state, they had a preliminary hearing scheduled for Friday. Other than wanting to know they were still in jail, I didn’t think much more about it. Last Wednesday I could see through our Ring camera a Sherriff had come to our house. I panicked. I know I am a law abiding citizen and should have nothing to fear, but I had no idea why the law might be looking for me. I asked Primero and he also had no clue, but wondered if it had anything to do with the abduction. I told a friend about it and she suggested contacting the Sherriff’s office to ask why they were looking for me. It was too late in the day, so I called the next morning. I spoke with someone and he asked if I had witnessed anything recently. Yes, the abduction. He didn’t confirm, but what else could it be? My next panic attack was because I had not received the letter CYS told me they would send exonerating me of the allegations the girls mom made. I emailed the case manager and she emailed me back almost right away with the letter she had mailed the beginning of October. I forwarded the letter to the CHOR case worker and mentioned being subpoenaed for court for the parents, wondering if this might mean I would have to put my house on pause. She called me and said, “Yeah, I was subpoenaed too for court tomorrow.” Tomorrow? Oh man! I thought it was in the future. I lamented to her how I knew the only defense the parents had was to paint me as the bad guy. They had to rescue their daughters from an awful home. She confirmed this was likely what would happen and promised to stand up for me reminding me I had an exemplary record, completely blemish free. I was still upset, knowing this would play out in court and become public record. Lovely. My supervisor gave me sage advise when I told him I would not be into work Friday morning. He advised me to only answer the questions I was asked and to not add any further details. He also recommended finding a poker face, which I do not possess.

 

Friday morning I dropped Love Bug off at school and headed over to the court house. I was so nervous. Once inside the building I found the CHOR case worker and we chatted nervously while we waited. I saw the parents walk in and she confirmed they had been release from prison the previous Friday. So much for the notification system. Once we were finally allowed in we were ushered upstairs to a small room to check in as witnesses/victims. We waited some more before the lawyer came to talk to us. She talked to me first and said the hearing was basically the mom trying to regain supervised visits with her kids. I explained how I have been of two mind this whole time. On the one hand I am angry. I am mad because my home was violated and my children traumatized. I am angry that we were made to feel unsafe in our own home and then had salt poured in our wounds when CYS had to investigate the allegations. The compassionate side of me hurts for their children because they too were traumatized and confused by all that had happened. Then I told her I did not think having visits would be a good idea because it was during the visits that the parents were able to convince their daughter to do what she did. The parents had been able to manipulate their daughter into walking out of a safe, warm house carrying her baby sister. And they did this during supervised visits. So, no I didn’t think that was a good idea. The lawyer said she hoped we wouldn’t have to testify, but not long after she went into the court room, she came back out and said we would be needed. She wanted to have me go first and then the CHOR case worker. We sat outside the court room and waited. A few of the cops who had been at my house showed up in plain clothes. They too were subpoenaed to testify. The one told me the parents lawyer also subpoenaed the state police from the other state calling their report to the local police hearsay. Finally, the lawyer came back out and said it was decided things were moving to the next level (I don’t know what this means) and I would not have to testify that day. She also said the visits were denied at this point.

 

The hardest part was seeing the parents again. Being in their presence just rubbed me the wrong way. The mom was angry when she came out of the court room the final time. I’m sure she blamed me, I’m her favorite scapegoat. When I was leaving I accidentally made eye contact with the dad. I refused to look away, making him break contact first. I truly hope I won’t have to go back and testify, but the lawyer promised she would contact me and let me know if I was needed. She also promised to keep me informed about what was happening in the case.

 

I had written a victim impact statement before court and found it very cathartic. In the information I brought home there was a form for a child victim to fill out and I am going to have Chica Marie fill it out because she has been the most vocal about all that has transpired. I will email both of the items to the victim coordinator once they are complete. And hopefully we can finally put this all behind us.  

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Healing Moments

 The young lady who came after the disastrous abduction did not stay with us for long. I had told the case worker who called to see if we might be ready for a placement I felt having another child come to stay with us would be healing for us. It would show the kids that things don’t always end in such traumatic ways. I didn’t realize how healing it would be until after she was gone and Chica Marie found a note with the following written, addressed to the next child who might be the bedroom and find the note.

 

“This is [Foster Child] if you find this Empty Arms is a good foster mom. Don’t be scared you are safe – love a different foster kid… Don’t be scared. She is nice and will take care of you I promise. Don’t be scared to ask questions have fun – love a different foster kid. You’re safe.”

 

And now we are waiting on the next possible placement once again.

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Different Worlds

 I was talking to a co-worker last week and in the course of our conversation she mentioned how her ex-husband didn’t really want kids and he certainly didn’t want a second after their first oopsie child. But, one night they got drunk on vacation and he recklessly said, “Hey, you wanna get pregnant?” Then nine months later their son was born. If I hadn’t met her living, breathing son I wouldn’t believe her tale. Like, this actually happens? To real people? I guess we just live in different worlds.

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Healing Placement

 I thought it might take a lot longer, but last Thursday I got a call checking to see if we thought we were ready for another placement. There was an 11 year old girl who was coming into care after being with a grandparent for a while. She is the youngest sister becoming the oldest (besides Primero, but we see him so little) in our home. Things have been going pretty good, but it doesn't seem like she will be with us for very long but we shall see. Regardless, having her here has helped us settle our fears from what happened with the girls who were abducted from our home. 

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The Father Revealed

Prior to the floor dropping out from our world, the biggest bomb dropped into our lives was the revelation of Love Bug’s father. He has been asking me questions for a long time and I have always been honest with him. I was never told who his father was and none of the paperwork from CYS enlightened me, so I really had no clue. I had mentioned something to his grandmother many moons ago and she insisted his mom knew who the father was, but I am guessing no one else did. So, when Love Bug spent some time with his grandmother a few months ago, he asked her who his dad was and she said he needed to ask his mom. Later in the visit they called his mom on video chat and he asked her, but she didn’t tell him at that time. Instead grandma and mom both text me last week with pictures and a name. When I showed Love Bug he said, “I look like him” and then proceeded to ask me more questions. “Where does he live?” “What’s his last name?” “Does he play football?” His mom mentioned in the text message that his father has a wrestling picture of Love Bug and carries it around in his wallet, which I think it kind of weird. I don’t know why, after 7 years, this man is showing an interest, but if he is willing and Love Bug requests it, I wouldn’t stop them from meeting. At least Love Bug finally knows a little bit about his father.

 

Girls Gone Part 2

"911 what is your emergency?" 

"I woke up this morning and my front door was open and my two foster daughters are missing. I need help please!"

I could not believe the words coming out of my mouth. I held back a sob as I admitted the girls were missing. I kept hoping it would be a joke and they would pop up. I checked everywhere, even Primero's room. The girls were very clearly not in the house. After I repeated my plea to the city 911 I was told police were on their way to my place. I needed to call the foster agency on-call, but I accidentally called Poison Control. Quickly recognizing my mistake, I hung up and called the right number. I repeated my story again. After promising a call back from one of the case workers, I hung up again and started to get changed. 

"Mommy, I'm so glad I was in your bed and they didn't take me," Love Bug whispered, hugging my legs. I hugged him back and started making him some bacon for breakfast. I paced the floor while waiting for the police to show up. The case worker from CHOR called me back and asked me details about what happened. She said she would notify the county CYS. She also mentioned the girls mom had been trying to get the girls out of my home for some time. My heart sank. I had actually thought we had a good rapport and I was hoping we would work together to get the girls back home. But, obviously, this was not the case. I started to see Shy Girl's criticism as parroting her parents displeasure. 

Roughly 45 minutes after calling 911, three police officers showed up at my house. I let them inside and repeated the story one more time. "I woke up and saw the front door open. My son reported the girls weren't in bed and when I checked their beds were empty." They asked me what I thought had happened. My best guess was Shy Girl took Gerber Baby from her crib and walked out the front door. I had noted she did not take any shoes. She did not take the baby's blanket. She didn't even take her tablet, which I assumed she used to communicate with her parents. They instructed her to walk out and she did around 5:12 am. The police found a neighbor with a camera that faced our place and they saw a small figure leaving our house at that time. 

I took Love Bug to school and warned his teacher what had happened, in case he had a bad day or he got upset. I had spoken to Chica Marie and let her know what had happened. I hated not being able to see her that morning, but I felt better talking to her. I was glad she wasn't home when everything happened, but she feels guilty thinking if she had been here the girls wouldn't have left.

I had called Primero to see if he remembered the code to get into the tablet. He had used it before to make sure messenger was deleted from her tablet. He had slept over at his friend who is a girl but not a girlfriend because they don't use labels but she introduces him as her boyfriend to her family's house. Primero woke up and rushed home to give the police access to the tablet. Before handing it over to the police he saw emails from mom to someone in CYS. A Google search showed this someone was the regional director of CYS. The emails were sent that morning probably right before they took the girls. 

The police were around our house for several hours, finally leaving to write the report and ping the parents cell phones to find them. I had gotten a few calls from the supervisor from CHOR and I called my parents to tell them what had occurred. I also told work I would likely not make it in that day. With nothing else to do, Primero, his friend and I went to brunch. I was crawling out of my skin with anxiety. After brunch we went to Best Buy to get a camera and security system. While there the supervisor called to report the mom had called the boys. There were 4 children total in the family. We had the girls and another CHOR family had the boys. When the mom was talking to the boys they heard a baby cry and the boys asked what baby was crying, The mom hung up the phone. It seemed very likely the girls were with the parents. 

The missing children was reported in the news and few friends reached out, recognizing the girls and worried about what had happened. Chica Marie text me off and on through-out the day asking for updates. Finally, just after lunch it was reported the girls were found safe in Delaware and their parents were apprehended. The girls were not going to be returned to our house, they were going to a different foster home. The school called me, having been advised to what had happened. They let me know CYS had been into school the day before to talk to Shy Girl. I asked CHOR if an investigation was going to happen and they could not tell me.

Friday I was staying with my grandmother because my mom was having chemo and they worried about leaving her all day because she is having some memory issues. The camera on the front porch chimed and Primero answered the door. It was someone from CYS needing to ask questions about allegations. They wanted to speak to me but I would not be home until around 5 and she didn't want to come back at that time. So, this afternoon she came to see me. Apparently, it was reported the baby was left to cry for hours and no one was allowed to comfort her. There was no lock on the bathroom door and it made Shy Girl afraid to use the bathroom. And the baby's foot, which had already been reported with pictures. I had already answered the same questions from the county CYS case worker and gave the same answers. I was so angry to have salt poured into our wounds after having the sanctity of our home violated. The case worker assured me the allegations would be unfounded, but still where is the humanity in all of this? These people came to our home and coaxed the children out of the house while I was sleeping. Did they come into my home? I have no way of knowing. But, our sense of security is shattered. The children won't sleep in their bedroom. Chica Marie wouldn't go into her room for a few days. On Friday, I could not get Love Bug to go to school because he didn't want to leave me. I kept us busy this weekend, but it will take time for us to truly feel safe again.

Girls Gone

 I have a hard time going to sleep at night because it happened when I was asleep. When I close my eyes I see the empty beds, the front door eerily ajar. I hear my voice choking down the panic talking to 911. I see myself pacing the house, Love Bug following in my nervous wake. I feel the horror all over again when I try to shut my eyes. 

Let me back up to the beginning. On August 18th we had our first foster placement come to stay with us. On a stormy night 8 year old Shy Girl and her baby sister, Gerber Baby (7 months old) arrived to our house. We were adjusting to adding new kiddos into the home as well as the start of school. There were some bumps in the beginning. Shy Girl had a tablet with her and she was talking to her parents causing a wellness check before her first 24 hours with us. But, knowing it is hard for kids, especially when they are a little older, I chalked it up to just trying to get her connected to us and settled into a routine. In what can now be seen as a premonition the case worker who came for the wellness check (at midnight no less) said, "be careful, this one seems like a story teller." I removed the kids messenger from her tablet and we proceeded. Five days after moving in with us the girls had a visit with their parents. The case worker brought them home and Shy Girl was fairly distraught. As we were talking, the case worker took a call and had to leave. We went into the house to get the girls ready for bed. Shy Girl wanted to talk to her mom, which I thought might help her with her crying but it only seemed to make it worse. We hung up and shortly after I missed a call from the case worker. Her voicemail warned us to not go outside. I called her back and she informed me the girls parents were outside our house. After a lot of back and forth a supervisor from CHOR called me and said she thought it was just a misunderstanding. I felt uncomfortable but we went away on a brief vacation the next day and I put it out of my mind. 

Shy Girl was very critical of everything we did in our home, especially with the baby. It was never how her mom did it and she was sure to let us know. I figured she was just trying be sure we knew her loyalty aligned with her parents and not us. After a little while I stopped trying to please her because her negative Nancy attitude sucked a lot of the fun out of things. I capitalized on any small thing she seemed happy about and was devising a plan to help improve her attitude. It seemed every time I saw the county case worker I was answering to some issue or concern the parents alleged happened. There were a few minor accidents with the baby's foot. She got a scratch from the door latch and some brush burns from the stroller. Both things were reported to our CHOR case worker immediately. 

We were just getting into a routine with school and sports practice for Chica Marie and Love Bug. The baby was starting to adjust to our routine and mostly sleep through the night. I was even managing the crazy morning routine with four kids going to three places and the bussing issues driving me batty. Last Wednesday Chica Marie was asked to stay over at a friends house. I don't ordinarily allow mid-week sleep overs but this friends mom was going to be getting surgery soon, so I agreed. I dropped her off after cheerleading practice. Shy Girl was allowed to speak to her parents every evening. Sometimes she didn't want to talk, which always upset her parents. On this particular night I asked her if she wanted to talk while we waited for Chica Marie to practice. We were not allowed into the gym for practice, so we waited in the van. She refused stating she didn't want to talk in the van. Instead she took a nap and since the baby was also napping, I read a book. When she woke up from her nap, Shy Girl demanded to talk to her mom. I made the call and she hopped out of the van to chat. I stayed with the baby, so I did not hear the conversation. It was a short call because Chica Marie ended practice. We picked Love Bug up from his football practice, took Chica Marie to her friends house and went home to get the kids to bed.

The next morning my alarm went off at 6 as usual. I was happy the baby didn't wake me up at 5 like she had been doing. I started my morning routine. When I went out into the living room I saw the front door was open. I was mad because I thought Primero forgot to lock the door (something he has done before) and the wind pushed it open. I closed and locked the door and went to the bathroom. Love Bug woke up while I was in the bathroom. I spread my yoga mat when Love Bug came back and asked, "Where is Shy Girl?" "In bed," I responded. "Don't wake her up." I was worried about how our morning was going to be since Chica Marie helped me a lot and she wasn't there. "No, she's not in her bed." Love Bug insisted. I jumped up and walked back to the room. I turned on the light and saw the empty bed and crib. My mind refused to believe what my eyes were telling me. I felt my stomach flip as the realization hit me. The girls were gone. I ran for my phone and called 911. The nightmare had just begun....

*** I promise to finish the story soon, but just know it does not get much better from here.....

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Exploring Options

 I don't really know what flipped the on switch, but since the temporary placement we had I have gotten several more calls. Nothing has turned into an actual placement, but it has been exciting. One of the placements was sent somewhere with more room. That, combined with the increased housing prices lifting my mortgage out of water, has provoked me to tepidly see if moving into a larger place would be possible. I contacted someone I know in real estate, so we will see how it goes. Part of me doesn't really want to move and leave the space I have called home for the past 15 years. But, part of me feels it is time to seek something new. It's all exciting until we get down to brass tacks. I would love more space to continue fostering, but we will see what is possible. For the time being, we will see what placement actually shows up here with us. 

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It's like Riding a Bike

 Today we said good-bye to a teenage girl who was with us for respite. She came in Memorial Day and stayed 10 days until she was moved to a girls home. I've seen a lot of messed up things the system does and this case as no different. She was in a different respite home before coming to us due to making some poor choices (like so many teenagers do!) at her current foster home. Her previous foster home was supposed to become her Permanent Legal Custodians (PLC) but that is up-in-the-air now. She has been in they system for a long time and has a lot of emotional scars from it. The saddest thing was her foster mom had been her caseworker - so someone you would think could handle the issues and behaviors of a kid in foster care. Even Primero was saddened by her leaving. I think he was remembering himself and thinking how much harder things might have been for him if he ended up in a boys home. It was actually touching to see him express his concern for her. Unfortunately, we were too late to the scene to really be of much help. I sincerely hope things turn out better for her and she finds her way out of the system soon.

I Can Do Anything

 I feel like surviving what we have been through as a family in the last year, I can survive anything. We really struggled when first starting quarantine. It was such a shock to our system being secluded to home after living such busy lives. But, it wasn't only the fact of suddenly finding ourselves stuck at home that caused the difficulties. It was the unknown. When I was first sent home from work and the kids were first sent home from school, it was for two weeks. The two weeks stretched into 4 then 6 and then indefinitely. The kids still haven't returned to school. They are scheduled to being a two day hybrid in person schooling on 4/19. I returned to work in the office two days per week in July of last year. We just got an email reminding us we are only slated to remain working remotely until the end of June. I'm not sure what the plan is after that, but it was explained we are not necessarily going back to full-time in the office starting in July. More instructions are to come. 

We have adapted in our own ways over the past year. It took me a long time to get go of the time line I had in my head for when this would all end. I don't remember when exactly I did let it go, probably sometime in April last year. Even then, I don't think I would have guessed I'd be still be working from home a year later. Now, it has been so long, it is hard for me to envision being in the office five days a week. Going back will feel like as much of a shock as being sent home was last year. I know I will re-adapt. I feel exhausted from all the adapting I've done since March 2020. But, if I could live through 2020, I can live through anything. 

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One Year Living in a Pandemic

 It has been a full year since the pandemic first hit. I struggled with the anniversary of being sent home from work for two weeks that stretched into more than three months. I sometimes struggle to remember how our life was prior to March of 2020. I struggle coming to terms with things changing once again, as restrictions continue to lessen. Just today we were reminded our ability to telework is good only until June 30th and they are working on a plan for everyone to return safely; those who haven't yet been back in the office full-time. I work from home three days per week and only going into the office on Monday's and Tuesday's. I've gotten used to the schedule and like most people, resist change even when I want it. 

So much has happened since I last made a post here. I had Covid over the holiday's and while I never was sick enough to need medical attention, I was sick for over a week. My sense of smell and my energy were slow to return. Luckily, the kids never exhibited symptoms. Primero brought it home from work. He was sick for one night and lost his sense of smell for a few days. Our relations continues with it's ebbs and flows.

Love Bug and Chickadee have been in virtual school since September. It has been such a struggle, especially for Love Bug. The school board finally decided the parents can decide if they want to send their kids to school in a hybrid approach or keep them virtual. I have chosen the hybrid option. This begins April 19th and I am so glad for that. 

Love Bug was evaluated again for Autism Spectrum Disorder, this time by a facility that focuses solely on Autism. It took nearly two years for Love Bug to be evaluated due to the number of requests. Just prior to starting the testing, the wrap around provider labeled him autistic and he had to change case managers. I didn't really care about the diagnosis, if he is or isn't on the spectrum, I just don't want the constant flip-flopping of services and providers. I feel with this diagnosis from the Center for Autism and Developmental Disabilities, there shouldn't be anymore questions. CADD believes Love Bug is high functioning autistic, or level 1. He is very capable in many ways and because he is so high functioning he is able to mask his challenges. This is also why his diagnosis keeps changing and why some professionals would not assess him as ASD. For me, this is it. This is our diagnosis and there is no need to question it any further. I won't be entertaining the question if he is or if he isn't. I want to focus on helping him learn to deal with the things that frustrate him and help him to better understand social interactions. 

The last few weeks have been rough. I'm not sure why, but Chickadee began having issues, the same one that come and go, but this time she ramped them up a bit. A few weeks ago she threatened to hurt herself. Her case manager came over and wrote a safety plan, instructing me to contact the local crisis intervention service if she mentioned hurting herself again. Two days later she threatened to run away, she tried hurting herself and she threatened her brother. This went on for hours. The crisis intervention mediator suggested she was being manipulative with her behaviors but if she wasn't safe we needed to go to the emergency room. The only problem was, I was home alone with the kids and our van was not working. It began having transmission issues the day before. We ended up taking an Uber, only we got a limo. My first ride in a limo and it's to the hospital. How very 2021.

After two very long days in the hospital psych unit, Chica Marie was sent to an inpatient facility in a neighboring state. I wasn't able to travel with her because I had no way to get there without my van. Last week was a very bleak time. My vacuum stopped working on Sunday while I was trying to clean the house. Chica Marie actually started struggling that same day with wanting to hurt herself. The next day, when Primero had the van out in the evening, it started having trouble and he brought it home. It seemed like an issue with the transmission to me. I found out, a week later once the garage was able to take a look at the van, that it was indeed the transmission and it needed to be rebuilt. On a 5 year old van with less than 43,000 miles on it. Seriously?! I have the absolute WORST luck when it comes to cars! I know I should stop saying that because I'm sure this belief is the reason I am so unlucky, but it is hard to shake! Tuesday evening I ended up in the ED with Chica Marie. If you have never found yourself in a psych unit, let me tell you it is not a place you would want to be intentionally. It is a locked unit, so even though I wasn't a patient, I could not leave without a nurse escort. I could not have my phone or any other electronic device, which left me cut-off from the boys and everyone else. The room had a TV, a bed, a small rolling table, and they brought in a reclining chair for me. It was miserable. But, what was worse was the lack of communication. No updates, no news, nothing. I was going mad just sitting without an idea of what was happening. And I could not leave. Primero took my place briefly so I could go home and shower and change. But, other than those 90 minutes, I was just as stuck as Chica Marie. 

So, tomorrow Chica Marie is coming home. I am happy to have her come home but I am also terrified. I feel very disconnected from her therapy at the inpatient facility. We had one very disappointing family session and one that was a little better. Chica Marie is said to be doing well, but it's literally the only thing she has to do. There are limited expectations and requirements of her there than at home and when she is in school. Mostly, we are wished good luck and I don't have a very good feeling about it. But, it is what it is. 

I don't know when things will feel less hard. I don't know if a return to life as we knew it before Covid is possible. My telework time is set to end June 30th, but I guess that could change. The kids will likely continue a hybrid school system in the fall session, but I guess decisions about that will be made after they see how it goes this spring. I am not sure why I found it so hard to write during this time. Usually, writing is cathartic for me. But, it felt overwhelming to me during quarantine and even after. I lost my voice but I am hoping to find my way back. 

Self Care

 “You can’t pour from an empty cup.”

 

Self-care. I’m probably doing it wrong. Someone telling me I need to take time to care for myself triggers me. It makes me angry. Not because I don’t want to take care of myself, but because the demand that I do is just one more demand on me, one more admonishment to do something I’m probably not doing right or the person wouldn’t have to tell me about it. It never fails, if I am telling someone about how hard virtual schooling has been and how stressful it is to simultaneously be expected to work from home, the response is “What do you do to take care of you?” Because adding more things to my ever-growing list of stuff I’m not doing or not doing enough is going to help. Let’s be real here. Things are not easy right now. Our world got up-ended in March and it is still weeble-wobbling around unsettled. I had been working on getting additional child care options prior to Covid. I had mostly gotten all my plates spinning in the same direction and it was manageable. But, quarantine smashed them all to the ground. So, now I am trying to patch it all back together, but we have some missing pieces. I think what bugs me the most about someone questioning my self-care is what they don’t know. I make a point to have time to sit and relax at night when the kids go to bed. I clean my house so I can stay sane. I have been getting up and doing yoga every weekday morning for about three months now. I have found a meditation app and I use it almost every weekday morning. Once a week I take a soaking bath in Epsom salts. I shower regularly and I am constantly trying to eat healthier (of course I slip up a lot, but I’m learning to forgive myself and so should you). I have set my phone to dim at a certain time at night, reminding me to make my way to bed. I am not doing nothing! But, life is like a sieve. The more I dumb in, the more runs out. I just haven’t reached a catch up point. I would need like a two-week, kid-free all expenses paid vacation and that just hasn’t materialized. So, I keep making an effort to do the things I can do and add other things when I can afford them and make the time to make it happen. Ironically, I find it stressful finding a reliable option for child care so I can do some of the extra stuff, which is another reason I hold back. I think, rather than adding to the load when things are hard, it might be more helpful to offer support. Is there anyone or anything that can help you take care of yourself? Don’t add more pressure or demands – hey you! Take care of yourself dammit! Anyway, aren’t we all just doing the best we can right now?

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Covid Scare

 We had our first covid scare. Friday, the kid's therapist contacted me stating she was going to get tested. We had plans for Chica Marie's friend to spend the night on Saturday. I text the mom and let her know what was going on. I also text my supervisor because my job is pretty strict about contact tracing. She was getting her test expedited and hoped to have the results by Sunday evening. Work wanted me to self-quarantine pending the results. If the results were positive, I needed to get tested and have my doctor fill out a form before I could return to work. The kids would also need to be tested. Fortunately, the results came back early, on Saturday, and they were negative. We were able to resume our lives without quaranting. But, there was a lot of confusion regarding what was my responsibility (do I tell the daycare or does she, since she had been seeing the kids there?) and what was the exact protocol. I am so glad the test was negative. 

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Multi-tasking

 A few weeks ago I was tasked with presenting information in a virtual staff meeting. When my supervisor asked me about it I groaned. The meeting is held on a Wednesday morning, which means I would be working from home. This means there is a very high likelihood something embarrassing will happen when it is my turn to present. I did my best to prepare, had the paper with what I wanted to say in front of me. I warned the children that I would be in my meeting and they could not disturb me or make noise. I asked them to quiet the dogs if they started to bark. I held my breath, unmuted my microphone and started my video. As I began presenting, Love Bug sidled up to me and climbed into my lap, tapping my cheek and trying to get my attention. I hugged him, held his hand and continued without breaking my stride. Not to be out-done, the cat, who is not allowed on the table, sashayed across my laptop in front of the video several times while my full focus and attention were on presenting the information professionally. Love Bug began humming and tried to pry the headphone from my ear. I snuggled him closer, pressed the headphone tighter into my ear and finished my presentation without missing a beat. I was pretending that none of those things were happening. Pay no mind to the man behind the curtain! But, the site administrator called attention to the chaos and applauded my ability to multi-task. I was just grateful everyone remained quiet during my presentation. This isn’t the first time I have had to summon my ability to simultaneously handle something happening in front of me while continuing to engage professionally. This is working from home as a single parent. It is our new normal for as long as virtual meetings are occurring. I’ve done my best to make peace with it. I try not to get frustrated with my kids when they interrupt, but sometimes it makes me batty trying to continually split my attention. What is even more worrisome to me is my inability to do just one thing at a time. I have been trying to meditate in the mornings but I find myself unable to *just* meditate, not meditate and eat my breakfast or meditate and get my laptop booted up for the day or meditate and check the kids school schedule. I don’t sit and watch a show, I am reading or on my cell phone at the same time. I am folding laundry and watching a video and talking to one of my kids. Part of it is my need to be productive because when I slack off the work just piles up. Some of it is because I am a single parent and I have to be able to handle multiple tasks simultaneously. But, a lot of it is the societal need to be busy and that even extended into quarantine during a global pandemic. I am thankful I was able to maintain my focus during the virtual staff meeting, but I am hoping to break my multi-tasking habits for a mentally healthier me.

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

Until I'm 19

 I don’t remember how the conversation started, but the kids and I were talking about who would take Primero’s bedroom when he moves out (not something that is happening anytime soon, just an eventual inevitability). The kids each tried to stake a claim for Primero’s bedroom but I told them I would likely move into his room. I’m not 100% certain I will move, but the room is larger than mine so it has some appeal. Chica Marie was satisfied with taking over my room but was dismayed when I told her the TV would not be staying. Love Bug, realizing he would be in a bedroom by himself for the first time in his life responded to his sister’s plea for the TV by stating “we need it downstairs.” “We?” I asked incredulously. “There is no ‘we’ moving downstairs, just me.” “But who will I sleep with?!” Love Bug wailed. “You will be a big boy and sleep by yourself. How long do you think you will be sleeping with me?” I asked, hoping to appeal to his rationale side. “Um, until I’m 19,” he responded. And there you have it. This child has zero plans on sleeping in his own bed anytime soon. So, now I need to decide if it’s a habit I want to work really, really hard on breaking or just concede to 13 more years of Love Bug’s feet prying apart my ribs….

 

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

A Note to Bullies

 During the Covid quarantine, as the time stuck-at-home increased beyond my initial imagination, I decided to start diving inward and work on the stuff that seems to hold me back in life. Maybe it’s a weird time to get so introspective, but it’s been working for me. One of the things that bubbled to the surface was how much I let the pain from childhood bullying still haunt me as an adult. One of the therapists in the women’s empowerment group I attend accused me of still thinking of myself as a victim. I am not a victim. She suggested I write a letter to my childhood bullies as the adult I am today. So, I did. And when I read it to the group they insisted I share what I wrote publicly. So, I am sharing it here and I might share it to my social media, but I’m starting here where I am (mostly) anonymous.

 

Dear Childhood Bullies,

 

    For far too long I have allowed you to take up space in my head. I have allowed you to mentally torment me for years. I have swallowed your words, ingested them and made them my own. Those painful poisonous barbs have become so imbedded in my psyche that they have become my inner voice. The voice that tells me I am not good enough, not worthy. The voice that viciously dissects every perceived imperfection. The nasty voice that repeats the vile epitaphs you called me with such distain – fat cow, beached whale, fat and ugly. Does it make you feel good to tear another person down like that? To reduce their humanity to their body shape? Surely you do this to hide your own deficits. But, when I was younger I didn’t know that. All I wanted was friendship, to belong. Why did you deny me? Why did you hurt me? How could you take such pleasure in my pain? Why was I your target? I am sure by now you have found you reap what you sow. As for me, I am done allowing you to hurt me. I am evicting your mean, uncaring, untrue words from my head and heart. You can fuck all the way off. You can take your small-minded, pathetic opinions with you. My self-worth isn’t dependent upon the shape of my body and you are one fucked up loser to think that way. You don’t deserve to lick the bottom of my shoes because you are weak and nasty and unkind. All things that I am not. What a sad life you must live! What a pitiful existence for you to only get your jollies from putting someone else down. It says a lot more about you than it does about me. I am strong and beautiful and kind but you are too bigoted and close-minded to even see that. What a terrible existence! It must really suck now that I have tossed you out. But, being a typical bully you will likely find someone else to torture. How broken you must be inside to take so much pleasure in someone else’s pain! Back then I never felt strong enough to stand up to you. I let your words and low opinions of me crush my soul. I took what you said to heart. I believed you when you told me I was ugly and fat and worthless because I started wearing a bra in third grade. You put your hands on my and made me feel dirty. You had no right to touch me! Not ever! You, the only high schooler on the bus, made fun of my lunch box, called me tubby and made riding the bus total hell. No one was there to stop you but guess what asshole? I can stand up for myself right now and if I could I would tell you to your face what a dickhead you are. You will no longer hurt me, make my cheeks burn with embarrassment as you callously encouraged the other kids to make fun of me. You intimidated me back then but now I see you for what your are – a loser trying to assert his power because he felt powerless. Fuck you! Did you feel big picking on a girl three years younger than you? How fucking pathetic! Grown up me can do something adolescent me could not. Grown up me would go toe-to-toe and let you know you picked the wrong bitch. Oh the whole bus would hear my mouth telling you to grow a pair and pick on someone your own size. Why were you the only high school kid on our bus? Were you not able to pass the driver’s license test? Had no friends willing to give you a ride home? I wonder why that might be? You would not want to mess with adult Empty Arms. You would not get the satisfaction of seeing me cry. You would not leave that fight unscathed. The same kids you taught to make fun of my would be making fun of you. The tables would be turned. I would not shrink away and try to block out the sound of your voice. I would not let your awful words penetrate deep inside my heart. Instead, I would roar in protest. I would call out your lies. I would eviscerate your logic. You would not stand a chance against me. I have grown and this whale can end you with one flick of her tale. I am not little and meek. I am not hiding. Your power is gone. Now everyone can see you for the coward that you are. Your words have no place in my head. They are lies and I have learned out to dig them out. I am worthy, no matter my size. I am enough, just as I am. My inner beauty is abundantly clear. Take your demons and be gone. Fuck off.

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Adrift

 Last week was our first week of virtual school. I prepared as much as I could. I tried getting the kids psyched up for it. We made table top tri-folds to give them some privacy and help keep them focused. We wrote out their schedule and talked about “classroom” boundaries. We tried on their headphones and logged into their computers. I figured we were in better shape than we had been in the spring when the rug was yanked out from under us and we were in a confusing free-fall. But, alas, it seems no amount of planning and preparing is going to make Love Bug comply with virtual learning. He did great his first day while at daycare but began a rapid backslide at home that culminated in a very difficult Friday in which I spent most of the day begging, pleading, bribing and cajoling him to just sit in front of the computer with his headphones on. It was sheer torture for all of us. I was supposed to be working but trying desperately to get Love Bug engaged (along with the wrap around support staff who were there in some capacity nearly the entire day). Love Bug was done with all forms of virtual schooling and just did not want to do it. And Chica Marie was upset that Love Bug was getting so much of my undivided attention and she was expected to carry on as if nothing was happening. I described it to a friend like this: in March our carefully constructed and supportive boat capsized into rough and choppy waters. I seized a life raft but was soon knocked out of it by a large wave. Not one to give up, I have battled the raging seas and managed to lash together the things that were dumped from our life raft and we are floating together in one jumbled heap. I have even managed to locate our life raft but every time I grasp hold of it, a wave knocks it away from me and so here we are – floating lashed together within sight of our life raft with little hope of climbing aboard it. We are safe, we are healthy but it would feel damn nice to get on some dry land one day soon!  

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

Basement Trio

 It’s likely I am a prude. I’m probably not as sexually liberated as some people. I’ve done some stuff, I’ve talked about doing some stuff, but when it comes down to it, I’d rather keep things mostly vanilla with a few sprinkles every now and then. I am definitely monogamous. As much as I sometimes wish I could be into the same sex (because it seems simpler, even though I know it is not), I am not attracted to females. I can admire them, I can think they are beautiful and attractive but that is where it ends. I am cis-gender, hetero-sexual, and probably rather boring.  This is why I find it aggravating that in the last four days my home has been the stage for a ménage à trois of sorts. Primero informed me last week he planned on having two friends sleep over Thursday night. He did not tell me there would be alcohol involved until he came upstairs fairly drunk. I was not impressed. These friends ended up spending the night (often leaving during the day) for four consecutive nights. Not only were they drinking but, according to Primero, they were getting pretty frisky thanks to the libations and an Uno game with write-in suggestions.

 

All of the parties involved are of age, not to drink, but to make adult decisions. Other than loud music, those of us living upstairs were unaware of the goings-on down below. I could have continued on in blissful ignorance except Primero likes to tell me stuff. What has me the most agitated is the particular individuals involved (problematic due to some drama with Primero’s oldest brother, his girlfriend, and who is cheating on who). And, Primero claiming he doesn’t want x, y or z to happen, but continually inviting these two characters back over to our house. He doth protest too much, methinks. But, here I sit in the awkward aftermath wondering how to handle the situation. I do not really want this same thing to happen again. However, Primero is an adult, the other players were adults and they kept their crazy mess confined to his room. Still, I wish he would be like other kids and do this crazy stuff in a college dorm room and not my basement.  

 

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Lack of Money Management Skills

I hate money. I hate feeling like we never have enough money. I am also total rubbish when it comes to finances, especially my own. We got out back porch replaced this summer and it cost more than I was hoping because some of the materials were nearly triple in price. I don’t exactly understand how Covid and the quarantine are to blame, but the over-budget porch combined with my piss-poor money management skills means we won’t be going down the shore like I had hoped next week. The kids have told everyone, bragged about it at daycare and to anyone with ears willing to listen. I hate crushing their hopes, but I just can’t swing it. At least we have a safe and stable back porch we can enjoy?

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

Won't You (Not) Be My Neighbor?

 I don’t remember exactly when our next door neighbors moved in. The house had sat empty for several years until the newcomers showed up. I’m not sure if they bought the property or are renting it. I don’t remember seeing a for sale sign. I remember the first time I realized someone was living there. I was home alone from work because I was not feeling well. I was napping on the couch in our living room, which has windows looking out on the neighbors front yard. I was startled awake by someone screaming and pounding on a door. Concerned, I peaked outside and saw a visibly angry young man stalking up and down the sidewalk in the neighbors yard, screaming and pounding on their front door. I was about to call the cops when I heard him scream, “Mom! Open the !@#$% door!” He ranted and raved for probably close to an hour before successfully waking his mother and gaining access to the house. Welcome to the neighborhood neighbors. I liked it better when this house was empty. I had issues with a previous owner, who also screamed obscenities, only they were directed at me or my dog. He actually frightened me because I don’t think he was mentally stable. I was quite happy when he moved away. Now, we have this young man who also seems to struggle with mental health issues. During the pandemic, when I was attending my weekly women’s empowerment meetings in the van (for privacy) he would inevitably end up in a screaming match with a young woman that often ended in things being thrown at her car or into the street (don’t get me started on their trash in the street issue). On Memorial Day, when our other next door neighbors had a party, I heard someone sobbing outside and was concerned for the young woman who tends to be on the receiving end of the young man’s screaming diatribes.  I sent Primero off to check on her, but he couldn’t find her. I was concerned she might be the victim of more than just verbal abuse, so I try to keep an eye out for her.

 

Beyond the tirades, my latest issue with these neighbors are the pungent smells of their marijuana wafting into my backyard while I am outside with my children. First of all, I detest the smell of pot. It smells like skunk spray to me and is simply gross. Secondly, I do not want my children to be around someone smoking pot (or smoking anything at all) so when they start, we go inside. But, that is not fair to my children, who have a right to be in their backyard playing. The way our houses are situated, my house sits on the front of the property, right on the sidewalk. So, we don’t have a front yard, just small spots for a flower garden. Their house sits on the back of the property so they have a large front yard but not much of a backyard. This means their front deck in in line with our backyard. So, the smoke from their favorite pastime wafts easily into our yard. I hate it. Marijuana is not legal in our state, other than for medicinal purposes and sold through a state-approved facility to someone with a medical marijuana card. Obviously I do not know their medical status, but often times it is a group of young men, so I will go out on a limb and guess it isn’t being used for medicinal purposes. Their flagrant disregard for the law chafes me, but even more so is their pollution of the air around our home. I am powerless to stop it, which only makes me more angry about it. I wish we had the resources to move, but that is also not a possibility. I am also not super comfortable talking to them, given the young man’s outbursts and public displays of aggression. My kids like talking to the neighbors and are always calling out hello, or asking to pet their dogs. So, I guess I just have to work on getting over it. Bring the kids inside when necessary and talk to them about being good neighbors (and probably start talking about drug use in an age-appropriate way). Just add that to our list of things to learn while home this first quarter.

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