So, at a visit, the social worker casually mentioned Thing 1 by a nickname that we weren't using for him. Its a child's version of a male name, like Robby for Robert. Well, we'd been calling him by the shortened version (Rob in this example) or the full name. Our Foster Family agency, when we met the kids, called him the full name. We occasionally shortened it to the very abbreviated version, never being corrected by either the social workers we met with or by Thing 1 himself. They were with us for better than 6 weeks by the time we heard this...
You know, if a person has a preferred name, shouldn't that be one of the first things you learn about them?
Friday, February 28, 2014
Saturday, February 22, 2014
Hosting a party.
We hosted a birthday party for a friend. Between wrestling Thing 2 off of the various items of furniture and answering the same question for the thousandth time Thing 1 asked, we were cleaning up, making food, and greeting people arriving at the house. By the time people arrived, I was exhausted.
We had adopted a fairly strict household in order to keep them safe. We also had sort of rigidly scheduled the mealtimes, not offering too many snacks. We had noted pretty early on that they were accustomed to eating mostly crackers, chips, fruit, granola bars, etc. They only wanted to drink soda or juice and refused (vehemently) to drink water. We had to eliminate snacks almost completely to get them to eat real meals. They were kind of obsessed with food actually. If any was out (bowl of popcorn, tray of cheese and crackers) they would devour it. They knew virtually all of the fast food places by name but were aghast when I made pizza at home. Any time they saw food, food was mentioned or they were bored or unsure, they wanted to eat.
So for the party I was doling out the snack food and party foods slowly and carefully. That is pretty hard to do when friends with similar age children allow their kids to eat snacks freely. If Thing 1 and Thing 2 didn't want to eat dinner, they would be offered something else at the table of nutritional value, but no snacks or desserts later. Friends kids would refuse to eat, and complain they were hungry later to be given chips and cookies and soda. We basically seemed like jerks because we refused to do that. I was judged pretty harshly that night by the wife of a friend, so much so that I wound up in the bedroom crying.
It is pretty tough having to be the hard-ass parent in a sea of mellow parents. During the first few months of our having the boys, it was very much like I was being judged for every move I made, having my decisions circumvented at every turn by our friends (oh, here have some of this before your mom comes back. no, its okay, you can go ahead and jump on this item of furniture). No matter how many times we explained our kids and their need for structure after a lifetime of none, our friends just assumed we were being assholes. It got to a point where I would rather James left me home alone with the kids, as hard as that was, to go hang out with his friends at their homes. It was hard, I hated it, but at least I didn't feel judged.
But alas, damned if you do and damned if you don't--once I started staying home, people decided that I hated them or that I was being unfriendly. But taking the boys to other people's houses wasn't an option either--they would destroy the place, find the hazards I didn't even think to bar them from, take out every toy they could find and generally get frantic and crazy. And it wasn't like they enjoyed playing with the other kids--the same wife of a friend had everyone over, including our boys. Now in truth, our kids are sort of weirdos. They don't really know how to play with other kids and they are generally hard to play with. But I had to respond to I don't know how many yells of "stop it, go away Thing 1" or "give it back, Thing 2" until at one point I went looking for all of the kids and found that her kids and another friends' kids had barricaded themselves in one of the bedrooms while our boys were left on their own in the other bedroom to play alone. I asked the kids what had happened and the other kids said "we don't want to play with THEM." We went home pretty quickly after that.
It was lonely. Our friends thought we were making up or exaggerating the issues we were having; "that's just kids," "that's what you'd expect from foster kids," "oh, they'll grow out of it." I hated having more people over than the myriad of foster-related visitors we already got, so James and I had our fair share of fights because he felt that I was preventing him from being with his friends. I was destroyed for a while. I came to dread weekends. I mean, I wasn't happy at my job at the time either, and besides trying to work, I was the contact person for all of the medical people, agency people, social workers, and therapists. I was also on call for the crazy stuff that popped up at home, splitting my lunches to take Thing 1 to school and home again...but still work was a relief from the abject terror that was my home life, feeling like I was always doing everything wrong and hating myself.
We had adopted a fairly strict household in order to keep them safe. We also had sort of rigidly scheduled the mealtimes, not offering too many snacks. We had noted pretty early on that they were accustomed to eating mostly crackers, chips, fruit, granola bars, etc. They only wanted to drink soda or juice and refused (vehemently) to drink water. We had to eliminate snacks almost completely to get them to eat real meals. They were kind of obsessed with food actually. If any was out (bowl of popcorn, tray of cheese and crackers) they would devour it. They knew virtually all of the fast food places by name but were aghast when I made pizza at home. Any time they saw food, food was mentioned or they were bored or unsure, they wanted to eat.
So for the party I was doling out the snack food and party foods slowly and carefully. That is pretty hard to do when friends with similar age children allow their kids to eat snacks freely. If Thing 1 and Thing 2 didn't want to eat dinner, they would be offered something else at the table of nutritional value, but no snacks or desserts later. Friends kids would refuse to eat, and complain they were hungry later to be given chips and cookies and soda. We basically seemed like jerks because we refused to do that. I was judged pretty harshly that night by the wife of a friend, so much so that I wound up in the bedroom crying.
It is pretty tough having to be the hard-ass parent in a sea of mellow parents. During the first few months of our having the boys, it was very much like I was being judged for every move I made, having my decisions circumvented at every turn by our friends (oh, here have some of this before your mom comes back. no, its okay, you can go ahead and jump on this item of furniture). No matter how many times we explained our kids and their need for structure after a lifetime of none, our friends just assumed we were being assholes. It got to a point where I would rather James left me home alone with the kids, as hard as that was, to go hang out with his friends at their homes. It was hard, I hated it, but at least I didn't feel judged.
But alas, damned if you do and damned if you don't--once I started staying home, people decided that I hated them or that I was being unfriendly. But taking the boys to other people's houses wasn't an option either--they would destroy the place, find the hazards I didn't even think to bar them from, take out every toy they could find and generally get frantic and crazy. And it wasn't like they enjoyed playing with the other kids--the same wife of a friend had everyone over, including our boys. Now in truth, our kids are sort of weirdos. They don't really know how to play with other kids and they are generally hard to play with. But I had to respond to I don't know how many yells of "stop it, go away Thing 1" or "give it back, Thing 2" until at one point I went looking for all of the kids and found that her kids and another friends' kids had barricaded themselves in one of the bedrooms while our boys were left on their own in the other bedroom to play alone. I asked the kids what had happened and the other kids said "we don't want to play with THEM." We went home pretty quickly after that.
It was lonely. Our friends thought we were making up or exaggerating the issues we were having; "that's just kids," "that's what you'd expect from foster kids," "oh, they'll grow out of it." I hated having more people over than the myriad of foster-related visitors we already got, so James and I had our fair share of fights because he felt that I was preventing him from being with his friends. I was destroyed for a while. I came to dread weekends. I mean, I wasn't happy at my job at the time either, and besides trying to work, I was the contact person for all of the medical people, agency people, social workers, and therapists. I was also on call for the crazy stuff that popped up at home, splitting my lunches to take Thing 1 to school and home again...but still work was a relief from the abject terror that was my home life, feeling like I was always doing everything wrong and hating myself.
Saturday, February 15, 2014
Haircuts...finally!
So, one of the most ridiculous things about foster parenting...I can authorize medical treatment for them. If they need surgery, I can sign off on that. But without either a signature from their birth parent or a judge (or social worker? We aren't sure) we couldn't get their hair cut. And they needed it. They were crazy shaggy.
At their visit with birth mom, the visit monitor was supposed to get her to sign the haircut waiver. She didn't. We talked to our agency social worker. She didn't know but gave the "helpful" suggestion to call the county social worker (um, I'm sorry, but isn't it your job to get questions answered for us. and further, isn't it your job to know answers to, what seems to be, a fairly common question?). County social worker said that they might have to get the judge to sign it if mom hadn't. Mom doesn't live nearby for them to just drop by and get it signed.
They're not American Indian, with strong cultural ties to long hair. They didn't have cool haircuts, and we weren't trying to shave their heads or give them mohawks. Good grief.
Finally, someone called birth mom and got her verbal okay to cut their hair (no buzz cuts!) How lame is that?
At their visit with birth mom, the visit monitor was supposed to get her to sign the haircut waiver. She didn't. We talked to our agency social worker. She didn't know but gave the "helpful" suggestion to call the county social worker (um, I'm sorry, but isn't it your job to get questions answered for us. and further, isn't it your job to know answers to, what seems to be, a fairly common question?). County social worker said that they might have to get the judge to sign it if mom hadn't. Mom doesn't live nearby for them to just drop by and get it signed.
They're not American Indian, with strong cultural ties to long hair. They didn't have cool haircuts, and we weren't trying to shave their heads or give them mohawks. Good grief.
Finally, someone called birth mom and got her verbal okay to cut their hair (no buzz cuts!) How lame is that?
Friday, February 14, 2014
Meeting the Oregon Family
We made plans to meet with their Oregon family members on Friday Feb. 14th. We would meet with them at 11am since Thing 1 had school at 12:30.
They woke up feeling sick. We had to call him in sick, but it was too late to cancel, since the family was driving from Oregon. We got to the McDonalds a little early and ordered food.We saw them come in, a nice looking couple. The adoption social worker came in right after. We all sat down to talk and let them meet the boys. They were excited and happy since so many people were paying attention to them. They had children of their own, the youngest was 10. They are licensed for childcare so getting a foster license would be no problem.
I sat and talked to the adoption social worker for a while, and told her some of the difficulties we were having, and got some information about what was going on with their case. She said that this was good, having the Oregon family as an option but it would be difficult since they would have to get all sorts of out-of-state waivers. I said we would really like for any transfer to happen after school lets out since his education had been so disrupted to begin with. She also said that, as their guardians, we actually had far more claim on permanency than these family members, since the boys don't know them and we have been caring for them. I mentioned that we were having trouble getting a waiver to get their hair cut.
Our visit ended with the boys getting gifts from their new friends--stuffed doggies.
They woke up feeling sick. We had to call him in sick, but it was too late to cancel, since the family was driving from Oregon. We got to the McDonalds a little early and ordered food.We saw them come in, a nice looking couple. The adoption social worker came in right after. We all sat down to talk and let them meet the boys. They were excited and happy since so many people were paying attention to them. They had children of their own, the youngest was 10. They are licensed for childcare so getting a foster license would be no problem.
I sat and talked to the adoption social worker for a while, and told her some of the difficulties we were having, and got some information about what was going on with their case. She said that this was good, having the Oregon family as an option but it would be difficult since they would have to get all sorts of out-of-state waivers. I said we would really like for any transfer to happen after school lets out since his education had been so disrupted to begin with. She also said that, as their guardians, we actually had far more claim on permanency than these family members, since the boys don't know them and we have been caring for them. I mentioned that we were having trouble getting a waiver to get their hair cut.
Our visit ended with the boys getting gifts from their new friends--stuffed doggies.
Friday, January 31, 2014
Gathering history
What a gift having State Preschool available for Thing 1 was for our sanity. He would go to school from 12:30 to 3:30 each day, get some much needed academic and social teaching, and James would get some much needed respite from having near-constant power struggles and tantrums. One of the things that the preschool insisted on was that he not wear pull-ups to school. When they came to us, that was all he wore, and he would go to the bathroom only if he felt like it or if we made him. He also only pooped at night in the pull-up. That was another source of complete meltdown--if we insisted he poop on the potty, or merely suggested it sometimes, he would freak right the hell out.
We were going through underwear pretty frequently at home, but most days at school he did okay. He had to use his emergency change of clothes now and then. I asked his teacher if he has the same outbursts at school as he did at home. She was surprised--she had never seen him do that. She suggested that he may be able to keep it together in one element of his life so he chose school and then let loose at home.
We were slowly gathering a better picture of their life before us. They were with their former foster parents through the FFA for about 2 weeks. These people, I believe, are a major source of a lot of the bathroom issues. Thing 1 would just freak out about poop--his own, his brother's, any he saw outside. If we were cleaning him up, he would apologize profusely. It got to wear we figured he was made to feel ashamed about it, We would just reassure him that poop is no big deal, we can clean it up, and if it gets on our hands, oh well, we can wash them. Our mantra became everyone poops, even mommy, daddy, and the president of the USA. I was so hurt and angry for him though, that he was made to feel that way.
Before that family, they were with "Aunty" whom we could not figure out if she was biologically related or if that was just a title. They were with her for a fairly long time, maybe 9 months or a year. When she lost custody of them is was traumatic, with the kids being removed abruptly at night with little more than the clothes they were wearing. When their adoption social worker first visited our house, Thing 1 got agitated, then finally walked up to me, got really close to my face and asked "Where are we sleeping tonight?" We found out that when they were removed, she was the one who took them into custody.
We learned that Thing 2's birth father was incarcerated, in some sort of work camp at the moment, and that birth mom had recently married to the father of her infant daughter.
Keep in mind that none of this information came from the FFA. They claimed to know nothing about them. Each bit of information came to us through conversations with their county social workers, Thing 1's counselor, and through piecing together what the Thing 1 would tell us.
One thing that the counselor told us that ran chills down my spine--Thing 1 is a high level placement and if a permanency plan wasn't found for him, his next stop would be a group home and they would be separated.
We were going through underwear pretty frequently at home, but most days at school he did okay. He had to use his emergency change of clothes now and then. I asked his teacher if he has the same outbursts at school as he did at home. She was surprised--she had never seen him do that. She suggested that he may be able to keep it together in one element of his life so he chose school and then let loose at home.
We were slowly gathering a better picture of their life before us. They were with their former foster parents through the FFA for about 2 weeks. These people, I believe, are a major source of a lot of the bathroom issues. Thing 1 would just freak out about poop--his own, his brother's, any he saw outside. If we were cleaning him up, he would apologize profusely. It got to wear we figured he was made to feel ashamed about it, We would just reassure him that poop is no big deal, we can clean it up, and if it gets on our hands, oh well, we can wash them. Our mantra became everyone poops, even mommy, daddy, and the president of the USA. I was so hurt and angry for him though, that he was made to feel that way.
Before that family, they were with "Aunty" whom we could not figure out if she was biologically related or if that was just a title. They were with her for a fairly long time, maybe 9 months or a year. When she lost custody of them is was traumatic, with the kids being removed abruptly at night with little more than the clothes they were wearing. When their adoption social worker first visited our house, Thing 1 got agitated, then finally walked up to me, got really close to my face and asked "Where are we sleeping tonight?" We found out that when they were removed, she was the one who took them into custody.
We learned that Thing 2's birth father was incarcerated, in some sort of work camp at the moment, and that birth mom had recently married to the father of her infant daughter.
Keep in mind that none of this information came from the FFA. They claimed to know nothing about them. Each bit of information came to us through conversations with their county social workers, Thing 1's counselor, and through piecing together what the Thing 1 would tell us.
One thing that the counselor told us that ran chills down my spine--Thing 1 is a high level placement and if a permanency plan wasn't found for him, his next stop would be a group home and they would be separated.
Wednesday, January 29, 2014
My Break Down
James and I were tense all the time. It was difficult for me, the one who grew up with 2 younger siblings, who has a Masters degree in Human Behavior, who has made a career of working with kids, to be this overwhelmingly bad at being with THESE kids. I dreaded the moment each morning when I first heard them stir, and I was on edge all night, waiting for the next cry of "Mommy?"
I finally broke down one morning and as James was trying to calm me down, I blurted out "I just don't love these kids. I thought I loved all kids but I don't." I was at my breaking point. We were have 2 to 5 45 minute tantrums from Thing 1 a day, no matter what we were doing, Thing 2 was trying to run away or climb something, our cat was refusing to eat or groom himself so I was certain he would die...I was just done.
James was so much better at it than me. He kept calm and cool, he didn't yell like I kept finding myself doing on a regular basis. He was able to ignore things that I couldn't. I was counting down to the end of the 6 month placement.
We heard from their adoption social worker that they had a distant relative that might want to take custody. They live in Oregon, have never met the boys, and have no contact with birth mom. We were given their email address and decided to meet at McDonald's on Feb. 14th.
I finally broke down one morning and as James was trying to calm me down, I blurted out "I just don't love these kids. I thought I loved all kids but I don't." I was at my breaking point. We were have 2 to 5 45 minute tantrums from Thing 1 a day, no matter what we were doing, Thing 2 was trying to run away or climb something, our cat was refusing to eat or groom himself so I was certain he would die...I was just done.
James was so much better at it than me. He kept calm and cool, he didn't yell like I kept finding myself doing on a regular basis. He was able to ignore things that I couldn't. I was counting down to the end of the 6 month placement.
We heard from their adoption social worker that they had a distant relative that might want to take custody. They live in Oregon, have never met the boys, and have no contact with birth mom. We were given their email address and decided to meet at McDonald's on Feb. 14th.
Tuesday, January 28, 2014
A visit with Birth Mom--or so we thought...
They had a visit scheduled to see birth mom. We had been told that she wouldn't get a visit until the end of February so that they could settle in for a while but apparently not everyone was on the same page with that.
James took them to Shasta County for the visit. He dropped them off at the door, and the visit monitor took them from there. I guess the parents are to enter at a different spot so that there's no cross-over. He hung around, got some food, and came back just before the hour was up. The social worker stopped to talk to him for a while. I guess grandma attended the visit. Mom was going to come, but had a fight with grandma that morning and didn't show up.
The boys came back out, happy to see James, and got into the car. When they got home, though, that is when we began to see some behavior issues. Thing 1 got really belligerent and had a few more tantrums than usual over the next several days.
James took them to Shasta County for the visit. He dropped them off at the door, and the visit monitor took them from there. I guess the parents are to enter at a different spot so that there's no cross-over. He hung around, got some food, and came back just before the hour was up. The social worker stopped to talk to him for a while. I guess grandma attended the visit. Mom was going to come, but had a fight with grandma that morning and didn't show up.
The boys came back out, happy to see James, and got into the car. When they got home, though, that is when we began to see some behavior issues. Thing 1 got really belligerent and had a few more tantrums than usual over the next several days.
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