They called our bluff…

We really didn’t think we’d be called for a placement and certainly not this soon, but just two days after I said we’d give it another go, the call came in. Even though we’re on the board as a single child home, I’ve always said that we’d take a sibling group. And that’s what this was: one 5 year old boy and his 18 month old brother. I know, I said no diapers too, but I just couldn’t say no, after all it turned out that this little guy and I share the same birthday. It's serendipity. And, just like that, we were back in the game.

Straight from work, I went to the DCF office to grab a pack n play and diapers. Then I was off to the grocery store for milk, wipes and baby snacks, but I was too distracted by the service plan sitting in the passenger seat. The manilla envelope was beckoning me. I had to know why these two little boys were being scooped up from daycare and being whisked away to a safer place.

Reading the service plan is akin to a page-turning fiction novel filled with juicy details, but with one distinction. It’s not fiction. The juicy details are usually heartbreaking facts; that unfortunately we need to know in order to help the children adjust to their new place. Quickly, I learn that we have a single mom, pain meds and a temper. That is never a good combo. Then you add on living in a motel room and two small children and I know it’s just not a good situation. Clearly, this woman has no family support or has burned all of her bridges. I feel overwhelmed for a minute. I take a deep breath and exhale. But the line “hand print left on his cheek”, on his little 5 year old face echoes through my mind and my eyes fill up. Who could strike their little, innocent child like that?

I know I wouldn’t. I know that my friends wouldn’t. I know that my family wouldn’t. But, this woman, she did. She is not like the people I know who have their life carefully planned out or know how to cope with it when it doesn’t go as planned. She doesn’t have a support network? The education? The faith? The tools needed to handle life and stressful situations. When most people call a friend for help, when most people pray to God for direction, when most people simply take a deep breath and exhale, this person reaches for something to take away the pain. And so it begins. Addiction. A pill here and there. A drink to wash it down. Just a little something to get me through the day. It’s a secret. She doesn’t tell anyone or if she does, it is usually explained away with “I hurt my back” or “I have a tooth ache” or whatever other ailments come to mind that day. Doctors will keep prescribing them, even if they have you pegged at a “drug seeker”. Once, while I was in the ER for a nasty fall on my elbow, I could hear someone in the next room begging for them. This doctor actually put her off for a while, but then 15 minutes later he's offering me some for my elbow. To which I replied, “Umm, couldn’t I just take some Advil?” For the life of me, I just can’t understand why they dole out narcotics like candy! However, the reality is that they do and they are everywhere. They are addictive. They ruin lives. They can cause otherwise seemingly normal people to unravel out of control and smack their precious child so hard that they leave a hand print on their face.

Cars driving by stir me from my thoughts and I slide the paperwork back into the envelope from which it came and run into the store. I grabbed what I needed and my phone rang once again. It was the social worker. She officially had the boys in her custody and we just needed to work out the logistics. Since it was already dark and rainy and our house is difficult to find we planned to have Michael meet up at the nearby grocery store. I made a stop for pajamas and clothes to bring us through the next few days and also grabbed some pizzas, because, well, who doesn't like pizza? I find it's pretty universal with kids.

Seconds after I waddled in the house with all of the goodies, Michael raced out to pick up the little sweeties...and when I say sweeties, oh, do I mean sweeties! If ever there was a time that I wanted to post a photo of one of my kids it was now. Whenever, Michael walked through the door with that little angel fast asleep in the car seat, oh man, did I ever feel overwhelmed and at a loss for words. Yup, I cried. From his smooth cheeks to his long lashes, pouty lips and all, he was adorable. And his brother, he instantly reminded me of mine, with his dark, wavy hair and brown eyes, such a handsome little guy.
And there we were, Michael & I plus four boys, ages 8 and under, gobbling up pizza. It was a good night.

The Show Must Go On...

The dust has settled and it’s time to brush ourselves off, assess the damage and move on. The "move on" part is definitely the most difficult. We pretty much just had our whole world tipped up on its head and the effects were dizzying. But we found our bearings and solid ground in the form of talking to other foster parents.

At first we had kept so much of what was going on within our family and good friends, but as we shared our story we learned that we were not alone. It was starting to feel as though being charged with a 51A was a rite of passage. As Sue Carter put it, “We have these children in our custody for many reasons, but one main reason is that their parents are, for lack of a better word, nuts! The only control they can exert is to accuse the foster families of messing up.” She added, “Sometimes, I’ve had bio-parents of children who have been neglected get angry if their child showed up for a visit with a speck of dirt under their fingernails. Furthermore, if you haven’t been accused of something, you just haven’t been doing this long enough.”

I’m not sure if learning this made me feel better or worse. At the very least, I knew that we weren’t alone and that there were other foster parents who had moved on from an unsupported charge and, had continued to foster. In Sue’s case, that would mean about 25 or so more years, a few adoptions and many, many children…all without one more 51A. So, there was hope. The question was, “Did we want to continue on with DCF?” “Did we want to take another chance?” Or, “Did we want to wash our hands of this all together and never look back?”

For those of you who know me, you know that I never back down from a challenge. I don’t mean the “I dare you to” type of ridiculous challenge, I mean the difficult type. And especially those, “you can’t do that”, type of challenges. I’ll do it, if only just to prove you wrong. Ask the Honors Spanish teacher who told me that I wouldn’t do well in her class? Or the Honors Chemistry teacher who said the workload would be too much for me. I did have to work twice as hard to keep up, but I did and I received the most glowing college recommendation letters from the both of them. I love a challenge, I can’t think of anything that was easy to do that gave me that satisfied, accomplished, fully-bellied feeling as I have felt with something that was difficult. And I was feeling that feeling now…that this is that type of challenge. It is difficult, emotional and worthwhile. The feeling of accomplishment that comes from loving a child who needs love, giving them a safe place to rest their head and attending to their most basic needs is one that I can’t even begin to put into words. And I knew that we had to give it one more chance.

I thought I would meet more resistance from Michael; after all, he bore the full weight of the charges. His life would have been even more changed than mine. Yet, he did not say “no” categorically. The more we talked about it, the more we agreed. If we were going to decide on not fostering, it was not going to be because of this. We wanted to end on a high note. And so we were decided. However, we still needed to see what Nolan and William thought about this. We asked them when we began and it was only fitting that we asked them again now. So, one night when we were driving home, we asked them. “Boys, how do you feel about having another foster child coming to live with us?” They both answered yes, but very quickly and simultaneously shouted, “BUT, NO MORE GIRLS!!!” As if we could just invite certain kids to the house, they also added, “What about Patrick; we liked him, can he come to stay with us?”

The next day, I called Maria. She was expecting my call and more than likely ready to say her goodbyes. I told her that we thought long and hard about our decision and that we were going to do what was best for our family. We were going to continue fostering. There was a pause. It was as though she won the lottery, ok, maybe not the lottery, but she was she was surprised and thrilled. I think if I had told her in person, I’m sure I would have been the recipient of a big hug : ) Unbeknownst to her, Michael and I had been joking that they probably wouldn’t ever place any more kids with us anyway…

As Our Life Hangs in the Balance…

I know it may seem hard to believe, but in the next days and weeks Michael and I talked so much about Faye and how her poor little life is turning out. She most certainly had been abused in the past and now she was just being bounced around from place to place. It seemed clear to us that her life might never be what she deserves. Despite being the family in the hot seat, I was glad that there was someone to advocate for her. In a perfect world, all foster homes are safe, loving homes. In a perfect world, children never need to be removed from their own homes, but let’s face it, in reality sometimes these children go from the frying pan and into the fire.

Christmas and New Year’s came and went and we hadn’t heard anything from the DCF. We were waiting patiently for word that our case was “unsupported”, but the time for being patient was over. Apparently, nothing about this was going to go smoothly and we were going to have to chase people down for the answer. Emails were flying this way and that. Fingers pointing this way and that about who dropped the ball all the while we waited in frustration.

“The squeaky wheel gets the grease” is a popular adage because it’s true. After Michael learned that Lisa had long since finished her paperwork and that it was sitting on someone’s desk waiting for a signature, we only needed to make one more call. We were given the name of an Ombudsman, which to this day I truly have no idea what exactly that means, except that soon after Michael spoke with him, the papers were signed and calls were made to us. The charges were unsupported. I even received a call from Lisa herself. She apologized about how long it took, but explained that it was out of her hands until it was signed off on. She knew that her paperwork declared it unsupported, but didn’t want to call until it was official. I did tell her that, everything aside, I was happy that Faye and other children like her had someone to advocate for them. That she did her job well and it’s a great service to these children.

The next important call came from Maria. She was just as relieved as we were at the outcome. Of course, even with the case coming back as unsupported, she knew that she was still at risk our losing us as a Foster home. Would we hang up our hats now and more on officially? If you asked me this on December 23rd, I would have said, “100% yes, we are done. We are SO done with this.” And even though she didn’t ask, I’m guessing because she wasn’t ready to hear it, I knew in my heart that now, I couldn’t say with certainty that we were done.

I had long ago packed up that room of all the spare clothes, the smorgasbord of toys and the bed that were all waiting on a child. The room was quietly converting itself into a media type room; complete with several video game systems for the boys. It was like the curtain was closing at the end of play. Or was it just an intermission?

Nothing says Merry Christmas like a 51A….

Just days before Christmas, when my cell phone rang at work, I received the shock of a lifetime. The woman identified herself as a DCF worker and that she was investigating charges that were filed. I was more than happy to oblige, after all, we had just notified the State about a family in crisis…I was happy to provide more information. But that’s not what she was calling about. The charges were against us, Michael, to be exact. I told her that she was mistaken, that we are foster parents and that this was some type of misunderstanding.

There was no mistake. A 51A had been filed against Michael, claiming that he had abused Faye. This woman started asking me all types of questions about where my own children went to school and who their teachers were. I refused to tell her and she demanded that I provide the information. My entire family would be investigated. I can’t even explain my state of mind at this moment. I was angry at her and feeling completed devastated at the same time. Humiliated; at the idea that we would be in this strange spotlight. I ended up telling her where my boys went to school, but when I hung up I immediately called Michael and then my social worker. I wanted to know what the Hell was going on.

I continued on at work, until it became clear that I couldn’t even function. I was in a state of shock. It was just days before Christmas and this woman demanded to make an appointment to investigate my family on December 23. I was hysterical to say the very least.

Over the next few hours, Michael made phone calls and thwarted this woman’s attempts to gain access to my children. We strongly felt that there was no need to drag them into this. The whole debacle with Faye had been enough for them and we did not want to bring up all of those emotions again for the boys. Apparently my social worker knew about the charges, but the reason we were never notified was because it seemed as thought it had been resolved and she planned on telling us after the New Year. At the last minute, they decided to go forward with the charges and investigation.

I have to say that the network of Foster Parents was amazing. The day of the investigation, we had our social worker and two very seasoned moms with us at our home. My mom was there also and planned to take the boys out just as soon as Nolan was off the school bus. We were ready and waiting for the Lisa, the case investigator…who showed up 15 minutes early as we thought she might. We all sat down at the table. Almost as soon as the investigator started you could cut the tension with a knife. As it turns out there was already some hostility between our case worker and the investigator. Maria did not agree with how everything was handled and heated emails and phone calls had previously been exchanged. I have to say that tension only added to my stress. I didn’t need this woman feeling biased because of issues with Maria. Lisa presented the charge that claimed “Michael threw Faye onto the bed because he was aggravated with her and that Michael threw Faye down the stairs, but changed his mind and caught her at the bottom.” Yup, you read that correctly…threw her down the stairs but caught her as the bottom. I almost blurted out, “Are you freakin’ kidding me?”, but thought better of it. I let it play out. This woman clearly takes her job seriously and it is her job to investigate allegations, apparently, no matter how absurd.

We maintained our composure and answered all of her questions. She seemed satisfied with everything and we were finished relatively quickly. The problem was the she was insistent on seeing both of our children and since she arrived so early, Nolan had not been dropped off at the bus stop yet. So, we had some time to kill. Can you imagine making small talk with someone investigating you??? She asked if we would continue Fostering and I burst out with, “Would you, after all of this?”

I’m not one for sitting in silence though, so I just started chatting away about plans for Christmas and stuff which brought me to last Christmas. We had Faye last Christmas and I told her about Michael running around to three different stores to find the Easy Bake Oven so that Faye would know that Santa found her ~ like we told her he would. I talked about making peppermint bark, playing in the snow and painting on the easel. I shared the story of Nolan helping her to wash her hands. I let Lisa know that we loved this little girl and still do. And with that, Nolan was home and we were finished…for now.

Drive By Placement...

One beautiful summer afternoon, I had a day off during the week and scheduled a home visit with my Case worker, Maria. She came out to the house early in the afternoon and when I asked if any kids had come in lately (since we hadn’t had any kids in the house since respite care) she said, “Well, actually, we had a little boy come in on the Hotline last night that needed placement.”

He was a four year boy, named Jeremy. They didn’t know too much about him, and there was a possibility of Autism. As I was reading over the paperwork, I noticed the name was very familiar. It turned out that Michael had worked with Jeremy’s grandfather when he had been a contractor. That alone, made me feel compelled to take him, even though the possible Autism might be outside my limits. His grandfather is a great guy and was in the process of getting custody of Jeremy, so I thought it would be nice for him if his grandson was with someone he knew in the meantime.

So, within the hour Patti, the Foster mom who had him since Hotline, brought him to my house. He came right in and headed for the toys, like most boys, and played with mine and Patti’s boys. I chatted with Patti for a bit, but the moment she left it was as if a tornado hit. My boys started yelling about something he was doing, toys were flying and I could not even grab his attention. Every time I approached him he darted in the opposite direction and the next thing I knew he bolted outside…into the heavily wooded yard that leads to hundreds more acres of thick woods. I was chasing after him, calling him and trying desperately to make him acknowledge me. … All the while imaging the 5 o’clock NEWS. Boy goes missing in the woods while in Foster Care. You know that you never hear heartwarming stories about Foster Care. They are always something awful, like child mauled by dog, kept in squalor, etc, while in Foster Care. I would be next, I thought. Finally, I ushered him back into the house, but the he plowed right through the dog. Shadow was growling, here we go, mauled by dog was approaching. I wedged myself between them-disaster averted. And, I must mention that Shadow is the most patient dog; grateful to have a home, has been poked by pencil wielding children and not even flinched, but we all have our limits. I sent him outside and scooted Jeremy upstairs, figuring I could show him to his room, but mainly I was just trying to keep him from getting outside.

At this point I was beginning to get nervous. I didn’t know who to call, what to do. This was my first time experiencing something like this. And like most things we’ve encountered so far as foster parents, we learned about it in MAP training, but like most things you learn in a classroom, it sounds great when you’re learning it, it’s just remembering how to put it to practice that’s always tricky. I knew there were phone numbers somewhere, but honestly, even if I could find them, I didn’t know what to say, “Hi, I have this boy that was placed with me about 15 minutes ago and… he’s outta control…help”

As I blockaded the stairs with my body, I called Patti. I just jumped in with, “How long did you have Jeremy?” “Did you notice anything about his behavior?” I continued with, “He’s all over the place, I can’t interact with him and he’s trying to run out into the yard.” “I don’t know what to do with him.” I realize in hindsight that I may have sounded accusing, like, “Did you ditch this kid on me?” It’s not what I meant to say, but I was baffled by the drastic change in his behavior. Patti said she didn’t experience anything like that and she gave me the number to call to have him placed somewhere else.

So another phone call was made and now I was on the defense. The on-call worker asked, “He’s been with you how long?” And I answered “30 minutes”, which I think was a huge exaggeration. It was probably more like ten to fifteen minutes, but that would have sounded even more ridiculous. I pleaded with her; told her about his running out into the unfenced wooded yard and nearly being bitten by the dog. It didn’t seem like much, but I imagined these things happening over and over like a Ground Hog day from Hell. Finally I said the magic words, “I can NOT keep this child SAFE here, PERIOD.”

Minutes later we were in the car, getting the address as we drove towards Sue’s house. Patti was going to take him again for the night and she was at Sue’s who so happened to be down the road from me. At this point, I’m really feeling like I am just not cut out for this whole fostering gig. After Faye and all of the drama and her finally being placed elsewhere and now, I can’t even handle a kid for more than 30 minutes. Of course, the moment I arrive, Jeremy bounds out of the car and is off to play…just like that. Hmp, that was just the cherry of top for me. I felt finished, done and defeated. Nothing Patti and Sue could say at that point made me feel any better.

Except one thing…close to 10pm that night, my phone rang. It was Patti. Jeremy’s behavior just kept escalating and escalating and she couldn’t settle her house down for the night. She, too, could not handle him and made the call to have him brought somewhere else. He ended up being sent to a residential care facility for evaluation. At this point, I felt relieved and justified that it wasn’t me. Of course, I also felt terrible for this child who is clearly severely autistic and has never received any care or therapy. It is heartbreaking to know that his life should be so much better than it is.

`

So stay tuned...

“So stay tuned, this weekend begins an entirely new chapter called Respite Care. Four boys, age seven and under…how difficult could that be?”

This is where I left off. It was a long, busy summer and once I took a break from writing I began to fill my free time with gardening and sewing. Cultivating and creating is the best way for me to fill a void, relieve stress and distract myself. And boy did my garden and sewing room reflect that. We grew everything from tomatoes to potatoes and gourds to broccoli and I stitched everything from quilts to bags and bibs to up-cycled totes.

Respite care was a great way to stay connected and not take on too much all at the same time. Ours boys needed a break after Faye left. Towards the end of her stay, life at the house was teeming with high tension. Having a couple of younger boys with us for a weekend was nice. Although, I realized how quickly you can forget just how much work a baby is. Tommy was just a year and developmentally the same as a 9 month old. There was drooling and boogies, crawling and scooting and all things heading for the mouth. Sean was three and looked about five, which is always unfair for a child because you just expect so much more from them. He was a quiet cutie and played nicely with William and Nolan.

Wow, that weekend has come and gone so long ago…where have I been?

It was a nice weekend and we had a good time with the boys. It made me feel better that it wasn’t us or our home that was the problem with Faye and what we learned in MAPP training was right on…not all children will be right for every home.

A few more weeks went by and summer was soon upon us with hot days and school vacation! Again we were doing Respite Care. This time it was for an entire week with a wonderful boy named Patrick. He and William really hit it off with their love of video games! Luckily, the pool beckoned just as much and there was much splashing and swimming that week. Patrick was a real pleasure. Respite Care is a lot like your first few weeks when a child is placed with you. It’s all “Honeymooning”. It’s a new house, new people, pets and things to do. The excitement and eagerness to fit in is magical and makes them a dream to stay with you. The kids enjoy the benefits of Respite Care as much as the Family who is enjoying a break. Being on the other side of it makes me understand how important the experience is and how beneficial it could have been for us and Faye had we taken advantage of it sooner and more often with her. We felt guilty at the thought of “shipping” her off, as if we were shirking our duties or unable to handle her, but in reality, it might have been the key to making her placement work better. Ah, hindsight, it’s always 20/20. In the future, now that we have a better network of support, we will definitely have a different experience.

The Starfish Thrower...

Most of you already know how this turned out. Late Sunday night we confirmed with Maria that it was time and by Tuesday Faye will have moved on. I packed up her room as quickly as I could. I didn’t want to linger over each item and start reminiscing. When I was done there were two enormous black duffle bags bursting at the seams. Inside were five months of being part of our family. There was a quilt that I made and then stitched the boys’ handprints on, a twirly skirt we made together one afternoon, books & toys and a photo album chronicling all the happy moments; moments filled with love, sometimes frustration, but always love.

On Tuesday morning before I went to work I asked Faye if she would color a picture for me before she left. Then I gave her a big squeeze, told her that I loved her and just how special she is. Without looking back, I made my way downstairs. Who knew that coming home and seeing her room completely bare, the bed stripped down; empty, would affect me so much. Then I glanced at the table, there was one thing left in the room, a colored page sitting all alone on the table waiting for me. I picked it up, sat on the bed and cried. I cried for this little girl whose cute, perky demeanor only masks confusion and fear. I thought about something that someone said to another foster mom. Quite a few posts back I wrote about why we chose to Foster. I felt like it was important to explain. I left out the reactions foster parents sometimes receive from others. Here’s one: People will ask, “Why bother? You can’t help those kids.”, “Why disrupt your family for these children. Be happy with what you have,” they’ll urge you. Yet, we still foster. My response is that it is never too late to love a child. These children do not choose to be in these situations. They deserve a chance for some normalcy, even if it's a mere snapshot in lifetime of photos. Sometimes, it can be those small moments that will change someone the most. I have snapshots that dance around in my head, words of wisdom from a teacher, kindness from a stranger and sometimes these are the very things that make the difference in my day or life.

I often think, since I’m still a rookie foster parent, that those foster parents that have been doing this for years must be saints. The disruption to the family, the stress on your relationships, and the constant vigilance (in some cases)… They must be saints or maybe they just didn’t give up when the first placement didn’t work out. With each child something will be gained in experience and ease the next one along. So stay tuned, this weekend begins an entirely new chapter called Respite Care. Four boys, age seven and under…how difficult could that be?

And some inspirational reading...

The Starfish Story

adapted from The Star Thrower by Loren Eiseley
1907 - 1977

Once upon a time, there was a wise man who used to go to the ocean to do his writing. He had a habit of walking on the beach before he began his work.

One day, as he was walking along the shore, he looked down the beach and saw a human figure moving like a dancer. He smiled to himself at the thought of someone who would dance to the day, and so, he walked faster to catch up.

As he got closer, he noticed that the figure was that of a young man, and that what he was doing was not dancing at all. The young man was reaching down to the shore, picking up small objects, and throwing them into the ocean.

He came closer still and called out "Good morning! May I ask what it is that you are doing?"

The young man paused, looked up, and replied "Throwing starfish into the ocean."

"I must ask, then, why are you throwing starfish into the ocean?" asked the somewhat startled wise man.

To this, the young man replied, "The sun is up and the tide is going out. If I don't throw them in, they'll die."

Upon hearing this, the wise man commented, "But, young man, do you not realize that there are miles and miles of beach and there are starfish all along every mile? You can't possibly make a difference!"

At this, the young man bent down, picked up yet another starfish, and threw it into the ocean. As it met the water, he said, "It made a difference for that one."