Self-Taught

Earlier this week, the mobile therapist was over at our house. She had been absent for most of the month, citing new clients and a confusing, busy schedule. She stated she has been seeing Chica Marie more in school than at our home, which is not helpful for us to be perfectly honest. I’d rather she leave school to the TSS worker and spend her time in our home. She said, because Chica Marie is have her re-evaluation next week, she is going to ask for more TSS hours in the home, believing this would be beneficial for the TSS worker to transfer the things that work into the home setting. I don’t disagree. I explained to her my discovery of Filial therapy with a new therapist. She had never heard of it, so she looked it up on her phone and then scoffed,” Psh, this is what we do already.” Um, no it’s not. Sure *YOU* play with her, but you don’t teach me a thing, you don’t really engage me and half the time I’m not sure if I’m supposed to even be in the room when you are there. So, no you don’t do the same thing. How do I get us what we need when the professionals who are supposed to be helping us aren’t doing what they are supposed to be doing? The current mobile therapist is our third and I haven’t found a single one of them to be terribly helpful. Our first one was super kind and a great advocate for us, but terribly ineffective with Chica Marie. She let Chica Marie walk all over her. Our next mobile therapist was also nice, but she was so scattered and she flung ideas at me but never put them into practice or really gave me any concrete ways of putting them into practice. Our current mobile therapist has been more stern in sticking to her boundaries with Chica Marie and she seems to have some promising techniques but she’s working with Chica Marie exclusively and thus far, not transferring any of her techniques to me. And I think that is the biggest thing we need. It is obvious I need different parenting tools to work with Chica Marie. And while I have read a ton of books on varying subjects and ideas, I can’t seem to put into practice the head knowledge I have gained. I have some bothersome disconnect, a huge stumbling block preventing me from instituting the things I’ve read to do. I feel like I need someone to model it for me, to literally show me how to do xyz when Chica Marie does abc. The mobile therapist does not do that. She tells me how tough Chica Marie is, what is not working, what other ideas she has, but nothing I can turn around and at least try. This week, for the first time, she mentioned over correction as a method to teach Chica Marie to not react in anger and throw things or destroy things. So, basically, if Chica Marie gets mad during her homework and tosses her pencil across the kitchen, I’m supposed to ask her to retrieve it, then place it back where it was and ask her again, and repeat this process so she is discouraged from throwing her pencil. Wow! What an aggravating  endeavor! But, sure I wll try it! I will try anything because I really, honestly and truly want Chica Marie to have the best life possible. I don’t want her behaviors to keep her from having friends or healthy relationships or being allowed to do things, like join teams or community groups. At this point in her life, she cannot do these things. Her behaviors preclude her from being just your average first grader.

 

So, for my own edification, I am listing all the adoption and child behavior books I have read. Not all of them were with Chica Marie in mind, in the beginning I was reading about open adoption to help me deal better with Primero and his biological family. Without further ado, here is my short list of books:

 

• “The Open-hearted Way to Open Adoption: Helping Your Child Grow up Whole” by Lori Holden
• “Three Little Words” by Ashley Rhodes-Courter
• “Three More Words” by Ashley Rhodes-Courter
• “Beyond Consequences, Logic and Control: A Love-Based Approach to Helping Attachment-Challenged Children with Severe Behaviors” by Heather T. Forbes and Bryan Post
• “Dare to Love” by Heather T. Forbes (I haven’t finished this book because I started it before I realized it should follow the Beyond Consequences book, not precede it.)
• “To The End of June: The Intimate Life of American Foster Care” by Cris Beam
• “You Don’t Look Adopted” by Anne Heffron
• “How to Talk So Kids Will Listen and Listen So Kids Will Talk” by Adele Faber and Elaine Mazlish
• “The Whole Brain Child: 12 Revolutionary Strategies to Nurture Your Child’s Developing Mind” by Daniel Seigel    *** I just got this book from Amazon, so I haven’t read it yet, but I am beginning it as soon as I finish the above book (I’m reading the end of it now). I also got the workbook that goes with it.

 

You would think, that having read as much as I have and gone to as many trainings as I have done, I would be some expert by now, but I am not. I still have a lot to learn and maybe that’s how everyone feels, raising children with trauma backgrounds. I don’t know. What I do know is, I won’t stop until all of these skills just spill out of me naturally, until my old habits are extinguished and these new habits are entrenched in my psyche. I will keep working towards being a better parent for Chica Marie and Love Bug and Primero.  

No Decisions

Our CHOR case worker came out last night. Apparently, after her phone call cancelling the meeting that wasn’t happening anyway, many emails were still zipping back and forth between various CHOR and county staff. The meeting is definitely not happening before court because no one (except me) has any time to make it happen. I guess finding an agreeable time for 3 county staff, 4 CHOR staff and me is just not an easy task. Or so it seems. So, in light of the meeting not happening before we are all standing (well, sitting) before a judge, our CHOR case worker asked what was to be expected in court. My fear has been being blindsighted by the county declaring a move to grandma’s in the middle of the court hearing. The response from the county case worker’s supervisor was stating that nothing will be decided at court and nothing will be decided before a meeting. This is slightly reassuring. In response, the CHOR adoption case worker came to my defense in addressing why this is even an issue because I never said I wanted Chica Marie removed or that I didn’t want to adopt her. Never. The email the adoption case worker wrote was eloquently beautiful and really cut to the heart of the matter in expressing exactly what I have been feeling and trying to understand how this has all happened. We are not out of the woods yet, the county is only warming up their case, I think. But, at least they aren’t going to rush in front of the judge and demand an immediate removal. Or so it would seem.

 

All the parties are still struggling to find a mutually agreeable meeting time because the one thing everyone agrees on is that a meeting is necessary. And Chica Marie’s GAL wants to be there too. My goal is to make this meeting about the children, Chica Marie and Love Bug, and not me or CYS. The things I’ve thought to mention thus far is the stability and familiarity Chica Marie has in our home and with us. The longevity of this placement and our commitment to one another as family; it’s been well over three years. We are all bonded. The sibling connection Chica Marie has with Love Bug. While she remembers living with her sister, Love Bug has no memory living without Chica Marie. He was barely three months old when Chica Marie moved into our home. There’s my commitment to keeping their extended family involved in their lives and, even with this recent hiccup with Grandma, I am still committed to keeping them in touch with their family, I know it is important. Chica Marie struggles mightily with change, so this upheaval would definitely set her back. I would really hate for her to lose her first grade teacher because she is working so hard to get through to Chica Marie and I don’t know of any other teacher who would dedicate so much of herself to one student. Mostly, I don’t want to do a lot of the talking at the meeting. I want to simply state I never said I wanted Chica Marie moved but was amenable to the therapeutic foster care if that was going to get us the help we needed. Nothing since then has swayed my opinion, although I am now more than ever fearful of moving her to therapeutic foster care, making it easier for her to stay gone.

New Foster Dog

Two weeks ago, just before all hell broke loose, we got a new foster dog. In his picture on the agency website his eyes looked very intense. When he came in person his eyes reminded me of my beloved Canela. He has the same uncanny ability to look into my soul in a a loving way, just as Canela had done. Our new foster dog is a two year old beagle named Sherlock. When he came into our home, he reminded me of some of the foster children on their first night. He was scared and confused and cried a lot. Being a beagle, his bayed in a pitiful howl, crying for his lost family. He slept in my bed because it was the only way he could be comforted. I woke up to him army crawling up my chest to stick his nose in my face. In the two weeks since he has been with us we have all grown to love him. And I think the feeling is mutual, since he howls when we leave him and sometimes can’t even go outside alone. He is much more laidback than our first foster, the crazy chocolate lab and he just has an old soul feeling about him. We are total smitten and have already professed our desire to keep him, which as his foster family we get first dibs. He gets along with everyone in the house; he is gentle with the kids, indifferent towards the cats (he does bark at them when they fight, which Canela used to do and I’d joke she was yelling at them), and mostly tolerant of our dog Prancer. He is very loud when he barks, usually because that leads to the infamous beagle howl, but he stops when I tell him to, usually. He’s a very good dog, with a little separation anxiety, and his gentleness is a balm to our aching souls at the moment.

Last Minute Meeting that Wasn't

I posted the previous post, written earlier. During my lunch break at work the CHOR case worker called me, informing me she had just gotten an email at 12:30 stating the meeting was on for this afternoon at 2 pm. Um, what? Nothing like last minute notice! Crazy panic and a bevy of emails later and the meeting was off because the GAL couldn’t make it. I didn’t even know the GAL was going to be there. Partially, I’m impressed that the GAL wanted to be there, but also scared. This is such a big deal right now! As far as I know, we still have court Tuesday morning. Last I heard the powers that be are trying to get a meeting set for next Friday afternoon, 3 days after court. The question remains, what’s happening at court? And how will I not pepper anyone willing to listen with umpteen questions when we are at court on Tuesday? I hate this whole mess!

Helpless and Hopeless

My distaste for our county CYS continues to fester. Two weeks ago the county worker dropped a bombshell into our lives via an email to our CHOR case worker. She immediately asked for a meeting, a moment to recuperate and hopefully clear up any misunderstandings. Yet, despite a flurry of emails sailing around between the two agencies and my input into some doodle scheduling calendar, the meeting has yet to materialize. This afternoon was a time everyone on the list was available. The only time all of the players involved would be available. The next best option is next Friday, conveniently after our next permanency court date, which is on Tuesday. I don’t see how I’m going to see this case worker and not try to talk to her about things. I don’t know how, short of a needle and thread, I’m going to keep my mouth shut. Why drag this out? What game are they playing? They just want to say whatever they want in court and never mind this huge disgusting mess they’ve made? I am so furious! And, if I’m supposed to be a para-professional (as has been asserted by CHOR trainings), why are you disrespecting me this way? What have I done to warrant this treatment? And, for the love of God, what about the children? Oh, right. They are just collateral damage…

 

In addition to feeling frustrated with the county, I’m also disappointed in the kids grandmother. I had hopes that we would be able to talk about things and maybe clear the misunderstanding regarding my intentions and whatever words the county may have put into my mouth. I called her Saturday afternoon when the children were napping. When she didn’t answer I left her a message asking to talk about things and to set up a visit in October as she had asked. I apologized for being busy when she initially contacted me. I have not heard back from her. I thought about trying her again, but then I got angry and stubborn. If she wants a visit she needs to contact me and we need to talk. That’s all there is to it. I really thought she would contact me, sadly I was wrong.

 

Maybe I’m being too quick to think negatively about things. I know I’m not the only case the county case worker has, I know she is perpetually busy. I don’t understand her thought process. I don’t know why she has done what she has done. And I don’t see her as being very willing to take responsibility for misunderstanding and not clarifying. But, rather than owning up to her mistake, she keeps pushing things in this misguided direction. It’s hard to not feel like she has a vendetta, it’s hard to feel like she doesn’t like me and therefore is trying to find a way to pry a child from my home and plop her into an unprepared home. My fear is, once the misunderstanding is explained, she will try a new tactic, calling me inappropriate for Chica Marie, citing the grandmother and her wife as better equipped. Except, I see them as brushing behaviors under the rug and not advocating for more interventions that might actually help – based on how long it took them to get Mini Momma into therapy and how often it seems the older kids are left to care for the younger kids when I’ve been there picking up or dropping off a child(ren). I have expressed concerns at the lack of parental/guardian oversight when the wee ones visit. I can only see that as catastrophic if the two girls are left to their own devices. And, if you are calling me an unfit mother for Chica Marie, why not go whole hog and yank my license? I mean, how do you call someone who has endured all that I have with Chica Marie and never once said “take her away?” I can tell you there are many foster homes who would have had Chica Marie move on, in fact there was one that had her only a few months and put in a notice. I never did. All I’ve been asking for is HELP. Help us find the services that will work for us, the services that will see improvements. Instead, I get called unfit, inappropriate, not the best option, incapable. But, I’m still good enough to get her scheduled for various assessment appointments and take her to get blood drawn which resulted in black and blue shins (she hates getting blood drawn) and I’m good enough to keep working with the school and keep pushing to find a therapy that will work because I haven’t given up.

 

I’ve had friends tell me to remain positive, to not think all doom and gloom about things. The truth is, they don’t know the whole story (because they can’t) and they also have not personally witnessed the insanity of the CYS. I don’t think of myself as a negative person, but it seems foolish to try to sugarcoat this or try to find a silver lining in this storm cloud. I’m a realist. I realistically know my chances when it comes to the county. I have no rights. I am the last person on the totem pole of options for a foster child. It does not matter if the new home will provide adequate mental health care services, if they are kin they are in. Twice in this mess I thought I saw a glimmer of hope – once, when our case worker came back from medical leave and thought the option of Filial therapy was a plausible option and the second time when I thought we would actually have this meeting before court. Both times my hope has been dashed to pieces. It’s eerily familiar to the monthly hope/crush of infertility. Hope is a cruel and punishing mistress; arrogant in her ability to keep positive in the face of adversity then pathetic and humbling in her loss. Simply put, hope is a bitch.

 

I don’t know what to do, other than pray. I don’t know what course of action can derail this insanity train. I don’t know how to fight the good fight. I hate feeling so helpless and hopeless. I hate feeling like I’m sitting around doing nothing, just waiting for others to decide my fate. I feel like I’m a mushroom; just keep me in the dark and feed me bull. That makes it easier to railroad me, right? But, I gotta tell you, I am one angry mushroom…  

Stressed Out

My body is trying to tell me something. It is showing me the telltale signs of stress overload. I learned to ignore these signs in college at my peril. Still, there isn’t much I can do about being in this particular stressful situation any more than I could avoid end-of-semester exam stress in college.

 

Headaches – this is usually the first sign my body gives me when it comes to enduring too much stress. In high school and college I suffered from migraines and it was almost a given I would have one or two prolonged headaches when the end of semester stress got to be too much for me. A few weeks ago I had a headache so bad I was in bed before Love Bug. I slept most of the night and my headache was mostly gone the next day but if I hadn’t put myself to bed with some Aleve it would have been a full-blown migraine. And I need a migraine like I need a hole in the head.

 

Poor Sleep – I don’t sleep well to begin with, due to my own sleep issues (I wake up a lot at night for no good reason) or because of kids and critters interrupting my sleep. Sadly, when I’m stressed out I seem to wake up even more often and tend to lie awake longer, trying to will myself back to sleep. Last night that happened twice. Lack of sleep makes me so grumpy and no fun to be around. It also turns me mechanical, just power through all the stuff of the day but don’t expend any extra energy.

 

Sugar Craving – I like my sweets any time and way, but I seem to crave it when I’m stressed. It’s almost like a person quitting smoking craves a cigarette when something is stressing them out. Only for me, it’s chocolate. That first taste in my mouth almost feels like it can cure the world….

 

Eye Twitching – Ugh, this little bugger! It feels like my eyelid is trying to crawl off my face and it happens repeatedly all day long. It bothers me, but I’ve watching in the mirror and it’s barely perceptible to others looking at me, which only makes it more annoying because then I have to act normal!

 

Teeth Aching – This one is new. I’m guessing I must be clenching or grinding my teeth because they just hurt Like all of them just throb for no other reason. My jaw does not hurt, but my teeth do. I might look into getting a night guard to see if that helps.

 

Forgetfulness – I’m not going to say I have the best memory on the planet, but I usually do ok. When I’m stressed I tend to forget things, or often times have a dream about something and therefore believe it happened in real like. For example, I was sure I told Primero that I had to take the dogs to the groomers (oh yeah, I forgot to write about our new foster dog, a beagle named Sherlock) Monday evening, but he asked to go see his cousin because I didn’t actually converse with him about it, I dreamt that I did. Talk about confusing!

 

So, I try to find time to relax. We didn’t really do anything this past weekend. But, until we have the meeting with the county and until things get sorted out, I’ll have no shortage of stress keeping me feeling out-of-sorts…

A Little Levity

Things are still swirling around and my emotions are still very strung out at the moment. So, in light of the doom and gloom, I wanted to bring some levity to my blog and share a funny story about Love Bug. The little guy was potty trained during my fourth of July break from work. In August we went on a bunch of day trips during our staycation. Our longest trip was just over two hours, which is the longest trip I’ve taken with the little ones in quite some time (probably since Love Bug was tiny and we went down the shore for a day trip). As inevitably happened during the trip, Love Bug had to pee when there was literally nothing around but mountains and grass. No rest stops, gas stations, diners or anything for miles and miles. So, I did what any mom would do, I pulled over on the shoulder at a grassy spot and had Love Bug tinkle in the weeds, which was challenging because I had just spent the better part of a month teaching him to aim down whilst sitting on the potty. We lucked out and Love Bug watered the weeds and not us and we were on the road again. The following week Love Bug and Chica Marie were playing in our backyard when Chica Marie can running inside shouting, “Mommy gross look at Love Bug!” I peered out the back door just in time to see Love Bug standing in the backyard, his shorts and undies at his knees. Being the good egg that he is, he had tucked in to tinkle and was peeing behind himself in a long, yellow stream. So it looked like his rear end was peeing. I laughed so hard my ribs hurt! I wish I had been able to capture it on my phone because it was just so darn funny and Love Bug was so proud of himself! He’s such a silly kid sometimes!

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