Police in My Kitchen

Last night was whoa. I'm still processing it all. But I'm clear it began earlier in the day.

My teen went with me to work, and I gave her some assignments on the computer - one of which was to find GED programs in Maryland. She resisted this idea because she insists she's still a DC resident. We debated the issue 2 or 3 times before I gave an edict: Find the programs or get off of the computer.

The end result? I shut the computer down and she sat sullen for the last 2 hours of my work day.

She remained angry and withdrawn for the rest of the evening. She holed herself up in her room, until about 9 p.m. Then she calmly marched right out of her room, to the front door and out. I asked her what she was doing, if she was leaving, but she ignored me and walked out.

I immediately called the police, her case worker, and lastly her mother. Luckily, the officer was in the area because he was at my house in less than 5 minutes.

Thus began the 1st of my frustrating conversations of the night. I described her outfit, the circumstances and that she'd just left less than 5 minutes ago.

His 1st question to me: "Why didn't you stop her?" I looked at him as if he had 2 heads. Told him I can't stop a foster teen, can't physically block them or touch them. His 2nd dumbass question: "How long ago did she leave?" That's when I gave him the fullness of Tiffanie - Chevy Chase, rich woman haughtiness. "Officer, are you even listening to me? One of the 1st things I told you was that she left, on foot, not more than 5 minutes ago."

That motivated his ass. He went back out in his cruiser, and to my absolute surprise, he found her at the nearby park.

But of course she returned even more determined to leave. I called the crisis hotline and told them what happened and that we needed help. They gave me another number to call, which was the on-call social worker. I told that social worker what had happened and that I was concerned my teen would run away again. We talked more before she realized that the crisis hotline had given me her number. It turns out that when you call the crisis hotline, if you don't actually say the word "crisis," your call won't be treated as such.

I've never heard such ignorance. So I called the crisis hotline again. Received a busy signal. I called a 3rd time, and was automatically shunted into someone's voicemail (really - I didn't press any buttons, the automated system pushed me into a staffer's voicemail). Obviously, by my 4th time I was more than irritated. I talked to the same woman with whom I initially spoke, and demanded she get someone to my home. Once I was finally taken seriously, they transferred me to another woman, who proceeded to give me a 10 minute (no lie) interview/assessment, which included questions on my date of birth (no lie), occupation, and various other unrelated questions. Of course I noted the irony of the potracted interview when I'm calling about a crisis.

Finally, at 10:30 pm, the crisis team showed up and talked to my teen and I. They helped defuse the situation, talked to her about her choices and mental state, and generally calmed her down.

Somehow I managed to keep my cool with this teen. I never yelled at her, I never spoke unkindly, I never got angry directly with her. I'll be honest, I had some very choice words about her in my head - but that's where the words remained. In my mind.