When you aren't in the foster world, you really are ignorant to the "process" of what happens when a child is taken in CPS custody. I know I was. And I had the "luxury" of going through all those many hours of fostering class.
Even as a "mandated reporter" (which I am as a teacher), I didn't even know what happens in the world of Child Protective Services.
First of all, just because a parent is under CPS investigation does NOT mean the child is automatically taken away (hello, lawsuits). Anyone can make a report. Sometimes these reports are made maliciously.
For example, a friend of mine's bitter ex-husband decided she was "on drugs" because we went to Happy Hour one day with coworkers when her kids were visiting with him. He called CPS, and within 24 hours, she had to pee in a cup (she actually sent me the picture of the pee in the cup... she was mortified!) The pee collecting/testing staff there, used to less-than-stellar people, I'm sure, got all pissy (pun intended) with her because she got there minutes before they closed. She explained that AS A TEACHER, she had to work that day. When she handed over her urine, the staff member said to her in an oh-so condescending tone,
"And what are we going to find in here?"
She, being a BIOLOGY TEACHER, snapped back with,
"Chloride, sodium, potassium, creatinine, but mostly urea and water" (Note: all found in EVERYONE'S URINE)
Of course they found no drugs. I'm just illustrating that not all people who are investigated did anything wrong.
So, when a person is "under investigation," the first thing that happens is the CPS worker checks the kid out. Any bruises? Broken bones? You get it. They interview the child as well as family members and other kids in the family if there are any. This is done by CPS caseworkers (not to be confused with case PLANNERS which is what all foster kids are assigned by their various agencies).
Caseworkers go on a fact-finding mission and decide whether there was indeed abuse or neglect. More importantly, their job is to connect the parents with services to help them and their kids, such as SNAP if there was food insecurity or housing resources if that was an issue.
They are supposed to do this within 30 days.
If at the conclusion of their investigation, the caseworker determines that the child is not safe and needs to be protected, then the child is removed from his/her parents.
Before we label them the Big Bad Wolves, know that they do their best to keep the child in contact with his/her family. The family is asked to list three adults who can provide care and support the kiddo while the parents are working on getting the services they need. If three adults cannot be found by the family OR if the three adults are UNWILLING OR UNABLE to care for the child, then that's when foster care kicks in.
When CPS removes a kid, by law, they are required to have a court hearing within two weeks (it is usually much sooner, in my experience, but I also live in a smallish city of 65K people.)
The kiddo gets an attorney (attorney or guardian at litem: "for the lawsuit" for those of you who need to brush up on their Latin... I googled it...) whose job it is to have the child's best interest at hand. Parents can either hire an attorney or, more often than not, get one appointed by the court. If the parents aren't married, they usually get their own.
At this time, the judge determines whether CPS taking the kid was justified. If it was, the kid stays in foster care or kinship care. If it wasn't, the child is sent home with his/her parents.
If the kid is sent home at this time, obviously I am never involved. Remember my first placement call? I never saw that little boy because the judge returned him to his parents.
If the kid is put in foster care, then court becomes a regular thing. For Bram, we were at the court every four weeks for a status hearing on how Erin was doing. With Baby O and W, I only had one, but they were only with me nine weeks. For Joshua, we had them every six weeks additionally, and now only every few months. I guess it varies.
Again, before we demonize these judges, the plan is always to send the kid home with mom and/or dad. The only reason it doesn't happen is if they aren't following through with the classes and services. In Erin's case (Bram's mom), she got her shit together fairly quickly! This is not always the case...
Five to six months after a child is in foster care, there is the big mamba jamba of hearings: the permanency hearing. CPS has their own lawyer who presents in the progress of the parents. It is then decided whether the parents are stable enough to have their kid back (like in Bram's case), whether the kid goes to a family member (like in Baby O and W's case), or whether the child stays in CPS custody for the next five or six months until the next permanency hearing.
If a child is in foster care for 15 out of 22 months (and it doesn't have to be consecutive months), then CPS and the agency in question can ask for TPR, or termination of parental rights. This was what they were going for when I had that one court date for Baby O and W and their brother. Before TPR happened though, mom gave up custody to grandma. This is called surrendering.
Surrendering of parental rights is when the parent agrees voluntarily to give up these rights without TPR.
The more you know...
Nope, not just Dr. Phil is a mandated reporter. (How many times does he say that during shows anyway? Do we have to have to be reminded? We know, Dr. Phil, we know!)
According to the New York State Office of Children and Family Services, people in certain jobs are REQUIRED to report suspected child abuse or maltreatment. Um, as a responsible adult in the world, shouldn't this include everyone?
Ethically, I guess so.
But for these folks (including yours truly), it is a LEGAL responsibility. We can face civil and criminal charges if we "intentionally" fail to make a report.
Are you one of them? I hope you already know, but just in case you didn't...
If you are a social worker, you just might be a mandated reporter.
If you are licensed creative arts, marriage and family, or mental health therapist, you just might be a mandated reporter. Same goes for licensed psychoanalysts. (Does this mean if you are not licensed you are off the hook?)
If you are a physician, a surgeon, a dentist or dental hygienist, chiropractor, osteopath, optometrist, or podiatrist, heck, even if you work in a hospital and have anything to do with admitting, examining, caring for, or treating people, you just might be a mandated reporter. (Shouldn't they just say "doctor" and call it good?)
If you are a medical examiner or coroner, you just might be a mandated reporter. (Yup, you aren't exempt even if you are dealing with the dead!)
If you are a resident or intern, registered nurse, PA, psychologist, or mental health professional, you just might be a mandated reporter.
If you are a substance abuse or alcoholism counselor, you just might be a mandated reporter.
If you are a peace officer, police officer, or an EMT, you just might be a mandated reporter.
If you are a district attorney, assistant district attorney, social services worker, or even an investigator employed by the DA, you just might be a mandated reporter. (This one seemed fairly obvious.)
Here's where I come in:
If you are a school official, daycare center worker or family daycare worker, you just might be a mandated reporter. (I feel so OFFICIAL!)
If you work for or are even a volunteer with youth, child care, of foster care, you just might be a mandated reporter. (Again, fairly obvious.)
And lastly, if you are a Christian Science Practioner, you just might be a mandated reporter. (Uh, why was nothing was said about religious clergy... hmmm... why are we only singling out Christian Scientists? Are they known for their child abuse coverups?)
Note: when I said "you just might be a mandated reporter," I mean you absolutely are. You should know this already, duh.
Halloween! It is my favorite time of the year. I can still name all of Tiernen's Halloween costumes when she was little (don't ask me to name the ones she pics now). Even as an adult, I dress up every year for my students. I simply love it.
I was excited to dress up Joshua for Halloween.
At first, I was going to dress him up as Ron Weasley. It seemed like a no brainer: I love Harry Potter. He has red hair. I looked everywhere for a costume I liked but I just couldn't find one. Perhaps in the future...
Joshua looks very good in green with his pale skin, red hair, and shocking blue eyes. I wanted something simple and green. A frog? A turtle!
I searched for costumes, but again, everything was Ninja Turtles, and thought I love ninjas and turtles, I do not love Ninja Turtles. I decided I would make something.
I am not crafty, but I thought I'd try anyway.
I went to Primary which is my favorite clothing store for kids online. The clothes are in a variety of colors including black and gray but have NO logos. I love that. They are perfect for kids and babies. I bought one-piece green pajamas and a green hoodie (just in case it was too cold, even inside, for just the pajamas).
That was the "body."
For the shell, I did some online searching, ended up here, and did my best. I think it came out pretty well!
Being a foster mom isn't really all that different from being a mom.
Except you have no idea when the kids will be taken from you.
And you have no control over things like haircuts.
And you can't just go on a spontaneous trip out of state.
And you have to have your home, family life, history, medical background, and spirituality evaluated and questioned on an annual basis.
Other than that, it is exactly like being a mother.
When it was time for my re-cert, my new strong person (the previous strong person had left for another position in another agency) came and checked over our house. She asked us a million questions, and one of them was, "What do you think you do well as a foster parent?"
Honestly, if I thought I was a shitty foster parent, I wouldn't do it. I mean, it isn't like gardening. If I were a shitty gardener and all my plants died, boo hoo, I lost some money, my feelings were hurt, and they revoked my green thumb membership, but no one was hurt. If you are a shitty foster parent, well, you are fucking up someone else's kid who most likely came from a fucked up situation to begin with. If you think you are a horrible foster parent, um, don't be one. Obviously, we think we are pretty good at it. Duh.
I couldn't tell her all that.
I could tell her how I loved the kids in my home like they were my own, how we spent tons of our own money on them, how we took them on vacations and day trips, how we read to them each night, took them to the library for story hour, swimming lessons, etc. All this is true, but I don't know if that necessarily sets me apart.
Here's what does:
I'm really good about making connections with the foster child's family. I did so with Bram (we are friends with his family to this day). I have an ongoing text relationship with Baby O and W's grandma. And I was committed to connecting with Joshua's mom and/or dad when I got to meet them too.
I try to put myself in the other person's shoes. How would I feel if my child couldn't be with me? I, of course, would be a wreck! I make it a point to take and share a ton of pictures. I text when the child is sick, update on funny things they do or say, report about their milestones. I do this not only to the case planners but to the parents directly. I let them know that I am there for THEM as well and they can reach out and connect with me whenever they feel so moved.
I know I am not required to do this. I know that many foster families and birth parents have antagonistic relationships with one another. This is not the case with me.
I think I'm a pretty nice person and I don't want these parents to see me as the enemy.
This is my Foster Mom Super Power.
The next day on my lunch break, I called The Agency to try to get some information about Joshua. I was transferred a few times and then was given the number to his case planner. Her boss told me she was "very new," in fact, Joshua was her first intake client (all her others were already foster children at The Agency when she started working there).
I called and miraculously, she answered. She sounded very young, and from her last name, I knew she was Italian (bonus). When I told her my name, she asked if I was a teacher at Proctor. I told her I was, and she said she didn't have me (I knew that) but that she remembered me (most people do) and that she had friends who were in my class (small town, one high school, even though it is large). She graduated just two years before Tiernen. Crazy.
We talked for the entirety of my lunch break and she told me that she didn't have much information about Joshua, only that he was taken into care on Friday and that on Monday he needed a new placement. She said she was free that afternoon and asked if she could stop by. I said she could.
I asked about the voucher so I could get him clothes and supplies. She told me that they must still be with the former placement and that she would contact them and would get back to me. If possible, she said, she would bring them when she came to visit us that afternoon.
She came to our home after school with a Walmart bag and a case of Walmart diapers. This, I guessed, was the haul from the former foster parent purchased with The Agency voucher. Inside were onesies and several outfits for Joshua, all labeled with his initials on the inside tag. That would make it much easier to differentiate. They weren't exactly clothes I would pick out, but then again... not my baby...
She told me she had very little information: Joshua had been taken into care on Friday and place with a family friend. Because it was the weekend, The Agency hadn't inspected the home. When they did on Monday, they decided, for whatever reason, that the home wasn't up to standard. (I remembered the weeks we had spent getting our own house "foster ready." It was a big process. I didn't blame the family friend for not having everything that s/he needed. But apparently, it wasn't something that could be easily remedied, like installing smoke detectors in the bedrooms.)
While the case planner was there, her phone rang. It was, I surmised, the family friend.
"No, I'm sorry, that decision wasn't made by me... no, there's nothing that can be done... the house was deemed inappropriate... let me call you back because I'm at a placement right now."
Before our half-hour visit was over, she (I found out it was a she) would call another ten times. The case planner let it go to voice mail.
She had no information about Joshua's parents or why he was put into care. She told me that when she found out, she would let me know.
She left, and that was the second day with our boy.
Call me a terrible person, but the first thing I did was give Joshua a bath and change him into Nix-approved clothing. There is something about a baby in a jean jacket that just screams CUTE to me. I figured I would make him appear all socially conscious too and put him in a rainbow #LOVE shirt I had gotten when I took Bram to New Jersey in June.
Joshua didn't cry, but he seemed... shellshocked, like "who the hell are these people and what am I doing here." I didn't know if he was drinking from a sippy cup or a bottle, what his bedtime routine was, what brought him into foster care.
A quick read in "the binder" showed progress notes from former foster parent that said that Joshua was "getting used to" sleeping in a crib. Uh oh. Did that mean he hadn't slept in a crib before?
Tiernen was raised in the family bed, now known as co-sleeping. I'm all for it, but it is a big no-no in the foster world for obvious reasons. I'm okay with that, but how do you explain to a 13-month old who had only slept with his parent(s) that suddenly solitary sleeping was the way of the land. So, so many transitions in such a little life!
We gave him a bottle which he happily took. I didn't know if he had been breastfed, whether he was allergic to anything, whether he had food preferences. He had a full set of teeth, so I knew that baby food probably wouldn't be needed. We put him in the high chair and gave him portions of what we were having for dinner, and he ate it without complaint. He babbled on in baby talk that we did not understand. He called Darryl "dada" almost immediately and me "mama." (we soon learned that he called almost all women and men who were older than children mama and dada and still does). We figured Tiernen was too hard to say, so we had him call her T, like we had all little ones call her. (Only Miles has ever called her Tiernen right from the start, brilliant boy that he is!)
After dinner, we put him in his pajamas, read him stories, cuddled him, gave him another bottle. I had no idea how this bedtime thing was going to work.
We kissed him and hugged him and rocked him. He seemed very tired. We put him in the crib, the one that had been occupied by Baby O only ten days before, and said goodnight. He whimpered a bit, but went right to sleep. Poor baby.
We had absolutely no information about Joshua other than his name and birthday. We knew he was 13 1/2 months old because we had his birthday. He obviously had been walking for some time because he strutted around my house confidently, not with the hesitate wobbly steps of a novice. He came with a garbage bag of clothing and toys. I was told by The Agency that it was something that his case planner had thrown together from donations. She had guessed on his size. Everything was too big and very, very worn. He had shoes that were at least two sizes too big and they came off when he walked. This made me incredibly sad.
Where was the Walmart stipend so I could get him some new clothes of his own?
I washed and folded all the clothes he came with, determined to donate them right back to The Agency, and then I went into my clothing stash. I had tons of clothes that my nephew Miles had worn once and grew out of, so I wasn't worried about Joshua being naked, but these were clothing I intended to keep. I was wondering why he didn't come with the stipend kids new to foster care usually did.
Hmm. Then he must not be new to foster care.
Every foster child -- at our Agency, at least -- comes with a big black binder. In it is a permission letter for the doctor and others that says that The Agency has custody of the child and that we are the foster parents. It has medical forms that doctors fill out and that we return after each doctor visit (planned or emergency), emergency procedure forms, and places to note the child's progress.
I opened Joshua's file and noted that he was indeed new to foster care, only three days prior, but that he had been placed somewhere else before. There were charts filled out with his clothing inventory and a visitation log that the foster parent had filled out saying that Joshua had visited with his parents the day before.
This, I knew, was a big no no. Parents didn't get to visit their children in the foster parent's home until the parents were cleared to have unsupervised visited by The Agency. The foster parent was only allowed to be said supervisor once s/he was cleared. I doubted this happened. Clearly, the prior foster parent had been a friend or relative of the parents. In foster terms, this is known as "kinship care." Why then was Joshua still not with that person? Was the stipend given to him/her and if so, where were all the supplies that were purchased for him?
I called the on-call case planner because it was after office hours, but she could not help me. She said my best bet was to call The Agency in the morning and find out who his case planner was and figure it out from there.
So that's what I decided to do.
We settled in for our first night with a little boy who had no idea what was going on and was too young to have it explained to him.
Ten days passed and still no phone call. I stopped keeping my phone on my desk and obsessively checking my email. After ten months with having children in our house, I was resigning myself to the fact that we just weren't going to be called for a while, that our (my) restrictions of wanting a baby were just too rigid and that I had simply lucked out by getting called before for Baby O, Bram, and W.
For the past six years, I have worked as an English tutor after school and all summer at Upward Bound at MVCC. I like it. I get to work with motivated students who elect to put in extra work to give themselves an advantage in school. Most of my students are either refugees or who were not born in this country. All of them are first-generation college-bound low-income students. They inspire me every day. We have a 100% high school graduate rate and almost all of them go to college. I am honored to work with them.
I usually tutor two days a week after school, and I was doing just that ten days after Baby O and W went to live with their grandmother. It was a Monday and I had my second baby-free weekend and I was hating it. I was helping one of my students with her college admissions essay when the phone rang.
All my students know that I am a foster mom. I think it is important to spread the word, to tell them that I foster, to maybe get them interested in fostering themselves someday. Many of them have expressed interested and I do hope when they are adults and are settled into a career that they choose that path.
"Maybe it's The Agency with a baby for you," she said.
I smiled at her. "Probably not, but thanks," I said.
I reached into my backpack to shut off my ringer when I glanced at my phone.
It WAS The Agency.
I hesitantly answered the phone.
The woman in charge of placement told me that they had a little boy, 13-months old, who they needed to find a placement for immediately. I said, yes, yes, yes, we were interested, but I was at work and couldn't leave until 4:30 at the earliest, an hour later.
She asked me if Tiernen was home and could pick him up. I said I would call her and check.
I frantically called Tiernen. "We have a baby!" I shouted.
"Oh! Already?" She was more surprised than upset. I told her he needed to be picked up at The Agency immediately and that I would meet her at home at 4:45. She told me she would have to put a car seat back into her car because she had taken them both out when the boys went to live with their grandmother. I told her to hurry, hurry!
I called The Agency back and said Tiernen was on her way.
The next hour dragged on on on. I tried hard to concentrate on my student's admissions essay, but I was distracted. A new baby already! I was so thankful!
I knew nothing about him: his age and his name only. This is fairly typical of the information you get when you get a foster call. I had no idea why he was in care, how long he had been in care, or how long we would have him.
I danced around the Upward Bound office. "I have another baby!" I sang.
"Congratulations," the full-time staff said to me. When they realized I was very distracted, my boss let me leave at 4:15 saying, "go see your baby."
Before I even got to the car, I called Tiernen. She had just gotten home with him and was taking him out of the car seat when I called.
"So," I asked, "what does he look like?"
"Well," Tiernen started, "remember when Bram's hair started to grow and we thought that maybe he was going to have red hair?"
I said I did.
"Well, this one is definitely a redhead!"
Oh!
She snapped a picture of him and texted it to me.
There he was, a little orange-haired chubby boy with bright blue eyes.
Joshua.
Some of you may be wondering why I only refer to some of my foster babies (Baby O and W) by their initials while I actually name others (Bram).
There is a simple answer to this: I have permission to do so from their parents.
From here on out, if I actually name a child, it means that the child's parent/guardian knows I am writing this blog and gave me permission to use his or her name. When I use initials, it means I either don't have contact with the parent/guardian or I wasn't given permission.
So far, I haven't had any fosters with the same initials, so hopefully, this won't be an issue. If it does become one in the future, I will use some sort of nickname, I guess.
I mention this fact because I'll soon be writing about my next fostering experience and will be using the child's name and pictures. I have been given permission by his mom.
I get it. The waiting sucks.
I would say it is the worst part of being a foster parent, but really, that's a lie. The worst part is when they are going home, even when, in the case with my three boys, they are going home with family. You still miss the hell out of them. Even with Bram, who we still had contact with all the time, it isn't the same as having the kiddo in your house and caring for them on a daily basis. They aren't "your" kid anymore, plain and simple.
I've met other parents who have gone through the foster care classes who struggle with waiting for "the call." It is particularly frustrating when your home is open, you are willing and ready, you hear alllll these commercials that talk about how much there is a need for foster parents... why the heck aren't they calling YOU?
Here is an unofficial list in no particular order of things I do while waiting for "the call."
Take classes.
Most agencies offer ongoing training. For example, The Agency that we go through requires the initial 10 week MAPP training, but also requires 5 hours of ongoing training each year. This includes mandatory refreshers about giving out meds, etc.
There are also additional optional classes such as CPR, foster parent support groups, classes for dealing with schools, navigating the court system, etc.
Research your daycare options.
If you are planning on taking a child that isn't school age and you work, make sure you have your daycare ducks in a row. We get very little notice when "the call" comes. Yes, most agencies work with county organizations to arrange daycare, but this isn't immediate. There are waiting lists (especially for children under 18 months) that can be lengthy (upwards of a year sometimes!) Remember that any county-paid daycare, whether in-home or at a facility, must be licensed or it will not be accepted.
Make sure you have a back up! This is a good thing to arrange before you have a kiddie at home.
Organize your stash.
In our attic, labeled by size (newborn, 0-3 months, 3-6 months, etc.) we have baby clothes in storage bins from ages newborn to 2T. We put both gender clothing together and try to buy lots of gender-neutral clothing when possible. We also lump all seasonal clothes together for space purposes. When we get a call, we just go up to the attic, grab a bin, and bring down the clothes that fit that child. We also have boxes of diapers in every size just to get us started.
Take advantage of hand-me-downs.
Any clothing that you purchase for an individual child with the child's monthly stipend belongs to the child and will leave with them when they return home. This will NOT be a sufficient amount of clothing, and in our case, we bought tons of clothes with our own money that would stay at our home to be reused with different fosters. Take advantage of friends and family members who want to give you hand-me-down clothes and equipment and store them. We currently have nine car seats in three different sizes for each of our three cars.
While agencies require you to buy new clothing for the foster children with their stipends, I personally love to utilize children's resale stores like Once Upon a Child.
Be prepared.
After Baby O, we always make sure we have an unopened can of formula and a variety of bottles and sippy cups on hand. You never know when a call is going to come in the middle of the night. You might not want to trek out to Walmart in a blizzard.
Additionally, we have linens, clothes, toys, books, etc.
Connect with at least one other foster family.
No one understands what being a foster parent is like than another foster parent. It can be a stressful, depressing, frustrating experience. Sometimes you just need another foster parent to vent to because NO ONE ELSE UNDERSTANDS!
I was fortunate enough to make some very good connections through foster class that I talk to regularly. We share the frustrations and the joys of being a foster parent, and we vent away about The Agency, the case planners, CPS, etc. Believe me, this is essential to your mental health.
Join online support groups.
There are also a ton of online foster parent support groups. Two that I belong to are Foster the Family and the NY Adoptive & Foster Coalition, both on Facebook. There are so, so many more!
This is also a great way to connect to others "in the know." Sometimes, even if you are just lurking, it is a way to realize that you are not alone in this very lonely process.
Get familiar with WIC.
Most (dare I say all?) foster kids receive WIC, and it is expected that you continue with these services so that if/when the child goes back home, there is no lapse in their services.
Find out where your nearest WIC office is, research what each child is allocated each month, educate yourself about the WIC app, etc. For me, the biggest hurdle was getting over the WIC guilt, and I can't say I'm still completely over it. Every time I use it, I think, "This cashier thinks I'm poor!" or if I know the cashier (common when you have taught locally for 12 years) "This cashier thinks I'm milking the system even though I make enough money to afford this." It is a tangled web of guilt and embarrassment. I have to keep telling myself it is for the child and I need to get over it.
Know your alphabet soup.
CPS, DSS, CASA, TPR, BD, OHI... it is a confusing mass of acronyms that get tossed around in the foster care world that you are somehow expected to know (especially in the online groups!)
Learn your ABCs of foster care in sites like this one. Be ahead of the race!
Kid-proof your house.
If you already have kids, then maybe this will already be done. Maybe your kids are older though, or maybe they just know not to touch mom's special tchotchke on the coffee table. A foster kid won't know. You might have to put up baby gates (we have tons now). You may have to get your pets ready to welcome grabby hands. You might have to buy those little electrical outlet covers. There are a ton of things you just don't think of (at least I didn't).
Realize that these kids coming in might not know what is okay to touch and what is not. Until you teach them, it is best to make sure everything is safe as can be, for everyone's sake.
Confession: I disable all sound alerts on my phone and keep my ringer off 99% of the time.
I am one of those reluctant cell phone users. Honestly, I could happily live with a flip phone from 2005 as long as I could call and text, but between the mocking from Tiernen and my students, I don't think I could handle it.
If I get a text, I will answer it... the next time I happen to get to my phone. During the school day, my phone stays in my backpack until lunch (and sometimes until the end of the day). This is much to the annoyance of my department chair who might text me with something he needs from me ASAP... and I don't get it until 4:30 PM afterward.
It isn't that I hate my phone. I don't. It's just that rarely does anything come across that is THAT important that it warrants IMMEDIATE action and/or response.
I have had way too many students text me at the wee hours in the morning asking about assignments (via the Remind app; teachers, if you don't use this, you are crazy) to be woken up by the chime of my phone... nope, no sounds for me.
(Note: if students do text me and I'm already asleep, I will answer them when I get them which is usually around 5:30 AM, and I KNOW they are asleep then and ABSOLUTELY have their text notifications chiming away in their ears...)
This alllllll changes when you are a foster mother waiting for a damn placement call.
The Agency knows to both call AND email me on my school email. Suddenly, I tell my students I am waiting for a call from The Agency and I keep my phone on my desk, ringer ON. I check my email 9,000 times a day. I check to make sure my ringer is ON repeatedly, switching it from on to off to on obsessively making sure there is not a glitch. I refresh my email, again and again, hoping something will pop up.
Really, it is a sickness.
Once again, our home was empty. Baby-free. Back to the status quo. Just the three of us.
The house felt EMPTY.
It did, however, give me time to reflect: I loved being a foster mother. I loved having a baby in the house. It afforded us all the much-needed cohesion, common purpose, and group activity we all seemed to crave. Or so I thought.
We were out to eat. For me, it felt weird not to have a diaper bag, not to order from the kids' menu, not to ask for a booster seat or at least a high chair, when Darryl hit me with,
"I think we should take a rest from fostering for a while."
What???
"Yeah," Tiernen chirped in, somewhat reluctantly, "we could all use a break."
What what???
They both then went on to tell me how exhausting it was to have both boys (especially W) and how we had had babies in the house nonstop since December 27 (it was now the third week of September) and how "Just Us" would be nice for a while.
"And," Darryl added, "no toddlers. Our new motto is 'just one under one.'"
Part of me was pissed. First of all, Darryl was the opposite of involved in Baby O and W over the nine weeks they were with us. When he was there, he didn't change a diaper. He would bark at W for doing typical three-year-old things. Sure, NONE of us loved it when Baby O heard the screeching from the non-verbal autistic four-year-old next door and decided that yes, this was the perfect sound to emulate 24/7, but Darryl was particularly annoyed by it. Who was he to complain?
And the truth is, you never know with foster care. A child can go home and you can get a phone call four days later (like with Bram) or four MONTHS later. You never know. It's the waiting game. I waited a long time for that first placement. It felt like forever. Having an empty nursery for a baby that may or may not come... well, it feels like your baby died. (No, that's not fair of me to say. I never had a baby die -- thank God -- but it feels pretty shitty).
For me, that empty nursery was like losing a tooth or worse, having to get one pulled, when you can't help but poke at it with your tongue, constantly reminding yourself that it isn't there anymore.
Poke, poke, poke.
"Listen," I told them, "I can agree with the one under one -- " After all, I came into this foster thang because I wanted to mother a baby. " -- but if they call me with a baby, I'm accepting." You are going to have to deal with it."
They shot each other looks.
"And it might be weeks or MONTHS until we are called again. I just can't say no."
They reluctantly agreed.
Coming home was an odd feeling, anticlimactic in many ways.
The house was cleaner than it had been in months. The boys' beds were stripped and Tiernen had started washing the linens. I brought the toddler bed and mattress that W had used up to the attic. I put new linen on the crib. The drawers were empty. The toys were all put away, awaiting the next phone call.
Darryl was working nights, so Tiernen and I went out to dinner. It was the first time in months I hadn't had to bring a diaper bag with me.
I called Erin, told her how it went, and went over her house to visit Bram. I told her we would need to "borrow" him a lot now that the house was empty again. She laughed and said we were welcomed to have Bram time whenever we wanted. He was one now, walking up a storm, and was a big boy, so different from the baby who had come to us eight months before.
I called Darryl on his lunch break and told him how it went. He asked me if I was sad and I told him, honestly, that I was not. I was just really, really tired.
"Then go to bed," he said.
And I did.
I slept straight for the next seventeen, count 'em, seventeen, hours. When I woke up, my body was sore from being in the same position for so many hours. I got up, ate something, took a shower, and went back to bed.
There was no pressing reason to stay up. It was early in the school year and there was nothing to grade yet.
I went back to bed and slept for a long, long time.
I did not, however, feel rested.
In the days before the boys left, I packed their clothes (both the summer clothes and the new fall clothes I had bought) in two new duffel bags I had bought just for the occasion. I asked the grandmother what I should do with the two garbage bags of clothes they had come with, almost all old and ill-fitting and too small. She told me to throw them out or donate them, so I did.
I went through all the toys and separated what I had bought for Baby O and W and packed them from the toys and books I had purchased to stock the nursery prior. The grandmother asked for their schedule, and I sent her a detailed schedule of what their days looked like including meals, food preferences, bedtime routines, bath schedules, favorite books, etc. I packed W's bike, Baby O's favorite stuffed animals, his bottles, W's sippy cups, plates, and utensils.
I typed it all up and wrote my name and phone number and asked her to call if she ever needed anything.
I had work that Friday, my first full week back to school, and so the plan was to drop them off at The Agency where we would meet at 4:00. Tiernen didn't want to go, so she said goodbye to the boys before we left. Darryl was at work. I don't really think he said goodbye.
I packed up the car and put the boys in the car. When we go to The Agency, only one person, and not the case planner, was there. The grandmother wasn't there yet, so we waited. The staff member waiting was anxious to leave, looking at her watch repeatedly, and saying, "come on already, it's Friday."
At 4:40, the grandmother called and said she was in the parking lot. We walked to the car, and the staff member locked the door behind her unceremoniously. "Okay, have a good weekend," she said to me.
I walked the boys to the grandmother's minivan. I strapped Baby O into his car seat and W gleeful hopped in his beside him. I parked my car next to hers and began unloading all their gear. I gave the schedule and told her to call me if she needed me.
I kissed the boys goodbye and I never saw them again.
Even though Erin and I modified and extended the transition plan for Bram, The Agency had at least attempted to have one. They went from supervised visits at The Agency to supervised visits (by me) in my home to supervised visits by a case aid in her home to pop in visits by me to overnights. Little Bram at least had some time to get used to being in one home and then in another.
Such was not going to be the case with the boys.
Then again, it was with another case planner, the one who had me turn over Baby O like I was signing over the bill of sale to a used car.
The boys did not visit the grandmother in her home. She did not visit the boys in mine. She did not have time with them alone. And most importantly, they did not have time with their older brother.
The "plan" was that the older boy would go start to live with grandma on Wednesday and on Friday, the other two boys would move in. Within two days, she would go from zero children to three under nine years old, one with some mental issues and one with speech issues.
As soon as I knew that the boys were going, I started to talk to W about it.
"W, how would you like to go live with your grandma?"
"Okay."
He was not sad that he was leaving us, leaving me, the person he clung to and cried for and proclaimed to be "HIS MAMA!" He just accepted that he was leaving, like he did when I picked him up from the couple who had him before us. There were no tears or questions why or anything.
And this is the saddest of all to me, if you want to know the truth.
Baby O didn't know any better. He was a baby, and an easy baby at that. W has just so used to being sent from one home to another, he accepted it as a fact of life, like some days it rains and some days it is sunny.
I told him we could ask his grandma if we could still visit or talk on the phone or still go to the park. It held little interest for him. It wasn't that he was detaching and was angry at me; he still was as clingy as ever. He was just... used to moving.
Isn't that a damn shame?
So the very next day, I packed up the boys, and they went to their respective new homes.
Nope.
Not even close.
That's not how it works in the ol' family court biz.
W's father, while still doing "very well," was still testing dirty on his weekly drug tests. "I'm doing much better," he told me when I was dropping W off for a visit that the father didn't cancel for once, "I'm only smoking pot now."
Oh, I feel much better now.
The "grandmother" was planning on adopting the oldest and Baby O, but first she had to be made a foster parent (kinship, sorta... or at least that is what they were calling it). And before she could be made a foster parent, her house had to be certified and opened and all that.
This, too, took a long time, but I didn't understand why.
It was now two months that we had had the boys. School was going to start soon for me, and I needed to think about daycare, at least for W during the day. After trying to call for Baby O, I was unceremoniously told that there wasn't a snowball's chance in hell of me getting even part-time daycare for an infant (Baby O was 11 months old now). W, on the other hand, was easier. He was three-and-a-half and I found an opening very quickly.
I filled out the paperwork for the county, sent them to the case planner, and waited to hear back.
And waited. And waited.
Eventually, it was suggested by my friend, a veteran foster mom, to call the county directly to find out what the hold up was because the paperwork shouldn't have taken more than a week or two.
When I called, they said they had no paperwork. The case planner hadn't submitted it.
I called her, but I was told she was on vacation (again). I explained what was happening, and I was put on hold for a long, long time. The secretary was literally going through the case planner's desk, looking for the paperwork.
After thirty minutes, she came back, saying she found it on her desk and would submit it.
When the case planner got back from vacation, she told me she never bothered to submit it because she didn't think the boys would be staying that long. Um, yeah, thanks.
Eventually, we got W into daycare. He loved it. It allowed Tiernen to focus on Baby O during the day and it gave us both a break. When he got home, he was happy from a day of playing and wasn't as needy. He did, however, start to have horrible tantrums where he would hit and kick both me and Tiernen.
We loved them, but we were so very tired.
August became September. I took the boys out shopping and bought them long pants and shirts and jackets for the fall since they had spent the summer with me in shorts and t-shirts.
Two weeks after W started daycare, the case planner called. She said that even though the plan was for W to go to his dad, all three boys were going to grandma for the time being. She gave me a date: September 10.
After nine weeks, the waiting game was over.
I didn't know whether to laugh or cry.
After going to court once a month with Erin for Bram, you would think I would be an expert at it. But I was completely unprepared for the official-looking 50+ page report that was delivered to me one day in August.
It was a copy of a notice that was sent to the boys' parents from CPS. In it was outlined in great detail how the boys (all three of them) came into CPS custody, what the parents were and were not doing to get their children back into their custody, and the steps that CPS was taking. Court was in a week and was set to determine TPR "termination of parental rights."
I got to court, but unlike when I went with Erin, I sat alone, not knowing anyone. I saw the case planner, and she waved, but that was about it.
As the foster mother, I was allowed to sit in the gallery during the whole thing. I could see W's dad sitting with his court-appointed attorney (oddly enough, the same one that Erin had been assigned!) Then the boys' mother, clad in an orange jumpsuit, both arms and legs handcuffed, and surrounded by two gigantic armed corrections officers, shuffled in and slouched into her chair.
I immediately was so embarrassed. I don't know why. I just felt completely... out of place in this courtroom. This was REAL. Damn.
Everyone had to introduce themselves and their role. When I had to say my name and "foster mother," I turned to the boys' mother and smiled. I wanted her to know I wasn't the enemy here.
She wasn't even looking at me.
Before the CPS attorney (who, oddly enough, I knew from church) could speak, an attorney (not court-appointed) raised his hand and interrupted, introducing himself as the representative for both the boys' mother and a "close friend of the family," an older woman sitting on the other end of the room.
He said, "Before we proceed, I would like to make the wishes known for my client XX, mother of -- " and he named the three boys. "It is Ms. X's wishes that X and X -- " he named the oldest boy and Baby O, "be adopted by Mrs. X," he indicated the older woman, "a close friend and former foster mother of Ms. X."
The entire courtroom let out a gasp.
"Since when?" the case planner called out. "I spoke to her yesterday and this wasn't the plan."
"This is a recent decision," the lawyer said.
So basically, here's what happened: the boys' mother was giving custody of the oldest son and Baby O up to this woman who was NOT her mother but rather her FORMER FOSTER MOTHER. "The grandmother" wasn't even a blood relative. What the...
Then W's father's attorney piped up, "This does not include my client's son, correct?"
"Correct," the boys' mother's lawyer said, "when deemed feasible, W will be placed in the custody of his father."
Holy shit.
Unlike Bram, who saw his parents all the time, Baby O and W did not. It was my understanding that their mother was in jail, and although The Agency will bring foster children to the jail to visit their children, I don't think she ever requested it.
It had been determined through a DNA test that W and Baby O did not share the same father, and their mother either did not know or did not disclose who Baby O's father was. (um...)
W, however, did know his father and had lived with him at least for the first year of his life. He had visited him, apparently, on and off over his two years in foster care. About a month after the boys were placed with me, I was told that two times a week, for two hours, we would be required to drive W to his father's apartment where we would be met by a case aid who would supervise the visits.
When I was working, this meant that Tiernen had to bring both boys, drop off W, drive home with Baby O, wait, and then drive Baby O back to pick up W. It made napping and lunchtimes a nightmare because it was different times on different days. Some days it would be canceled and rescheduled for other days and other times.
At least once a week, W's father would call The Agency and cancel. This was rough because W was well aware of it. He would get excited for the visits. His father would make elaborate plans like picnics in the park and zoo visits...and then would cancel.
W would cry each and every time, and then I would feel so guilty, I would go out of my way to make it up to him. I would take him out, just the two of us, get ice cream, buy a toy, let him watch an extra 30 minutes of TV...
Still, according to the case planner, dad was doing "very well," and "complying" with everything The Agency wanted him to do.
Huh?
He couldn't keep two appointments a week with his child. That's doing well? That's complying?
The truth is, the bar is very low when it comes to bio parents, at least in this case. It didn't matter that dad tested dirty for drugs last week; this week he was clean: hurrah!
I just didn't get it.
I was almost relieved that Baby O was too young to realize that there were no visits for him. At the same time, it was heartbreaking that there were no visits for him.
Then I was told that since grandma would be taking them soon, she would be having weekly visits to get to know the boys.
It happened once.
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