Certifiably Crazy and One Year Older

Tomorrow is my birthday. I will be 35 years old. I had a hard time turning 30 because I had hoped to be a mother by the time I was 30 and well, that didn’t happen. I’m not going to say I have the same hang-up about turning 35, but the age has given me a moment’s pause. I am distinctly aware, as I’m sure most inferiles are, that age 35 for a woman is when fertility begins to wane. It is when the ticking of the clock becomes more urgent because eggs are shriveling and hormones are slacking off. And that’s in healthy women with normal reproductive systems.

 

Why should I care, you might wonder. Really, I shouldn’t care, I have three kids and a full life and I’m happy. But, I suppose in that tiny little corner of my brain, the part that still believes in unicorns, Pluto as a planet, and gold at the end of a rainbow, I still hope to find someone and have a biological child. There. I’ve said it. I’ve admitted this quiet little secret I’ve been harboring. And turning 35 seems like a massive killjoy to such crazy dreams. Because, it’s not just that I’m turning 35. It’s that I’m turning 35 alone, with no significant other. Eh, I’ve been dabbling in online dating but it’s such a crapshoot! There are so many crazies out there, wading through them could be a full-time job. Not to mention the time it takes to respond to the messages and weed out the no-go guys. Sigh. I’m glad to be celebrating another year of life and I’m not discontent with how my life is right now. I guess I just want it all, I still want the husband and kids and a big life shared with someone else.

 

I have written about having baby fever previously. The feeling had died down a bit until Hermano came over with his tiny newborn son and my dormant baby fever flamed to life. What's fun is I think Love Bug also has baby fever. When Hermano was visiting with his newborn, I worried it would upset Love Bug to see use all holding the baby. Instead, the only thing that upset him was when we took the baby from him after his turn "holding" the baby. He saw a picture of the baby on my phone as I was scrolling through Facebook last night and I had to stop and let him kiss the baby. I truly enjoy Love Bug at the age he is right now, but I surely do miss when he was so tiny! Several nights a week I dream of babies, tiny sleeping infants cuddled in my arms. This only fuels my desire and try as hard as I might to extinguish it, I simply cannot. So there you have it, I am certifiably crazy and one year older.

Morning Madness

I don’t know if it’s the same for parents of biological children, but I have a very clear memory of when my house was just me and the critters. This came to mind last night when the speech therapist was over and ended her session in a tickling wrestling match with the little ones while Primero sang loudly to the music only he could hear in his headphones and Esperanza, who was visiting, laughed at something on her phone. The noise level in the house went up another decibel or two when the dogs started getting riled up because of the kids being excited and added their shrill barks to the squeals of glee. Like the flashback in a movie, I was transported to a time when it was just me in the house and the only noise was from the TV or radio. The house was in order, neat and tidy, and I had a simple and calm evening routine. I snapped back into the present racket in time to break up a fight between the dogs and start calming down the hyper little ones.

 

I don’t often think about my time waiting for a placement, but when I do I remember the silence. Sure, now that the house is NEVER quiet I sometimes with for a little silence, but mostly I remember that time as lonely. The only part I long for from my pre-child times is the simplistic mornings I had just getting myself ready for work. For one, I didn’t have to get up nearly as early. I could put on music I liked and wake up slowly to a hot cup of coffee. I could spend as long as I needed in the bathroom, getting my hair just right and adding that extra coat of mascara to my lashes. Compared to mornings like this morning, it was such a luxury to have only myself to get ready. Now, I get up early so I can get myself breakfast and start getting myself ready before I have to wake Chica Marie. Love Bug usually wakes up on his own and demands I put SpongeBob on the TV. Once Chica Marie is dressed and taking her meds, I get Love Bug changed so after they can brush their teeth together and I can fix their hair. I try to do Chica Marie’s hair every other day, so the hairstyle should last two days. Chica Marie won’t keep the wrap on her head at night and can’t keep her hands out of her hair, so often her hair gets messy and requires fixing, which takes time. Love Bug needed to have his diaper changed again this morning and it was raining, which lead us to just dropping Chica Marie at school and not walking in with her because we were running late. I barely had time to slap some color on my face, run some gel through my hair and dash out the door. I long for those uncomplicated mornings before kids!  

Whisper Down the Alley

“Wow, she has amazing eyelashes! So, thick and long!”

“Yeah, her little brother has great lashes too. Makes me jealous!”

“Does your husband have a brother?”

Er….

 

Chica Marie had a dentist appointment yesterday for her 6 month check-up. The dental hygienist assisting the first hygienist in cleaning her teeth commented on her fabulous eyelashes and somehow the conversation turned into an uncomfortable moment. Assuming the child is my biological daughter, the hygienist joke assumed her eyelashes came from her father, my husband, and asked if he had a brother, implying he would also have luscious lashes. Rather than correct her, I just smiled and concentrated on keeping the wiggly child from grabbing the tools from the hygienist’s hands. On one hand, I’m glad the assumption was Chica Marie was my biological child. But, the assumption that I was married to her father seems ludicrous when the reality is I have never met him. And, I’m not married. Luckily, the questioning and joking stopped so I didn’t have to explain and a simple smile got me through it.

 

When the dentist came to see Chica Marie he explained she had sustained some trauma to her top front teeth which was now causing problems because the teeth are decaying from the roots down. She has an abscess above one tooth, so they must be pulled. We were given a referral for an oral surgeon and sent on our way.

 

And the fun begins. Because TPR still hasn’t happened and somehow bio mom has become available (supposedly), we have to go the painful route of getting her to sign off on every medical procedure. I notified the CHOR case worker and county case worker and now must wait for approval. Here’s the rub, bio mom has this power over children she has seen twice (both times at court) in the last 15 months since visits were discontinued. She hasn’t seen the color of Chica Marie’s teeth, she didn’t hear what the dentist told me, and she can’t see the pimple-like abscess on her gum. Yet, she holds the power to approve or deny the prescribed treatment. We – me, Chica Marie, the medical staff – wait on her to make a decision based on whatever she is told in whisper-down-the-alley style.

 

What’s worse is as of right now I was not granted educational guardianship because bio mom has promised to be available, so all the forms that need to be signed have to go through her. This might not sound so end-of-the-world, but knowing it took over 6 weeks for Chica Marie to be approved to take a new medication because bio mom had questions about it, makes me so nervous. Thursday evening I am meeting with staff to review the need for a TSS worker and the CYS worker will be available via phone to sign off on it only because we set this up weeks ago at a meeting with the school. A meeting that bio mom did not attend. I hold out hope that TPR will really happen next month and we don’t have to worry about all of this craziness. Of course, if TPR had happened back in June, when it was initially supposed to happen, this craziness might have been avoided. Why it has taken so long is beyond me.

 

Earlier this month, when we had the second big meeting with Chica Marie’s school, the woman who approves the insurance payments for mental health treatments attended in person. After having multiple conversations with the mobile therapist, she was frustrated with how CYS was handling the child’s case and wanted to be there in person to smooth out communication. She had worked for a different Children and Youth Services in a neighboring county, so she understood the job of a case worker. When the CYS worker mentioned bio mom having private counsel, the insurance/former CYS worker understood this was a reason for so many of the delays. She said something to the effect that the appointed lawyers generally just urge their clients to agree with whatever terms CYS has offered whereas private counsel will fight every little thing on behalf of their clients. It actually made me feel sorry for the bio parents who can’t afford private counsel because I question if they are given a fair shake in the whole ordeal. Yet, having this whole case drag out, potentially because bio mom has her own lawyer, doesn’t seem fair either. As I’ve said before – there are no winners in foster care.

Speaking Up

Tomorrow is the last day of Primero’s in school suspension. (see the full story here) I am meeting with the head of the Special Education Department and his guidance counselor to talk about my concerns for him to graduate high school. I have a long list of questions I want to ask. Sadly, I also have a long list of questions for the disciplinary team. I heard some disturbing things from Primero and I can’t just let them go unchecked. I’m going to ask to speak to someone in charge regarding the treatment of students in ISS as well as some other issues regarding seemingly condoned physical abuse. I feel like I am walking a tightrope because on the one hand I want address some very serious concerns but on the other hand I don’t want to make Primero a scapegoat or have the school ask him to leave (it’s a charter school, so they could do that and he would then go back to the public high school, which is a nightmare). It’s sad that I have to worry about retaliation when addressing these concerns, but sadly I do. I lived through this on the other side, when my mom was the school board president and decided to homeschool my sister (rather than ask to have her moved to a different second grade class because they didn’t agree with the teacher’s teaching style – my mom didn’t want it to seem like she was getting favoritism because she was on the school board). My brother and I were mistreated by a few teachers in the school who didn’t approve of my mom’s politics or her decision to homeschool my sister. It was the catalyst to getting my brother and I homeschooled the following year, which for me was 8^th grade. I never returned to public school but I did receive a diploma and went to college. So, I know how things could go for Primero and I wouldn’t want him to face those same issues. Still, I can’t let things go unchecked. If I don’t speak up, who will?

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

When You're Going Through Hell, Keep on Going

You know you think you are out of the thick of things with one stressful issue and life decides to slam you in the face with several more? I am meeting my stress quota and then some these last several weeks. The end of August it was dealing with Chica Marie’s school and fighting to get her where she needed to be, the stress being from BCCYS dragging their feet on taking care of business. That got worked out on the first so the weekend of Labor Day was supposed to be one to relax and enjoy only it turned into mega stress with Primero declaring he wanted to absolve the adoption and his aunt and uncle were willing to take him in. It continued into the following week with avoidance by his aunt and uncle and a very unsatisfactory conversation with promise to meet and present a united front to Primero that just never happened. There was a little lull in stressful activity last week, just run-of-the-mill lies from Chica Marie and mouthing off issues with Primero, bookended with a busy, busy weekend followed by a hectic week.

 

This week was already queued up to be long and tiring due to my Professional Development Institute training in Harrisburg two days of the week. Those two days I have to get up an hour earlier than normal in order to get kids where they need to go and hit the road by no later than 7 am or I will get stuck in traffic getting into the city. The difference this week was that Chica Marie was in school and not daycare, as before. My plan was for Primero to walk her to school, then walk to his school and I would give him an excuse note for being late, since they both start school at the same time, 8:05. But, my carefully orchestrated plans were all for naught when I got an unexpected phone call Tuesday morning.

 

A friend of mine works at the school Primero attends. He works in the attendance office, to be exact. I was on break from work, chit-chatting with a few co-workers, when my phone started buzzing in my pocket. My caller ID showed my friend was calling me, which was strange for the time of day. I answered and was shocked to hear him ask me to come down to the school right away because there was an incident involving Primero. “What sort of incident?” I asked, incredulous that Primero had anything to do with it, not being the type of kid to get in trouble at school (this was his first time since he lived with me - he said he was in trouble when he was younger because he would get in fights). My friend couldn’t tell me much, only that some student had been caught with an alcoholic beverage and Primero was somehow involved. I was sure it was all some kind of misunderstanding and perhaps Primero was involved as a bystander. I raced from work to the school, my nerves on edge, adrenaline churning in my stomach.

 

At the school I was escorted to a room with another mother by one of the security guards. There was some confusion as to who we belonged to and the other mother only spoke Spanish. I asked her for the name of her child and recognized the name as one of Primero’s friends. When I told them my son’s name, one of the security guards made a face and said, “Oh, Primero” in a way that let me know he wasn’t a fan. He handed me Primero’s phone and indicated there was an issue with Primero and his phone, but didn't elaborate until later that Primero had his phone out and was asked to hand it over but put it in his pocket instead.

The three members of the disciplinary team walked us to a conference room but then decided they wanted to do things individually. So, they moved me back to the office where I sat and stewed for what felt like eternity. I could hear snippets of the conversation in English and Spanish and gathered this mother was dealing with some difficulties with her son, who was one of 5 children. Eventually, one man came into the room and announced he was going to get Primero. I still had no clue what was going on so when Primero walked into the room and defiantly declared he drank, I was aghast. This was so unexpected and so maddening and what a freaking mess!

 

Primero signed to me he would tell me the story later as I sat and listened to what his punishment would be. He was going to receive 5 days of in school suspension which they were going to serve doing community service, moving furniture around on one of the upper floors in the school. My question and concern were for Primero’s academics, not that he shouldn’t have to serve punishment, but would his school work be sent home? To my utter disbelief, I was told he would need to earn points during his time served in order to earn his school work. If he doesn’t earn enough points, he would fail the class for that day. Er, what? How on earth does that make sense? Primero is not a strong student, he struggles so as it is, why would you make this nearly insurmountable for him to succeed in his classes this semester? I was told, then he shouldn’t have gotten in trouble. Wow! So, because he was a stupid teenager and did something stupid (took a sip of a drink a friend gave him), he should pay for it with his education? He isn’t a criminal and I’m fairly certain, being a first-time offender, he would have been given a much lighter sentence by the legal authorities than the school. Not to mention the way some of the supposed professionals treated him and the other kids (there were 5 total) their first day of in school suspension was unacceptable and unprofessional.

 

I’m meeting with the IEP director and Primero’s guidance counselor on Monday to talk about a plan for his graduation. I’m so worried and this whole thing with his punishment has me totally frazzled. Do they want this kid to drop out because he simply can’t succeed given the mountains thrown in front of him? I’m hoping my meeting on Monday will help me feel more calm about the whole thing.

 

So, as a consequence of his actions, I needed to find someone to take Chica Marie to school Wednesday and Thursday mornings because Primero could not be late. I was frantic, reaching out to everyone I thought might be able to do it, including our neighbor and my parents. I spoke to my dad first and he said he would talk to my mom and have her call me. We spoke when we were on our way to Primero’s back-to-school night. At the back-to-school night I had hoped to meet with his teachers but when we got there, a little before 6 we were told the teachers were only there from 5-6 and had already left. This was not clear in their message or email to us and I was irritated. We sat through the Title 1 meeting, which was mandatory but poorly attended, and then left.

 

As the night wore on, my cousin replied to my plea on Facebook by agreeing to get Chica Marie to school Thursday morning after work (she works night shift), so I was only left with Wednesday to find a helper. I decided to call my parents again because I was really running out of hope. BIG mistake. My dad didn’t answer right away but called me back not long after I called him. When I answered I heard my mom in the background, “She expects you to drive all the way down there like you have nothing better to do.” I became so angry I just hung up the phone. I text my mom, telling her I would be sure to never ask them for help again, that I recognize we are nothing to her and how I foolishly expected she would want to be the kind of grandparents we had had in my dad’s parents as children. My grandparents were forever helping my parents by taking one kid to some practice or other event or picking someone else up – when you have three kids involved in various activities it was inevitable they would need to be in three different places at the same time. My mom text me back how she was sorry for being such an awful mother and grandmother, next time she will just get written up for being late so she can take *MY* foster kid to school. And my grandparents only lived a few minutes away, on the same farm, not 30 minutes away like they do.

 

My dad called back and agreed to take Chica Marie to school the next morning. About 5 minutes after our conversation the neighbor called and agreed to take her so I told my dad he didn’t have to do it. I just couldn’t believe how nasty my mom was, without reason. First of all, she could have text me or called me to say she starts work at 8 and therefore wouldn’t be available. Second of all, she could have made sure my dad wasn’t on the phone when she launched into her complaint about me asking for help. And third of all, she could have apologized for saying what she did and recognized that I wasn’t asking to be a jerk, I knew it was an inconvenience, but I really needed help. She did none of those things. She also didn’t respond when I text her an apology. And, the thing is, she probably won’t ever admit she did anything wrong; making me feel like crap is ok but making her feel bad is the end of the world. It certainly was not what I needed that night.

 

Wednesday was picnic day for my PDI group. It was a lovely late summer day and we had a really great time with the various activities, including a fascinating tour of the Fort Hunter estate replete with a live archeological dig. But, I didn’t sleep well the night before and I was up super early. By the end of the day I had not a drop of energy left. My limbs felt heavy, my head throbbed in pain, my eyelids drooped, and I struggled to stay attentive on the long drive home. I fell asleep early and slept fitfully, as I do most nights. I’m in such a sleep deficit that I almost never feel rested.

 

It’s finally Friday now and I’m glad this week is ending. We have only a few things planned for this weekend, one being Chica Marie’s first karate class. I’m supposed to go to my Bible study tonight but I honestly don’t know if I will be able to stay awake. I should try again to make amends with my mom but I’m still upset about her lack of empathy and zero support for me. Today I have been questioning myself if mom was always this way and it’s only being away from her, living on my own, that has shown me what has always been true?

 

To say I’m tired in an understatement. I’m completely worn out. If you believe in the idea that bad things come in threes, this would be the third and hopefully the final bad thing. But, I know life to be tricky. Like waves pounding the shoreline, life never gives us a break; we are never given a moment to breathe and get our feet back under ourselves before the next wave knocks us down. There is simply no rest for the weary.

Back-to-School Nights

It figures the week I have to be in training an hour away two days is also the week both schools are hosting their back-to-school nights. It’s going to be a long and exhausting week, so my angst about doing nothing yesterday has somewhat abated.  

Tuesday night I will be attending with Primero and I hope to score a meeting with his guidance counselor from school so we can work out a plan for him to graduate. I know we need to meet for his IEP but I also want a solidified plan that Primero understands and can follow to get his credits and successfully complete school. I don’t feel like his IEP did a lick of good last year and I don’t know if it’s my fault, his or the schools or a combination of all three, but certainly there is plenty of room for improvement.

Chica Marie seems to be settling into school and by all accounts, she seems to be doing quite well. There have been a rash of untrue stories and some attempted manipulation of the TSS worker, but she isn’t the child who was suspended (how does a kindergartner get SUSPENDED?!) for fighting, nor is she the child whose mother was called during class for not cooperating. I know Chica Marie is still in her honeymoon period, so I’m not going to assume she won’t have troubling behaviors, but so far things seem to be going well and I hope that it continues.

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

Single, Working Foster Parent

When I get a phone call from CHOR during lunch, asking for a favor, I cringe. Today my family worker called me and asked if I would talk to another potential foster parent from a satellite location who is single, working and considering doing foster care. There aren’t too many crazies like me out there, so I’m sure my name pretty quickly swam to the top of the list. I agreed to talk to this woman, but now I’m thinking, “Good god, what will I say?!” I mean, is it possible to be a single, working foster parent? I suppose that depends on your definition of possible. Anything is possible, right? It’s possible there are alien life forms streaking towards Earth as we speak. It’s possible I could buy a winning lottery ticket. It is totally possible, just not very likely. So, is it possible to be a single, working foster parent? Yes, it is possible. But, it is HARD. It’s worth it, but it is hard. If coupled foster parents have to be diligent, organized and on schedule, a single foster parent has to be that and more. Just as being a single parent is hard because you are always on, so is being a single foster parent hard for those same reasons. Often times I find myself legitimately asking friends and family if I am crazy, if the decisions I made or am making are sound just because I don’t have that live-in sounding board. And having a support system (which I at one time thought I had in spades only to discover the truth in some friends/family’s tepid support when I really, really needed it), is a necessity, especially as you get started. I suppose these are the things I will try to convey to the new prospect.