I Just Flat Out Don't Like Her

Lord forgive me, I couldn’t stand this last teen. She’s 18, a victim of rape and incest (by her biological father), and cast out by both sides of her family (her mother is deceased).

Her background is what made me sympathetic to her. But her personality, lack of logic, extreme laziness and hard-headedness made me dislike her.

She only got as far as the 9th grade in high school. From my home, she could metro to the beauty school where she was enrolled. She was placed with me for just over a week – until DSS could find another placement – one that was near her school with lower transportation costs.

When her worker brought her the first night, we all talked rules and expectations. She was given $145 to use for transportation. The next day she returned home with $12. She bought a new cell phone and new headphones. Over and over again, I tried telling her how irresponsible that was. She insisted it wasn’t. She actually has a government-issued cell phone that was out of minutes (although she can make calls with wi-fi). Rather than buy a $25 visa gift card and reload her phone, she spent it all on a new phone with a monthly bill.

When she refused to even hear/understand what an irresponsible choice she’d made, that moment made me realize she was incapable of reasoning. She couldn’t see past the moment. I tried to break down to her the cost of commuting to her school and the return trip. She refused to understand.

I tried to teach her to organize her things at night: Lay out your clothes; pack your lunch; take your shower; put your school bags by the door. Yeah, no. She’d get distracted by the damn phone. Or the tv. Or she’d start playing with Max. Anything but what I told her to do.

If I told her to go left, she went right. If I told her to put something down, she’d pick it up. I had to constantly repeat myself. I get it – most teens have to be told repeatedly to do something. But this simpleton had to be told 10 times to take a shower.

I tried reasoning. Giving her a schedule. We need to be out of the house in an hour. Get up, get dressed, have breakfast, make up your bed, clean your breakfast dishes. She might have attention deficit disorder because when I gave her more than 3 things to do, she’d stand lost in thought. Or she’d just sit there. Or she’d start singing to herself or her phone.

On Friday, she talked to the administrators of her beauty school about assistance with transportation costs. When they told her no, she asked for a leave of absence. And they withdrew her from the school (she’d had too many previous LOAs).

And of course, she had no game plan. And no money. All weekend long I encouraged her to think of some activity she could do outside of my house while I’m at work. (I damn sure wasn’t leaving her unsupervised in my home.) She couldn’t come up with a single plan. But Sunday night she damn sure schemed how she could go hang out with some dude (which I still don’t understand because she’s gay); and of course she wanted me to be her driver.

This morning, I reached my boiling point this morning. I woke her up at 7 a.m. and told her we needed to leave at 8 a.m. It took until 7:30 a.m. with me constantly telling her to get up before she actually got her ass moving. By that time I’d called her worker and my worker on their personal cell phones. And I texted her worker and said I wanted to expedite her leaving my house (although her deadline to leave was tomorrow).

When I finally talked to her caseworker about what was happening, she had no surprise. That’s when I learned she’d been in several homes since the summer – and she’d bounced from house to house for the same reasons. (When I get ‘hold of my caseworker, I’m gonna let her have it for not telling me this.) She’d been obstinate and lazy in the other homes. Hmph. The caseworker said I could bring her to DSS this morning.

So then I told her to pack her clothes and take her bags to door. While I finished my morning work, she took another shower, dallied in the bathroom, played on her phone, chilled on the bed. So of course it’s 8 a.m. and she hasn’t packed a damn thing. Ironically, I woke her at 7, knowing we wouldn’t leave ‘til 9. But when I realized she still hadn’t moved, I took her cell phone. Told her she wouldn’t get it back until I was finished showering and could see movement.

And of course, when I was half-dressed, she still hadn’t taken her bags to the door. I think subconsciously she didn’t want to leave. But she was no longer welcome in my life and home. I helped her gather her stuff and toted her back to DSS.

It’s crazy because I took her “back” like she was a defective product. But I’m learning to put myself first when I foster in my home. And it’s becoming more and more difficult to keep accepting these teens.

I’ve learned not to expect them to “realize how good they’ve got it.” I don’t need that from them. Most times the teens come from such awful places, they’re incapable of understanding or appreciating when life is better. They’re sometimes like battered women who keep returning to abusers – they seek pain to validate their lives or to feel something, anything. Or they sabotage a good home because subconsciously they’d rather push away first than be pushed away.

But what I’m learning is that I can’t keep brushing up against/sharing space with these abused teens. I’m burning out.

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.

My Purpose

I'm growing closer and closer to my purpose. My latest (foster) teen that ran away nearly 3 weeks ago was captured last night by the police.

I spent all day Friday negotiating her return with the 7 social workers who weren't able to talk to one another, etc. etc. In fact, I was the person that notified her parents.

I could go in depth about this - about how her biological mother had near-daily onversations with her, while teen was a runaway. But I'm too tired.

Long story short: The police found her and her twin yesterday. My twin was returned to DSS care. I retrieved her last night.

But today, while I attended an 8 hour training, my teen left. Again. I'm giving her 1 hour (until midnight) to meet her 11:30 curfew.

But trust. I am not holding my breath.

Hotel Tiff

It's been 4 1/2 days since my 4th teen ran away (not all have been runaways). She ran on Halloween - the night before her big court date. She's somewhere on the streets in a vacant apartment building with her identical teen.

Her clothes and belongings are still in my home. I haven't even cleaned up yet, and DSS called with another placement. I'm still emotionally attached to her.

When I explained that my teen is missing and I still have her things, the worker persisted, "But she's AWOL, right? We need a bed. It's just respite, Ms. Bright."

And just like that, my former foster daughter, current runaway, is pushed to the side.

PTSD

Nearly a year of being a licensed foster parent, and I'd had only 2 respite experiences. Both teenage girls: one 17 years and the other 16. Tough. Traumatic.  Neither experience lasted more than 3 days.

My 3rd teen arrived a month away from the expiration of my license. Her problems were similar to my own. I accepted immediately and hoped for permanency.

We haven't fully completed week 3, and I feel as if I've fought a war.I've been beaten.  I've wanted to blog daily, but most times I haven't even been able to find the words. When I can find the words, I'm too exhausted to type.

In 2 weeks, 5 days, I've called the police twice and the crisis hotline once. We've shopped, made dinner and fellowshipped together. We've argued. We've loved. We've talked. And talked. And talked. And argued again.

But tonight? I'm simply weary. She hasn't communicated with me in 7 hours. For the 2nd day in a row, she hasn't returned home when she was due.

I've declared her a missing child (the 2nd time doing such in 2.5 weeks).

Granted, I'm dramatic. But quite honestly, I feel as if I've been battling in my own home. My peace is disrupted.

I pray for guidance, direction, forgiveness  and patience.

I just don't know what else to do.

Let Yourself Off the Hook

 JayJay (BabyGirl's puppy) and Maxwell (right).

I haven't been able to write. There was so much involved with BabyGirl; I was drained emotionally. Every aspect of her life is troubled. But in my home, in the space that we shared, she was a nearly perfect teen.

As briefly as I can (and I'm long-winded), BabyGirl returned to her foster family, nearly 2 weeks ago. Her time with me was short - a weekend  of respite care. She didn't want to leave me. I wanted her to stay, but I missed the solitude of my stress-free, single-woman life and quiet home.

Fast forward to now: There were problems in BabyGirl's foster home, which lead to her removal and placement in a group home. She tried to reach out to me, but I missed her calls.

I was torn because I want to help her. I want to be involved in her life and making her a stronger person. But her problems are so heavy. There are so many and they are so profound; I don't know if I have the energy to be everything that she needs me to be. Other than love and strength, I am not able to be warden, nurse, psychiatrist, doctor, mother and friend to this child.

But I feel as though I gave up before fighting. I feel that this is why I signed up: to become a foster parent/mentor to the 1 child no one else wants. How can I back away from this teen because she's a challenge? That would make me a failure. That would make me like every other foster parent in this child's life. That would make me disingenuous. And this child would be shuffled again and again until she turns 18 and "ages out of the system."

I felt pressure from the Mister (man/boyfriend/significant other) to rescue BabyGirl from the group home and the constant shifting her life has become. 

In truth, I was leaning more toward passiveness. So I called one of my best confidantes. And God bless Ether Girl for giving me the words to grow on.

She told me that I can't save every child in the system; she told me that I didn't create BabyGirl's problems, and I wouldn't solve them alone. "Let yourself off the hook, Tiff."

Maybe this is giving up. Or maybe this is my realization that BabyGirl is more than I can handle or help. 

We Made It Through the Weekend

I'm a talker. Maybe too much of one. But I believe in the power of words.

And so Babygirl and I talk, and talk, and talk, and talk some more. We hung around the house on Saturday, doing laundry, napping, watching TV. I helped her braid her hair. I introduced her to my boyfriend and talked to her about how good, strong, Black men show their love, respect and affection.

We went to church on Sunday and talked more about the message and how we could apply it to our lives.

Over lunch, she shared more of her story and her background. She comes from a physically abusive past. I promised her that in this house, she is safe from that. We also talked about learning how to forgive those who have hurt us.

She wants to remain with me. And I want to work with her on becoming a stronger, good person. But I don't even begin to know where to begin. She's been out of school for 3 years. She doesn't want to return to high school and start again as a freshmen. However, she can't enter GED courses until January - also her birthday month.

So today, I'll work from home and begin working DSS.

On a different note, I'm beginning to hate her dog. I didn't think I had it in me to not fall in love with a puppy. JayJay is a 4 month, yorkie-chihuahua mix. He is a terror. He chases Maxwell (my 6 yr Bichon Frise) around the house, snatches toys away from Maxwell, nips or bites at Maxwell, and pushes Maxwell out of the way when feeding. JayJay has also nipped at my fingers. I know I'm going about this the wrong way, but I've been spanking and caging JayJay. That dog will not bully Maxwell.

It Begins Now

Throughout the summer, I had several near-placements. DSS would call, I'd agree to take the child, and for various reasons, the placement wouldn't occur. 

I really didn't think a child would be placed with me. Until last night.

DSS asked if I would serve as respite care through the weekend. The stats:a 17 year old teen girl with a puppy. No problems, although she does not attend school.

I agreed and never heard from DSS again. (DSS did not provide paperwork, nor insurance information, nothing but silence.)

Babygirl's (I'll call her this) foster father called for directions to my home, and the real conversation begins. His anger poured through the phone and continued when he arrived.


Mr. Jay described Babygirl as willful, stubborn, manipulative, hard-headed, dismissive of authority, a drug-addict and thief, sexually promiscuous and violent. He told of incidents where he and his wife called the police to intervene because she would "get in their face" and threaten violence. He said Babygirl would call men to their home to pick her up and take her out for partying, sexing or smoking weed. He described how her willfulness affected other children in their home. She lasted a month with the Jay family.


I wanted to cry. I was so overwhelmed. Mr. Jay told me that neither he nor Mrs. Jay would  return for Babygirl. He apologized for doing this to me and admitted that DSS had done the same to them - dropped off Babygirl without a clear explanation of her background.


"My G-d," I thought and prayed. "They have a 2 parent household. What can I possibly do by myself? Father, I beg you to help me."


After Babygirl settled in her room, I asked her out so we could talk about expectations. I told her the rules of the house are that we will respect one another - in our actions and our speech. We will live in here and try to grow together. But this was the starting line. All we have is how we act toward one another beginning at this point in time. Our past histories don't matter.


She seemed a bit receptive, asked questions about my background. We talked more and things seemed fine.


Later that evening we had our first "encounter."


She settled in her room, showered and came out dressed and cute. She was respectful in her tone when she asked if she could go out to the store. I told her that she couldn't go when she told me she wanted to walk. (There is no store in walking distance of my home.) It's too late and she's a vulnerable, young woman. 

She was visibly angry. She began trembling and retreated to her room.


I gave her some time and then went to talk to her. We talked again over dinner and opened up more to one another. She talked about her frustration with being out of school, the lack of responsiveness from her DSS caseworker and her anger at the realization that DSS will "age" her out of the system when she turns 18.


She wiped angry tears and asked if she could live with me.  Could she go to school? She didn't want to bounce around anymore. She revealed so much my heart hurt. 


Babygirl is why I agreed to become a foster parent. I promised myself that I would take the child no one else wants. Babygirl has been bounced around for 3 years, and has been out of school since 9th grade. She's angry. Probably mean. She's a fighter.


But I saw her vulnerability. When she sat on the edge of my bed and asked me to part her hair so she could braid it. When she rolled around on the floor and played with the dogs.


There's a child in that woman's body. She needs someone to touch her in love. She needs someone to fight for her. She needs a safe place. In the silence after she asked if she could live here, I already knew the answer.


There won't be anything easy about this journey.

Almost a Baby Momma

DSS called last night about a placement. Initially I missed the call, but I connected with the caseworker, Katrina, who was still trying to place the child.

The child, Briana, is an 11 year old girl; her mom needs to find a new apartment, and left Briana and 2 other siblings unattended for a few hours. The other 2 siblings were placed, and Briana needed a place. But they (my caseworker Katrina and Briana's caseworker) were certain it'd be a super temporary placement: 3-5 days. They were still working on returning Briana to the mom.

So for 2 hours, I sat in my condo with friends and hashed out whether I was ready. What I needed to do, etc. The food I needed to buy. What about child care?

And then the caseworker called back and indicated that they were able to return Briana to her mom.

I was sad. But realism set in. If I'm going to do this thing, I need to DO THIS. Enough. Time to put on my grown lady panties and clean up shop.

So the next 2 weeks I'm committed to making my home child friendly.

For starters, I need to buy some non-diet food. My crew told me I need some fruit cups, applesauce, and some food that comes in a cardboard box. (Ha!)

I need to get furniture in the guest bedroom. I need to stash some more money aside in case the child needs a completely new wardrobe.

Yeah, it's on.

I Said "No."

Last Friday, a DSS social worker called me at work. When I read the caller ID, I knew what the call was about.

"This is it." I thought. "This is your daughter."

As it turns out, once you're an approved foster/adoption parent, DSS social workers will try to place any child with you - regardless of the specifications that you've given.

I've asked for an African-American, female child, ages 8 to 10. However, I've agreed to be an "emergency" foster parent. This means I'd accept any gender, race or age if there's a child needing immediate shelter.

That wasn't the case.

The child in question is a 12 year old, African-American boy. He has ADHD and he takes medicine for it. He won't go to school, and he won't listen to his mother. [We presume the mother is a single parent.] His mom was so frustrated, she called DSS and told them to come and get the child. She no longer wanted him in her home.

That statement alone broke my heart. My brain screamed, "No! No! Nonononononono!" But my heart twinged. And then I heeded my better sense.

If this child refuses to listen to his own mother, there's absolutely nothing that I can do for him. And what if he's 5'10 and weighs 205 lbs? On my best day I'm 5'3. There's no way that child would even respect me as his authority.

So I declined.

This is a glaring reminder that I need to stop playing and finish preparing my home. I need more furniture in my child's room. (But in my defense, I've been on business travel for 1 consecutive month.)

Journey continues.

Approved!

Life has become extremely hectic. I've wanted to blog more about the inefficiencies of my caseworker and the Dept. of Social Services.

But it doesn't even matter. Just 20 minutes ago, I received email notice from my caseworker.

My home study was approved and signed off by her supervisor. I'll receive a certificate next week. 

I am officially able to become a foster parent!

God is awesome. I have been so stressed with work. And I had a wonderful praise session on the metro. I was simply overcome by God's love, goodness and mercy to me. I cried tears of joy on the very public metro, but I didn't care. I was just in a place of praise and thankfulness for my life, job, friends, health.

And then He further blessed me this morning. 

Motherhood is near!

Moving Parts

My 2nd home interview is scheduled next week. It’s clear to me that my caseworker has recently returned to my file and is rushing through it to fill in the blanks.

She called, wondering if my back-up caregiver had filled out the paperwork that authorizes a criminal background check and if my back-up had completed the medical form.

*record scratch*

For real? No, really? Yes, my back-up completed the authorization for the background check. And, um, his check was completed before mine was completed, some time in August 2010.

And in typical DSS form, they’ve introduced yet another requirement: a medical examination. I told my caseworker, this was the first time it’s ever been mentioned to me that my back-up needed a medical examination; this requirement isn’t written anywhere. Nor is there an authorization form for this. I’m growing annoyed with the haphazard, unofficial way DSS introduces new requirements to this process.

And to add insult to injury, my caseworker sent the below email, with the subject line: additional information.

HI,

Your mom was married to your biological father(name) they divorced when you were 6 she then married(name) who cheated on her and they divorced when you were 16. did she remarry after that? if so, then to who.

Wowwwww. So caring of her to 1) condense my life story into a few sentences; 2) recall the sordid details of my past; 3) neglect good grammar; and 4) send this to my business email.

Maybe I’m the fool, because I actually responded, filled in the blanks and corrected misinformation.

So then my caseworker follows up with this email (I changed names):

verification...

You lived with your aunt for about 6 months in NJ. Then you and your mom moved to NY where she met and married STEPFATHER (you were 8 when they married).  In the time between leaving your aunt and your mom re-marrying, you lived in NY and mom was supporting you guys.  Six months after your mom married, STEPFATHER began cheating on her, you confronted him but never told your mom.  They eventually divorced when you were 16.  The middle class life you described is the life with STEPFATHER? Why didn't you guys remain in contact? 

How long after the sexual abuse did you tell your mom.

And then I had to use my words:

CASEWORKER,

These are emotionally challenging questions.

It's also difficult to see my life condensed into a few sentences.

Let's discuss this in person.

Thank you,

I’m committed to honesty and openness about this process. But damn. How are you going to ask me cavalierly about sexual abuse as an aside? And in an email to my business address? There are so many incorrect points in that summation. I alternate between anger, insult, annoyance, shock, disappointment and surprise.

I feel like a moving part. A means to an end.

I can’t even begin to imagine how my child feels after living in multiple foster and group homes, after being ignored or abused. I hope DSS social workers aren’t this impersonal with my child.

I wish DSS would just move out of the way and give me my daughter.

Doubt

I claim joy. I claim happiness, success, favor and bounty. Love and wealth are mine.

I call it faith, others may call it positive thinking. I don’t believe in allowing the public to know my personal sadness or disappointment. I will live my life as if it is everything is perfect – and more – in an effort to claim and enjoy my best self.

Always a smile on my face.

But the truth is, I have doubt. I doubt that I have enough parenting/leadership experience to guide a child. I doubt that I’m strong enough, willing enough to help someone else. I doubt that my intentions are enough.

Am I doing this out of loneliness? Am I doing this to fill a void? What is the “right” motivation to have in order to become a foster parent?

I am uncertain if I’m ready to become a foster parent.

My second home interview is scheduled for early February. I am scared of what more the social worker will ask. The first interview was difficult and revealing. For real? She's going to dig deeper? I have laid my soul and my home open for the Department of Social Services. I'm not sure how much more I have to give before giving up.

Two friends have recently told me that single parenting is hard, difficult, frustrating, exhausting work. Both asked me if I am ready. And honestly, I told them I don’t know.

What am I doing? Is this right? Are my reasons selfish? Am I still pursuing this out of a fear of failure? Can I help someone grow and heal when I have more development of my own to do?

I am scared. And I have doubt.

Fire Safety Inspection

 The above video isn't really how it went down. I just like the levity.

The inspection was scheduled for 8:30 this morning. But by 8:50, the inspector hadn't arrived nor had he called. When I called the fire station, he had a convoluted story about how he was acting chief today, there were unforseen delays, yadda yadda yadda. Ummm, would have helped if he'd called and told me that he was running late. It was a good thing that I told my job that I might be late.

Anyway, the inspection lasted approximately 20 minutes. The inspector basically checked to make sure that I had certain items in the home: smoke detectors, carbon monoxide detector and fire extinguisher. The inspector didn't actually check whether any of these items worked. I got "bonus" points for having a sprinkler system. The inspection was more of a learning lesson for me because the inspector showed me how to turn off my sprinkler system (in case it's accidentally set and water pours into my home). And I'm slightly embarrassed to admit that in the nearly 6 years that I've been in my condo, I never knew that my windows open into the home for easy cleaning!

My windows are large enough for a fire fighter to enter the home, wearing equipment, and they're large enough for us to escape easily. And that's that. I passed with flying colors!


"What's next?" you may wonder. More waiting. Waiting for the social worker to interview my personal references. Waiting for the social worker to ask more probing questions about my life. And waiting. 


I think I have the patience of Job.

Home Interview

This post is two weeks overdue. The home interview went very well. Although my social worker warned that it would take 2-3 hours, it only lasted 1 hour and 10 minutes (my mom timed it).

The social worker reviewed a questionnaire I'd filled out about my childhood. The questions were deeply invasive. She asked why my parents divorced and how it affected me. I told her about growing up with stepbrothers and my mother's second divorce. We talked about the sexual abuse I experienced in my childhood and how I healed. She wanted to know about the drug and alcohol abuse by some of my family members. We talked about my strained relationship with my siblings. We even discussed when I lost my virginity.

Whew. Some of the interview was difficult because I had to recall painful experiences. And my mom was in the guest bedroom with Maxwell, so at times I lowered my voice. I almost felt like a child airing our dirty laundry.

After the interview, the social worker took a 3 minute tour of the condo and finally met Maxwell – who growled and cried because he was locked in the room away from me. She checked my closets (which was weird), the fire extinguisher and smoke detectors.

This is only part one of the home interview. She told me that she's juggling 6 active cases before she would begin interviewing the rest of my training class. The Dept. of Social Services is in a rush to interview new adoption/foster families before the launch of a marketing campaign for more families.

This stage will take 2-3 months. But I'm at a crossroads. Now is the time when I really need to decide what age and sex I want to take. Once I'm approved, the process will finally speed up and I need to be ready.

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.