Petty...

... but not Tom...

Maybe it was wrong.  Maybe it was petty.  Maybe I shouldn't have flipped out or made calls.  Maybe I should  have just let it be.  

But I didn't let it be and I did flip out and I did make calls.

The first person I called was my friend who had had fostered Baby O after I had.  


"The boys are with XX!" I cried, naming the family.

She, too, was shocked.  The last she had heard, the boys, all three of them, were with the other couple.  They had gone there at the beginning of March and this was the middle of May.  Why were they somewhere else?  She told me she would call me back, that she would make some calls.  In the meantime, she told me to call The Agency.

I did, but it was the weekend, and the only person I got was someone on call.  I tried to control the anger in my voice.

I explained that it was my understanding that Baby O and his three year old brother (let's call him W, okay, because typing "three year old brother" over and over is getting a tad tedious) were with yet another family.  I explained that it was my understanding that Baby O would be returned to me - his initial foster mom - if I had openings.

Now, I did have Bram, but they didn't know that.  It was "off the books" and as far as they knew, Bram was home.  As far as they knew, my house was empty.  Why didn't they call me when Baby O and W left their last home, especially since the eight year old  was NOT in the sibling set for who-knew-what-reason.

On Call said they didn't know anything about that and to call The Agency on Monday.

In the meantime, my friend called me back.  She told me that the couple that Baby O and W called The Agency and asked that the eight year old be removed because he was violent.  They did NOT ask for Baby O or W to be removed, but The Agency did anyway.  She said that the couple said that their time with the eight year old was "the longest five weeks" of their lives.  My friend was not surprised since she too had refused to take in the eight year old.  The Agency had not, however, removed the other two.  The only reason that they were moved was because she took back her former fosters.  

I made the calculations:  in five months, Baby O had been in FOUR different homes.  W had been in at least that many, since he was in foster care for YEARS before Baby O was born.  All of this seemed... just wrong.   Why hadn't they called me?

I furiously texted the new couple who had the boys.  In retrospect, they weren't to blame.  It wasn't their fault that The Agency called them and not me.  But at the moment, I was mad.  

"Those boys should have gone to ME.  I currently have NO fosters"  -- (a lie; I had Bram "off the books" five days a week) -- "and I am Baby O's original foster mother.  He should have come HERE!"

The woman, timid to begin with, texted, "I hope you aren't mad at me."

I told her I was not mad at her, but that she needed to know this:  I was calling The Agency on Monday to try to get the boys.

What a shady, shady bitch this whole fostering process had made me!