Foster Care Sucks

Yesterday I posted an entry about the more heartwarming side of Foster Care, but today I just don't have it in me.

It's 11:15pm and I've just spent the past two hours trying - in vain - to calm my foster son *Jason down.  He went to bed at 8pm exhausted after a long day which I'll get into later, and soon after woke up screaming.  I got him back to sleep, but every time he dozed off he'd jolt back awake in terror.  

Now, it's my opinion that *Jason has some sort of undiagnosed sensory processing disorder.  His doctors have hinted at it, and his special education teacher is working with him on his sensory seeking behavior.  But without a diagnosis to Google (let's just be honest about Dr Google okay?  We all do it.) and in the absence of anyone taking the time to figure out what Jason's challenges are, I'm basically parenting by instinct.

Which sucks.

Added to this is the fact that my caseworker is perhaps the worst communicator on the face of the planet.  No really, she is.

I send one weekly email update for *Jason, and it serves three purposes:

(1) A written record of behaviors and patterns.

(2) To show that *Jason is getting the services the State has provided and is attending medical appointments as needed.  (This is also known as the "I'm doing my job" purpose.)

(3) To remind the caseworker that he exists.

This sounds harsh, I know, but I have sent SIX weekly updates complete with important questions about his care and have never gotten a reply or answer to a single question.

At the one month mark I called up my certifier to discuss this.  I made it clear that I hadn't gone to the caseworker's supervisor yet because I didn't want to get her in trouble, but that I was frustrated with the lack of communication.  The next day I got a voicemail from caseworker saying that she would be better at responding to my questions.

That was the last time I heard from her and she still hasn't answered any questions.

So today was a long day because he had his weekly 3 hour visit with mom.  

And just like every other week he left for the visit a happy boy and returned angry and upset.  He threw his dinner across the room, had multiple tantrums, and no amount of calming him down or hugs or a warm bath or anything made him feel better.  He's speech delayed so he can't tell me what he's feeling or express himself.  And now I'm up trying to console him and prevent him from waking everyone up with his screams.

And this happens every week after visits.

And in a few days he's back to being happy *Jason.

... Just in time for the next visit.

I don't want to be that person that takes the stance that these visits aren't in his best interest.  I'd much rather assume that it's returning to MY home and not staying with his biological mom that is setting him off.  But given what I know about the case history and what I know about how *Jason responds to things, I just don't think that's true.  I think he's reminded every week of the neglect and abuse.

It's heartbreaking, and frustrating, and exhausting to sit up with him like this.

It's moments like this where Foster Care sucks.  

I'm angry at this whole system - 

That more isn't being done to help *Jason thrive and that I don't have the tools I need.  

That my caseworker is either so overworked or so apathetic that she's never available.  

That every week I send him off to visits knowing that he's going to come back even more traumatized than when he left.  

That I can't have a conversation with him about how he feels because he can't speak the words, and yet he's only receiving the bare minimum of speech therapy despite my complaints. 

I always try to see the bright side of things and today I just can't.  

There isn't a bright spot here. 

And don't be fooled - I'm not the bright spot.  

Him being here, in our home, isn't the bright spot.  

That 'I care enough to sit up with him' isn't a bright spot.  

That's the least I can do to comfort a three year old child stuck in a system that isn't serving him.

Having someone hold him through his nightmares is a mere bandaid on a broken situation.  

It barely even registers as a flicker.

Foster Care sucks.

Christmas Stockings in September

Foster Parenting changes your life in obvious ways. Rearranging car seats to include the newest child and lengthening the time it takes to finish the bedtime routine because there's another bath to take and set of teeth to brush.

These day to day things are expected.

But at 2am when I'm nursing my baby by iPad light and perusing Christmas pajamas, I realize just how unknown the future is when fostering.

We are currently caring for two toddler boys that came to us from separate families in crisis. They are polar opposites all the way from their complexion to their personalities and temperaments, down to the way they respond to discipline and rewards. They couldn't be more different but I love them both very much.

I braved Costco on Saturday with all five kiddos (Hannah, William, Logan, *Jason, *Sawyer *not their real names) while Chris was at work. Chaotic, yes, but once everyone was in the shopping cart and we were walking the aisles it was great. They found these toy Tonka trucks that lit up and had sounds, and the three toddlers (aka Musketeers) couldn't decide which ones they liked more.

I immediately noted that they'd be great Christmas presents, and could envision three trucks with big bows just sitting at the bottom of the tree as the boys ran in on Christmas morning. The excitement and noise would kick the day off with a burst of joy.

But my excitement was quickly tempered.

The thing about fostering is that I have no idea what tomorrow will bring.

Just as I don't know when to expect a call about a child that needs a safe home, I don't know when my current kiddos will leave. It often happens when you least expect it.

So when I'm flipping ahead in my calendar and making notes, there's always a tentativeness to my plans.

Will they spend Halloween with my family or theirs? Thanksgiving? Should I buy them matching pajamas to open on Christmas Eve, or a stocking with their name on it to hang on the mantle?
 Or will they have those with their bio family?

It's such a frivolous concern when there are such huge questions looming over these children and their futures. The caseworkers and lawyers and parents are all making big decisions for these little boys.  I just want what's best for them - be that mom or dad or adoption, I'll let the courts take everything into account and decide.

So while I don't have much say in what happens in the future, I do have the opportunity to make sure they know Love every day they're here.

When I order Logan's Christmas stocking I'll order their's too.
When I decide on a set of family jammies to open after church and before hot cocoa, I'll order their size too - And if they leave before they have a chance to use them, well then I'll lovingly tuck them into their suitcase alongside the note for their mom about how much I loved their son and what a blessing he was in my life.

and I'll cry, just like I've done in the past.
and I'll stay up nights worrying and praying for them.
and I'll answer the phone the next time a child needs a home
and I'll do it all over again.


Because that's the thing about being a foster mom:  These children are amazing.  They deserve to have someone up late at night planning ways to make them smile and feel loved - and I hope, I hope from the very bottom of my heart, that is exactly what their mom is doing while she works to get them back.  However, I learned a long time ago that the only person I can control is myself.
So regardless of what everyone else in *Jason and *Sawyer's life is doing, I'm up at 2am in September picking out their Christmas stockings, because if they're here on that magical morning, then I won't have them feeling like anything less than a loved member of our family.

Lessons From The Playground

Most of you know that Chris and I have recently become foster parents.  I've been discussing this new journey over on my YouTube channel, so if this comes as news you can catch up here (Foster Care Playlist) and hear about our first placement here (1st Placement).  Recently we provided 5 days of Respite Care for a 4 year old boy.

Respite Care: Respite care refers to one foster family caring for another family's foster children for a short amount of time. This allows for the children's original foster family to have a break. This type of foster care is especially helpful when foster children have behaviors such as seen in many therapeutic foster homes.

Before I get too deep into this story I want to tell you about something that happened a few weeks ago.  I took both kids grocery shopping and it was a great outing - they listened, we laughed, they were helpful - I walked out of that store loving my kids and feeling like I had this Mom thing figured out.  I put the groceries in the car while Hannah buckled herself into her car seat, and then I went to put William into his driver's side car seat.

As I lifted him out of the shopping cart I noticed a mom and her teenage son walking towards me.  The boy had the start of facial hair and looked sullen with his head down.  I thought nothing of it, in fact he looks pretty much like the typical teenage boy stuck grocery shopping with his mom on a Saturday.  She slowed to open the trunk - turns out they were parked next to me - and put the groceries in her car, but he kept walking.  She called after him and asked him to wait (I was trying to buckle William in at this point and help Hannah adjust her chest clip) but he kept walking and proceeded to open the car door forcefully into my back and got into the passenger seat.

Normally I would have been annoyed.  If I was having a rough day I might have even had a dirty look or a few choice words for the son (and perhaps even the mother if I was really looking for a fight), but I was in a great mood and it didn't phase me.  The mom rushed over apologizing profusely.  "He has autism.  He doesn't even know you're there."

I could see it in her eyes, she was trying to beat me to the punch by explaining, but was braced for judgement.  I smiled.  "No worries.  He's fine.  No harm done."  I tried to convey everything I felt with that smile - not pity, just understanding from one mom to another.

On the drive home I thought about that mom, and since that day I've continued to think about her.  I wonder how many times she's had to apologize like that, how many times she's been met with judgement instead of kindness.  I've never been so thankful to have been in a good mood.  She unknowingly reminded me that we're all just doing the best we can and a smile and some understanding goes a long way.

Fast forward to our respite care placement with Travis* (name changed to protect privacy).  He was fairly new to the foster care system.  He'd been with this family for 6 weeks after he was found wandering the streets in a diaper.  Yes, he's four years old and not potty trained.  He also didn't speak more than a few words.  From what I understand he's on a waitlist for a pediatrician that might give him a diagnosis other than neglect.  I suspect (strongly) that it might be Fetal Alcohol Syndrome.

Regardless, he was a perfectly sweet little boy.  When you sat with him you could see his deficits: His voice and hands had tremors which made talking and eating difficult.  He could build anything with legos, but couldn't understand interlocking puzzle pieces.  He was friendly and kind, but he also didn't understand personal space and would often get in Hannah's face and wouldn't stop when she asked nicely - or when she yelled not so nicely - for him to back away.

But on the playground he looked like any other 4 year old.
He had limitless energy and loved going down the slide.  He made friends because he was so outgoing and nice.  He ran and played for an hour without the smile leaving his face once.

I took Hannah, William and Travis* to the park and everyone had a great time.  William tired first and so I sat on the bench next to the other moms and he sat on my lap as we watched the big kids play.  Then it happened.

Travis went down the slide and his shirt flipped up in the back.  As he ran around to the ladder his diaper was visible above the waistband of his jeans.

"Is that boy wearing a diaper?!" exclaimed one mom.
"He's not potty trained yet? That's just lazy." muttered another.
"I wonder what's wrong with him.  Maybe he's slow." posed the third.

I was frozen in my seat.  Stunned silent.  Flabbergasted.
I wanted to call them out for their judgments and point out that he's a little boy that's been through hell.
I wanted to ask them if they'd ever changed a 4 year old's dirty diaper.  Honestly, it's gross.  It's much easier to be a 'lazy' parent when your child is potty trained.  I can't remember the last time I put Hannah in a pull up or diaper.  Life after potty training is a breeze comparatively.
I felt so judged as his 'mom'.  I wanted to advocate for him.  I wanted to hug him and protect him from their words even though I knew he hadn't heard them.  I wanted to pause that moment and have time to figure out the best way to handle this situation.
Instead, as calmly as I could I said "His name is Travis, and he's doing the best he can."

I stood and collected the kids and we went home.  Hannah exclaimed "This was the best day ever!" from the backseat and Travis* asked "We go back?" and I told him we could return tomorrow.  Inside I felt defeated, and sad, and slightly proud that I had said something instead of letting their judgement continue.

A week later and I'm still not sure what I should have done.  Travis has since returned to his foster home, but in many ways I'm still back on that playground.  Thinking of those moms, of all the children like Travis*, of the future foster children I'll care for and the judgements they'll receive.

I suppose I wrote this to remind you to smile at the mom, for an ounce of kindness goes a long way, and to be mindful of your words, for they carry more weight than your realize.

“I have learned silence from the talkative, 

toleration from the intolerant, 

and kindness from the unkind.” 

~Khalil Gibran