Home Interview

I think I'm nervous. I woke up at 4 a.m. this morning, running through the list of the things I need to finish today before the home interview.

I have now scrubbed my home clean. Wiped down the kitchen cabinets, cleaned the stove, shampooed the carpet throughout my condo, and dusted EVERYWHERE.

I had to pull myself from the ledge and refrain from power-washing the siding outside. It's too cold.

I think I'm cleaning so much to avoid sitting still and thinking. How invasive will this interview be? And how honest will I be?

It's going down at 1:30.

Ed. Note. Turns out I was really excited about this interview. So excited that I imagined it occurring earlier than scheduled. It's going down NEXT Monday. Wow. I need to get myself together.

Giddy

I should blog more often about what the Dept. of Social Services is not doing.

A representative called today and my home visit is scheduled! I'm excited and nervous. Each time I pass a hurdle in this process, I celebrate the occasion. 

My rep was candid: The home visit will take 3 hours. She'll inspect my home and interview me about my childhood and upbringing. She also told me that this stage of the process will take 2-3 months. She'll interview me, and then her supervisor will raise more questions about my background. And then her supervisor's supervisor will review my case. And then more folks will review it.

It takes a village to vet me.

I appreciate the department's thoroughness. I just hope they are this deliberate and thoughtful when placing me with a child.

And Then. . . .

There is nothing. Just silence. It’s been 2 weeks since I completed the last training class. I haven’t heard a word from the Dept. of Social Services. 

No one has reached out to me to set up a home interview. There are no “next step” instructions. Just. . . .the sound of me patiently waiting. Living.

I don’t want to complain but the quiet is disheartening.

So I’ll use this time as an opportunity to become more patient. I’ve also been productive in my condo – making it more child-friendly. There’s some painting, decorating and furnishing that I need to complete in my child’s bedroom (I no longer think of it as the guest bedroom).

Also, I’m enjoying my last bit of singlehood by hanging with friends and celebrating. In fact, despite the snow and tundra outside, I look forward to hanging with friends tonight for Drag Bingo.

Graduation Night

I graduated last night. Yay me! Really, I say that without sarcasm.

Last night marked the completion of 27 hours of foster/adoption parent training. I’ve been happy and excited at the prospect of having a child in my home for the holidays. But it turns out there are a few more hurdles.

Our trainer made it clear that we are not fully licensed foster/adoption families. The next steps are: home-safety inspection, home interview and personal interviews. And because it’s the holiday season, neither of those will probably occur before January.

And in a moment of candidness, our trainer told me that although I’m at the top of the list of parents to be interviewed (because I will accept a teenage child – more about that in another blog) I probably won’t have a foster child before the end of winter. More specifically, the end of February. This is truly a slow, unwieldy process.

This is definitely a lesson in patience, and I can always use more. I’ve demonstrated my commitment to parenting. I’m really trying to keep the faith, but it seems like the department keeps finding ways to stall this process. The latest official-unofficial requirement? I need to be trained in CPR. I don’t resent the requirement, I resent the haphazard, informal way potential parents are informed of the new needs. This requirement is so new, the department has yet to define it.

So I’ll continue waiting.

Last night’s class was great because we had a guest foster parent come speak to us. Mr. ED (name changed) and I met earlier at the first foster parent “happy hour.” He’s been a single, foster parent for 7 years, and last night he revealed more of his challenges. His son is now a teenager, and Mr. ED was candid about learning that his son is sexually active. His response was to give his son a handful of condoms. I wanted to hug him for being progressive! And then he revealed that his son had a pregnancy scare over the summer, and he talked openly about navigating his son through a difficult period.

I’ve tapped him to be my foster parent mentor. He kept repeating: You’ve got to be an advocate for your child. I loved his message and his honesty.

Jumping Through Hoops

The amount of requirements, which I need to pass in order to become a licensed foster parent, borders the ridiculous.

To date:

• I’ve completed a 10 page application packet, complete with documentation of my mortgage, salary, medical history, medical history for Maxwell (my dog), and savings and investments.
  

• I’ve been fingerprinted and subjected to 2 criminal background investigations (FBI and state). My back-up caregiver was also subjected to the background investigations.

• I’ve attended 7 of the 9 mandatory classes (thank goodness this process is nearly finished). I’ve had homework from each class, which includes more documentation into my family background and my character.

• I have to schedule a home-fire safety inspection from the fire department.
  

• I have to tie or clip up the dangling cords from my window blinds. Just recently we were told to provide a driver’s history report. I don’t even know what this entails, but I need to request it from the local MVA office.

• There’s still a home interview and the interviews with 3 friends who can attest to my character. And I still need to turn in the 3 page report that documents my sexual history.

If adults were required to do only half of these actions, I believe we’d have fewer broken children because fewer adults would become parents.

Boy or Girl?

I really have no idea what gender I want. I’ve decided to just accept whomever the Social Services Department wants to place with me.

Of course, this debate might be putting the cart before the horse. I still need to complete 6 more classes and pass a home inspection.

But as this process continues and parenting becomes more tangible, I can’t help but daydream and weigh the options of what I’d want if this world were perfect and I had a choice.

The two things I do know: I do not want a newborn. I’m just not able to care for a newborn child by myself. I’m certain I could do it, however, it’s a responsibility that I’m not ready for. I want a child old enough to say “I’m hungry. I’m cold. I need to go to the bathroom.”

After that, I can make a case for a child of any age or gender. If the child is a pre-teen (and I’m still not completely certain what age SSD defines that as), there’s a better chance the child will be somewhat responsible, or at the least, able to communicate her/his needs. And quite possibly, I can still make a positive impact. And truthfully, I probably won’t grow as attached, which would make the child’s departure easier.

If the child is a girl, I can help her learn how to be a strong young woman, how to value herself, how to be giving and caring. I know how to be a woman.

If the child is a boy, I won’t have to comb his hair every day. But then he might be too vigorous in my home full of elephants.

In a perfect world, I’d get a nice, mild-mannered, docile young girl who is soft-spoken, affectionate and intelligent. Which means I’ll probably get a hell-raising little boy.

Not Really Noble

When I tell folks that I want to become a foster parent, some folks congratulate me. I've heard that I'm doing God's work. I've heard that I'm generous. What I'm undertaking is noble.

I always think to myself: "Who, me? No, really. Me?"

Those sentiments are sweet but actually misplaced. Too lofty.

My truth isn't noble. I want to be a parent. I think. But I don't want to be a single parent.

Foster parenting gives me the chance to practice and learn with someone else's child. The odds are good that I won't mess things up much more than the biological parent.

And it's temporary. Long-term, but temporary. I can get out at any time. There's safety with that knowledge.

Even better, there's a network of support: therapists, social worker, teachers and fellow adoptive parents. It's an unusual group, but still a circle of committed people for the child.

Oh, and there's a child support check too. So I'm not as noble as the act may seem.

I Was Fingerprinted

Two weeks ago, I was fingerprinted. Just reaching this point is an accomplishment.

I like how random and ominous the above sounds. But the truth is a lot less sinister: I’m on a journey to become a foster parent.

I’ve been celebrating and marking each step towards that goal as an accomplishment. I’m moving forward. Being fingerprinted means:

• Finally, my application packet was complete and accepted. (And it only took 7 submissions.)

• I can officially begin the parenting training workshops.

• Motherhood is impending and this thing that I’m doing is real.

• I am done with the minutiae and interaction with the rude scheduler in the county’s social services department.

• I have given the county the authority to run a criminal background check on me.

I won’t be nervous that I haven’t received notice that I’ve passed the check, despite the fact that my friend and backup caregiver has already received his notification.

I have absolutely no idea where this trip will take me. I’m excited and hopeful. Completely in denial about what may or may not happen. I feel blessed and loved and supported. I don’t have any fear.

I think I’m ready for this journey.