Down a kid

The Cheerleader has left the building. She had been packed for weeks and loaded the van up the night before court with the expectation of going home. Her behaviors had escalated to the point where I was glad to see her go. I know that sounds horrible. I've cried when every child left our home, except for her. She had just made it super bright and clear that she was not happy about being here and didn't intend to make it pleasant for anyone involved. In the past two weeks there was sneaking out, lying, manipulating, triangulating, hiding things, talking back, not doing chores, intentionally consuming the last of food items and then laughing about it, and failure to comply with court mandated request. The more of her family that I met, the more clearly I could understand why she is the way that she is. They all operate that way. This isn't a typical family in need of CPS services. They are city employees, nurses, cops, office managers, etc so it's bizarre to witness their behaviors and try and get them to take responsibility for The Cheerleader being in care in the first place.

I was once again reminded at how children in foster care tend to create a fantasy family. The Cheerleader had talked about her family's money, their house with the high ceilings and expensive furnishings, their Mustangs and motorcycles, and all the great things they were going to buy her. I believed it because she wore Coach glasses and Jimmy Choo shoes, as do they. She complained about our shoddy screen door, the tiny bedrooms, having to share a bathroom with the other kids, and about our old TV with rabbit ears. So I wasn't prepared to pull up at her Nanny's and see a house half the size of ours with a screen door that was hanging off kilter and a bedroom so small you could extend your arms and touch all four walls. Sure the room was filled with guitars and computers, her Grandpa's toys that take over The Cheerleader's bedroom, and the TV was as large as the entire wall, but she'll have to share a bathroom with everyone there as there is only one and where she had 1400 sq ft to complain about here, she'll have roughly 700 to 900sq ft there.

I told her that if she comes back into care that she is welcomed here if there is an opening. She wants to go to the woman's house who ran against me for secretary of the foster parent association (you know the one who got it, then complained about it, then finally quit) because she lives in a large 5000sq ft house on the lake. Funny that lady recently had two kids to run away from her home and CPS called me to take one of them. They said it was only for overnight but I declined because we have tons going on right now. The people that took the 14 year old still have her ... over night schmover night. Anyway, The Cheerleader's worker said if The Cheerleader comes back into care that she will immediately go into a group home. They want her to learn a lesson. That'll be interesting.

Another reason to trust my intuition

A while back I was kicking myself for not following my gut. I tend to make decisions with my heart and not with my head. My head's too busy with the paranoia stuff. Every time I don't heed that nagging feeling that something just isn't right, it usually turns out to be ... well, not right. For some reason, maybe the fact that people around me say I'm crazy for thinking a certain way or the enormous self-doubt I seem to have acquired through a lifetime of good southern girl socialization, but I have a hard time actually learning to trust that my gut? It knows a thing or two.

Last year in The Daughter's kindergarten class there was a boy we'll call John Hancock. He came after the first of the year and was really shy. Eventually he warmed up to the boys and sometimes would talk to me, but not so much to the teacher or the girls in the class. His mom came to all the class parties and usually brought along a child or two. I had a feeling that they needed financial help. They would pay for things with coins and wouldn't let JH go on field trips. When I offered to pay for his field trip, the teacher said his parents wouldn't let him go anyway. She said they had the money but just didn't want him to go. I trusted that she knew what she was talking about. I trusted that she knew something that I didn't. Like maybe that his parents felt that JH should experience the museum with them, not with his classmates. Or maybe his parents had a child die from being left on a school bus at a field trip. Or something. The teacher pointed out that the family bought the largest $200 picture package every time the school took pics. She also couldn't understand why I thought the family needed help.

Hang in there, I have a point.

Last year I couldn't articulate why I felt they needed help, hell I can't now either. There were silly things like the fact that JH wore the same shoes every single day even though they were ill fitting, worn slap out, and stank to high heaven. Something about his and his mother's vibe felt eerily like my childhood. There is a timid personality and then there is scared from abuse and I felt theirs, like ours back then, was the later. Now I wish I could go back and just ask the mom if she needed help. Maybe I could have just sent her the information for local shelters, foodbanks, etc. Or I could have been more friendly and tried to set up playdates so that we could have gotten to know them better. Instead, I did nothing. I didn't trust my gut enough.

Recently in court I was thumbing through a magazine when I heard JH's name called. I looked up to see his mom walking to the front of the court room. Her children were taken. I don't know why. After The Cheerleader's case was over and we had our closure ISP meeting, I went to talk with JH's mom. I gave her my info and told her to let me know if there is anything I can do to help. I didn't ask any personal questions except to see where the kids were placed (with family). I can't help but to wonder if this could have been avoided if I had acted last year. Why didn't I say something last year?

Who are you?

Hello! Welcome to my online home. As you read my post, you get to know me, but unless you comment I can't get to know you. So, who are you? How did you find my blog? What do we have in common? For what reason do you continue to read here? Or for what reason do you intend to stop reading here? Please, come on in and get comfortable. Post a comment telling me a little about yourself. Even if it's just a "Hey, it's J. You know who I am." BTW, I used her as an example because we talk and text and she also reads here from time to time so that would be all I would need to know from her.

My curiosity became aroused when I started getting visitors that come from the same IP address and check in every hour or two ALL DAY LONG. Are you on house arrest? How do you have time to get online that much every day? Perhaps an easy job would allow for 8 to 10 hours of internet surfing, but this starts at like 6am and goes until midnight. Do you have a laptop chained to your body? Perhaps it's a cellphone? Would you like for me to suggest some other, perhaps more interesting, websites for you? Don't you get bored coming here hour after hour and day after day when there aren't any new posts? The curiosity is killing me! So comment already, who are you?

Do you know me from Silent Warriors? If so are you waving a white flag, an attack flag, or a spy flag? Did you get here from that article on BabiesOnline? Were you googling random words and just happened upon this site? If you are one of the gazillion people who landed here while looking for images of dinosaurs and their footprints, please leave a comment letting me know what you are doing with those images. You do realize of course that the pictures I post here are copyrighted by me. Or are you that person locally who seems intent on wasting lunch break coming to my blog? Or the other local one(s) gathering info for gossip? Are you a fellow foster parent? An adoptive parent? An infertile like me? Have PCOS? Like to read? Come on out of the closet people ... speak up, say something ... who are YOU?

The Cheerleader is on Probation

Remember when I blogged about The Cheerleader's SW calling to inform me of a speeding ticket? The ticket The Cheerleader had successfully hidden from me for weeks. The ticket The Cheerleader had lied about to her counselor/therapist saying it was her best friends. The ticket that the best friend's parents stayed mad for a whole 24 hours about. The ticket that I didn't punish her too bad for because she was already being told she couldn't hang out with her best friend ever again (the BF's parents reneged within 24 hours), the SW was threatening consequences (yet didn't come out for a homevist for two months), the financial fine was estimated to be $225 and besides I didn't want to seem hypocritical since I had gotten pulled over with The Cheerleader in the momvan with me going a similar speed (I got a warning, not a ticket). So I made her do an extra chore or two and then she was off the hook with me. It took her a week to do the chores even though I told her as soon as they were finished, that she was ungrounded.

Fast forward to a week before her court date for the speeding ticket (81 in a 55) and she had to face the reality of not getting to go home to bio family before court. She expected them to pay for the ticket. She also expected them to buy her a wig when she fried her hair, but they didn't do that either, thankfully. Natural consequences work ... if not intervened by enabling family members. Then she had to face the reality that CPS wasn't going to pay her ticket for her either. They were going to try and get ILP funds if she did extra work, but then she quit doing regular chores and quit following ILP rules and so that whole thing was taken away. So once again I gave her the opportunity to complete a list of chores around the house in exchange for her entire ticket being paid so she wouldn't have to attend court, but she refused. She said the chore list was too long and that she wouldn't be able to complete it before going home (first presented this option to her last month when she had plenty of time). She also said the chores were too hard and she was not physically capable of doing them (yet she can do flips, tumble, cheer, etc). That left her with the option of going to court and trying to get out of the ticket somehow.

The Cheerleader was convinced that because she was a student in high school that she would have her entire fine dismissed and she would only have to attend driving school. She also thought that by mentioning the name of the person with whom she used to reside, since he is a cop, it would get her out of trouble. If all else failed, she said she would just pay it all in monthly installments. Where would she get the money for this payment plan? Her biofam of course, you know the ones who dropped her off at CPS or the ones who refused to let her come live with them or the ones who are in jail or the one she is finally going to live with that is so permissive and naive. It looked like she might not learn anything from this at all.

Then, the SW asked for Community Service for The Cheerleader! She has to work *gasp* in order to pay her fines which now include court cost in addition to ticket costs. The part I didn't see coming? Probation for TWO YEARS. She has to report to a parole officer ... just like her momma. They think it's funny. This magnetic-like pull that these kids seem to have towards recreating their bio parents lifestyle? I think it's sad.

Halloween Books for Children

We've been reading a lot of Junie B Jones books lately. I didn't think The Daughter was ready for them, but apparently she is. I guess first grade is when it all starts and I was living in denial thinking she was back in preschool or something. Anyway, here are just a few of our favorite books to read around Halloween. Do you and your kids have a favorite?

Chicken Poop

Not just any chicken poop, but free range chicken poop! I was at the Tractor Supply store when I saw this chapstick and I thought "Only in the south ..." but come to find out it is made in Kansas, of all places. I don't care for the smell of it, or the taste, but I still carry it around in my purse because it makes me smile.

Fall is in the air

I get SAD this time of year. I miss the summer, the heat, going swimming, wearing sandals, and I especially miss the sun. It is raining here again. It has rained out the past several weeks of soccer games and now it has rained out the makeup games. It has rained out horse riding lessons and makeup horse riding lessons. It has rained out the pumpkin patch field trip at school, playdates at the park, and end of season cookouts. I guess all the rain gives me something to blame my disposition on. When someone asks why I'm so distracted or why I look so sad, I can just reply "Ahh, this weather! Will we ever see the sun again?" and then the conversation changes and I'm off the hook.

Asking for good thoughts

I can't be specific here except to say that I would very much appreciate good thoughts, vibes, warm fuzzies, and even prayers. Please. Specific things to pray or cast a spell for are 1) to keep BabyBoy 2) to obtain employment 3) peace for all the broken hearts. I'll try to send out a mass email later but right now I'm running way late to my first day of an unpaid internship at the library. And I keep having to run to the bathroom. And I'm struggling to keep my shit together. And it's all just starting ...

Bendaroo Butterfly

Turns out Bendaroos (now available at Walmart and ToysRUs) are a little too hard for 6 year olds, but 17 year olds love it. Not that they would admit to enjoying playing with a kid toy or anything.

Nurturing through Mealtime

In GPS class we were told that one of the main reasons people disrupt is because of mealtime struggles. It's not the only reason of course, more like the straw that broke the camels back, but it is indicative of the love the parent is trying to bestow on the child and the child rejects. Back then I couldn't understand why anyone would disrupt over something so simple as mealtime, but now after having parented seven children, I get it. It's not easy on the child to be in foster care or a new home, to be taken care of by a new parental figure, to trust someone to meet their needs, to be vulnerable enough to accept love, and to return love. It's also not easy for the parental figure to give, give, give, and to feel as if they never receive anything in return. Unfortunately that is part of this whole fostering and adopting gig. Occasionally though there are rewards, maybe small, but they are very worthwhile.

Like when a child initially refuses to eat dinner with the family but then comes out of her room, gives you a hug and apologizes, then sits down to eat dinner. Finally she shares that this particular meal is the only thing her mom ever cooked for her and it is hard for her to eat it when cooked by someone other than her mom. Small things matter. Or when a teen finally decides to learn some new recipes after months of stonewalling because her Nanny is the only one allowed to teach her to cook. Or when a younger child stops eating everything in sight because she has finally started to trust that there will always be food available in this house. Possibly the most heartwearming for me was being invited to a former foster daughter's apartment to eat a meal she learned to prepare while living here. Those are the moments that make it worth it. Those are the moments you have to hold onto in order to get through the more trying times.

For example when a child refuses to eat dinner with the family but then makes a sandwich in the dark after everyone goes to bed. Or when a child obsessively hoards food and you find it stuffed, molded, under the mattress on the bed. Especially when a child tells her worker that she isn't being fed dinner tonight because it is a "free for all / fix your own" night but neglects to mention to said worker that she went out with friends to eat at Taco Bell and didn't come home until after the rest of the family had already consumed their standard 5pm meal. There were leftovers in the fridge, by the way, that I offered to heat up for her and sit at the table with her while she ate. Turns out they tend to reject the love via food but have a complete come apart if it isn't there. They NEED it. They NEED the nurturing, the love, the comfort, the consistency of home cooked meals on the table at a set time but they may never ever tell you. So, don't give up ... keep on keeping on.