DS's biomom stopped over this weekend, in tears. She had a huge fight with him, and he wanted to be dropped off back in our hometown. She stopped over to warn us he's back in the area. Me? I want to yell "I told you so!" Her? Devastated and feeling rejected. Him? No clue where he actually is at the moment.
Just before Christmas, he moved back in with her. Fine by us. We had lowered our expectations dramatically and were happy that we got him to 18. He was alive, had a diploma coming, and was not in prison. This was enough for us. Did I want more for my child? Of course, but this was a RADish we were talking about. What I really want for him is a future that included being happy, having a job, and being a meaningful member of society. He does not want the same thing.
Several weeks ago, we received a message on FB "just so you know, the grass is not greener over here". It was from biomom, and we were not one bit surprised that he was unhappy with her. He had taken himself along, of course. While he spent years trying to convince himself that school, biofamily, and DH and I were the real problem, he was shocked to find out that life's issues did not disappear when he changed addresses.
DH spent a bit of time trying to convince biomom that she did the right thing. DS is going to have to bounce around for a while until he realizes that he has to be accountable for his actions. I wish he was the kind of kid who did not have to learn everything the hard way. DH and I learned early on though, that anytime DS did not work for things, they were meaningless. Unfortunately, he's also had times when this did not work either--usually in a fit of rage that resulted in 90% of his things broken, damage to walls, and sullen silence.
DH and I are considering changing all the locks in the house. We can't let him back in this house. I can't exchange the peace I have for the chaos he prefers.
Monday, February 22, 2010
Friday, February 12, 2010
Foster Parent Non-Support
DH was recently telling me that a new study shows that the biggest reason foster parents stop fostering is due to the lack of support. Between that and the lack of adequate respite care, retaining quality foster parents is nearly impossible.
Um, DUH? While there are tons of studies available on foster children, the "system", etc, but virtually no one has looked at foster parents. Easy to understand, as the focus should be on the the children and the system designed to help them, however, it also highlights the fact that foster parents are thought to be outside of this system, instead of a part of it.
Our own experiences highlight this, as social workers talked around us and over us. It was made clear that there was information that was being held from us, information that included details of the conditions of the environment 'our' children came from. This is information that we could have used to help answer the 6 year old's question of "Why did this happen to me." She had been so acclimated to her environment that she didn't know that her life was the norm, and as is typical of a 6 year old, assumed the fault must have been hers.
We could speak in generalities, as we'd been taught. We also were not blind. We saw that the 6 year old was the caretaker for her two siblings. She constantly butted heads with beloved, as he was a full time SAHD. The phrase "The grown ups are supposed to take care of the kids; your job is to go to school and play, and keep your room picked up."
Much of the progress we made was undermined at every home visit where she would again be in charge of the siblings. It also didn't help that parental guilt drove the purchase of Mountain Dew and one pound bags of M&Ms. Sunday night and Monday mornings were the worst, as they would come off of the sugar high. This is when I'd get the most complaints about home made meals.
After these kids left our home, we got the feel that we had been watched to see how we handled the situation. Imagine getting a phone call asking how your charges are doing, and then hearing "By the way, they are going home in 2 days." They were not even going to let the 6 year old finish the school year. We managed to convince them of that, and it seemed that we were labeled after that. The next placement that came our way was several months down the road, although we'd constantly heard from other foster parents that they were getting frequent calls for placements. Can we say "black balled?"
Had we be kept in the loop, we could have helped make the transition a lot easier on the kids, and we ourselves could have had more time to mentally prepare. The lack of services available to the children and parents that need it the most is appalling. With this in mind, minimal funds should be spent on foster parent support, but there should be adequate training available--paid for either out of pocket or by donations. I would hate to see a dime that could go towards helping a child be taking away in the name of "training" a foster parent. Support groups, on the other hand, are cheap.
All most foster parents need is respite for a few hours. In my opinion, that respite should also be provided by the social workers. I have actually made this suggestion--it was greeted by hysterical laughter on the part of the social workers.
Um, DUH? While there are tons of studies available on foster children, the "system", etc, but virtually no one has looked at foster parents. Easy to understand, as the focus should be on the the children and the system designed to help them, however, it also highlights the fact that foster parents are thought to be outside of this system, instead of a part of it.
Our own experiences highlight this, as social workers talked around us and over us. It was made clear that there was information that was being held from us, information that included details of the conditions of the environment 'our' children came from. This is information that we could have used to help answer the 6 year old's question of "Why did this happen to me." She had been so acclimated to her environment that she didn't know that her life was the norm, and as is typical of a 6 year old, assumed the fault must have been hers.
We could speak in generalities, as we'd been taught. We also were not blind. We saw that the 6 year old was the caretaker for her two siblings. She constantly butted heads with beloved, as he was a full time SAHD. The phrase "The grown ups are supposed to take care of the kids; your job is to go to school and play, and keep your room picked up."
Much of the progress we made was undermined at every home visit where she would again be in charge of the siblings. It also didn't help that parental guilt drove the purchase of Mountain Dew and one pound bags of M&Ms. Sunday night and Monday mornings were the worst, as they would come off of the sugar high. This is when I'd get the most complaints about home made meals.
After these kids left our home, we got the feel that we had been watched to see how we handled the situation. Imagine getting a phone call asking how your charges are doing, and then hearing "By the way, they are going home in 2 days." They were not even going to let the 6 year old finish the school year. We managed to convince them of that, and it seemed that we were labeled after that. The next placement that came our way was several months down the road, although we'd constantly heard from other foster parents that they were getting frequent calls for placements. Can we say "black balled?"
Had we be kept in the loop, we could have helped make the transition a lot easier on the kids, and we ourselves could have had more time to mentally prepare. The lack of services available to the children and parents that need it the most is appalling. With this in mind, minimal funds should be spent on foster parent support, but there should be adequate training available--paid for either out of pocket or by donations. I would hate to see a dime that could go towards helping a child be taking away in the name of "training" a foster parent. Support groups, on the other hand, are cheap.
All most foster parents need is respite for a few hours. In my opinion, that respite should also be provided by the social workers. I have actually made this suggestion--it was greeted by hysterical laughter on the part of the social workers.
The Art of Procrastination
I'm feeling very productive today, as usually happens when there is the one thing on my to do list that I hate to do: Pay bills.
Paying bills creates anxiety like nothing else in my life. It stems back to a time when I had to decide which bills to pay, instead of paying all of them. Thankfully, that time was short lived, but the anxiety has carried over. I would love to be able to turn the bill paying over to beloved, however, the thought of giving up the control creates even more anxiety.
My solution is to procrastinate. Which, of course, is not really a solution--except that I get so many other things done that at the very least, 1/2 dozen little things get crossed off of my to do list. Today's done list (to avoid bill paying) included:
-grocery shopping
-breakfast with beloved (unplanned, but necessary do to a low blood sugar episode)
-Picking up items needed for our handyman to finish our downstairs bathroom
-cleaning the kitchen, including the stove
-doing dishes
-finishing laundry
-finishing paperwork from my workweek
-collecting items needed to mail to friends and loved ones
-mopping floors
-scrubbing a toilet
-taking down my holiday window stickies
About halfway through the list, a new "to do list" started to form. Since I really, really don't want to go out and about again because it's just too darn cold, I finally made myself log onto the computer. Followed by checking my facebook page, my favorite blogs and forums, I pulled up the bank page. Luckily, I was saved a bit by hearing the washer stop, one of the few times I was grateful to switch laundry loads.
After 1/2 day of procrastinating, I logged onto the bank site, and was darn near giddy by the account balance. The dissappointment that quickly followed was to be expected, as the balance will quickly deteriorate judging by the thick stack of bills.
I'm trying to be grateful, my BIL just lost his job. I have several jobs, and am getting calls to fill in. I could pretty much work 7 days a week, and have been. Following the bill paying, I have enough money left to pay the handy man, have gas for next week, mail my packages, and also had enough to pay 50% of what I owe beloved's school account. This was due to a January shortage and poor planning on our part, and the extra anxiety carried over to this month. I even was able to finish paying a couple of big medical bills. Very exciting stuff, anxiety reducing despite the final balance of the account. There's a wee bit of a cushion, and payday is next Friday. The final bills will get paid and we will officially be "caught up." I hope.
I always feel relieved when the bills are done, but just can't help putting it off.
I still managed to leave the cat boxes for beloved.
Next big one on the list: Taxes.
Paying bills creates anxiety like nothing else in my life. It stems back to a time when I had to decide which bills to pay, instead of paying all of them. Thankfully, that time was short lived, but the anxiety has carried over. I would love to be able to turn the bill paying over to beloved, however, the thought of giving up the control creates even more anxiety.
My solution is to procrastinate. Which, of course, is not really a solution--except that I get so many other things done that at the very least, 1/2 dozen little things get crossed off of my to do list. Today's done list (to avoid bill paying) included:
-grocery shopping
-breakfast with beloved (unplanned, but necessary do to a low blood sugar episode)
-Picking up items needed for our handyman to finish our downstairs bathroom
-cleaning the kitchen, including the stove
-doing dishes
-finishing laundry
-finishing paperwork from my workweek
-collecting items needed to mail to friends and loved ones
-mopping floors
-scrubbing a toilet
-taking down my holiday window stickies
About halfway through the list, a new "to do list" started to form. Since I really, really don't want to go out and about again because it's just too darn cold, I finally made myself log onto the computer. Followed by checking my facebook page, my favorite blogs and forums, I pulled up the bank page. Luckily, I was saved a bit by hearing the washer stop, one of the few times I was grateful to switch laundry loads.
After 1/2 day of procrastinating, I logged onto the bank site, and was darn near giddy by the account balance. The dissappointment that quickly followed was to be expected, as the balance will quickly deteriorate judging by the thick stack of bills.
I'm trying to be grateful, my BIL just lost his job. I have several jobs, and am getting calls to fill in. I could pretty much work 7 days a week, and have been. Following the bill paying, I have enough money left to pay the handy man, have gas for next week, mail my packages, and also had enough to pay 50% of what I owe beloved's school account. This was due to a January shortage and poor planning on our part, and the extra anxiety carried over to this month. I even was able to finish paying a couple of big medical bills. Very exciting stuff, anxiety reducing despite the final balance of the account. There's a wee bit of a cushion, and payday is next Friday. The final bills will get paid and we will officially be "caught up." I hope.
I always feel relieved when the bills are done, but just can't help putting it off.
I still managed to leave the cat boxes for beloved.
Next big one on the list: Taxes.
Monday, February 01, 2010
December 2001: Day one as a foster parent
Our world had forever changed in September, yet a few miles away the lives of three young children were falling apart. These young children entered our life in December, our first adventures in fostering. Ages 1, 2, and 6, they came with no manual. The two year old looked us in the eye and said "Fuck" over and over. The one year old tried to pull the dining room lights down.
That night, we laid in bed and listened to their nightmares. The 1 year old screamed in his sleep, the two year old cried himself to sleep, and the 6 year old tried to chew her lip off because she was so scared and worried about how we were caring for her siblings. We stared at each other through our own awake-nightmare. It was horrifying. This was not what we thought it was going to be like.
When you make the decision to become a foster parent, you do so to help a child in need. It's a selfless proposition. It's never, ever what you expect it to be. Foster parents are told by social workers that they are a part of a team. In reality, we are expected to feed, clothe, and in general keep the kids clean. We are expected to answer the social worker's questions about the children's behavior and school grades. We are expected to keep our noses out of everything else, simply acting as a chauffeur when asked.
We are not to act like real parents--we are "just" the foster parents. Therefore, we should not try to provide emotional support, other than generic kindness, to our charges. We are not supposed to provide any sort of therpeutic support. If I had known this was what I was up against with "the system", I doubt I ever would have wanted foster in the first place.
The years that followed found us in a constant battle with "the system" as we tried to find the best services available to help the children in our care. Consistantly, we hit brick wall after brick wall. Workers would move on and take new jobs and we found ourselves going over the same ground with new workers. We encountered many, many bad therapists, a few bad psychiatrists, and many, many bad social workers. Amongst those, we also found a few gems, a very few gems.
Ultimately, it was not the children who pushed us out of fostering, it was the professionals.
That night, we laid in bed and listened to their nightmares. The 1 year old screamed in his sleep, the two year old cried himself to sleep, and the 6 year old tried to chew her lip off because she was so scared and worried about how we were caring for her siblings. We stared at each other through our own awake-nightmare. It was horrifying. This was not what we thought it was going to be like.
When you make the decision to become a foster parent, you do so to help a child in need. It's a selfless proposition. It's never, ever what you expect it to be. Foster parents are told by social workers that they are a part of a team. In reality, we are expected to feed, clothe, and in general keep the kids clean. We are expected to answer the social worker's questions about the children's behavior and school grades. We are expected to keep our noses out of everything else, simply acting as a chauffeur when asked.
We are not to act like real parents--we are "just" the foster parents. Therefore, we should not try to provide emotional support, other than generic kindness, to our charges. We are not supposed to provide any sort of therpeutic support. If I had known this was what I was up against with "the system", I doubt I ever would have wanted foster in the first place.
The years that followed found us in a constant battle with "the system" as we tried to find the best services available to help the children in our care. Consistantly, we hit brick wall after brick wall. Workers would move on and take new jobs and we found ourselves going over the same ground with new workers. We encountered many, many bad therapists, a few bad psychiatrists, and many, many bad social workers. Amongst those, we also found a few gems, a very few gems.
Ultimately, it was not the children who pushed us out of fostering, it was the professionals.
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