When you don't get "the call"

During this quarantine, I've started watching Hoarders.  There used to be a time that I couldn't do it.  Just watching a few minutes of an episode would literally put me in anxiety attach mode.  For days afterwards, I would fearful that I was a hoarder and that everything needed to be tossed out immediately.

Tiernen and Darryl both forbid me from watching it.

And for a long time, I didn't.

But now I've started again.  Watching, not hoarding.  Of those of you who know me or have been to my home, you know I strive for minimalism.  Long before Marie Kondo was at the height of popularity, I wanted to have a house that was clutter-free, with clean lines and all that happy bullshit.  

And for the most part, I've done a good job.  For someone who loves books, I have very few on my bookshelf.  It isn't that I don't read.  I DO!  It's just that after I read one, I give it away.  Very rarely do I keep books.  I probably have less than fifty total on my shelf, and those are the ones that are super important to me.  Maybe I like the idea that if I had to pick up and move, I could pack all of them in one or two boxes and still be happy.  Who knows.

Anyway, I don't fear that I am a hoarder anymore.  Now I watch it and think, "wow, I'm doing a damn good job." Sure there are things I could improve on, but that's anybody.

If I didn't already mention this, I have a lot of animals.  Prior to Misha's passing, I had six cats and two dogs.  I admit it is too many, and Darryl and I have both decided that as they pass, they won't be replaced.  The goal is two cats.  

But I do see myself having hoarding tendencies in one area that is also potentially dangerous, and that comes to babies.  I only had one biological child because a) I was single, b) I couldn't afford it, and c) I hated being pregnant.  But honestly, there was a time when I wanted to live on a farm in Maine and drive a Suburban and have six kids.  For a long time, that desire faded, but now, it's back.  Okay, maybe not the Suburban (gas hogs... can I have a really large Prius?)

When I find out that someone "gets a call" to foster a baby, I'm jealous.  It doesn't matter that I have two babies at home.  I want more.  Kaylie is almost 11 months old and the fact that in a month I am going to have to put the Baby Brezza back in storage makes me want to cry.

So you can imagine my delight when, last Monday, The Agency called and said they had a FIVE DAY OLD BABY that needed placement. I was giddy.  Giddy.  In my mind, I was planning on rearranging the bedroom so I could fit the pack n play in my room, like back with Baby N was here last year.  I was thinking of the newborn diapers and clothes I had stashed in the attic.  

I was literally putting on my shoes when I was overcome with hoarder guilt.  Yes, guilt.

Friends of mine (who I met when they became foster parents to Baby O and eventually W) desperately wanted a baby. They wanted to eventually adopt, and the goal, the dream, was to have an infant from the hospital, a newborn.

Here I was, two healthy, happy babies, and I was going to scoop up and hoard a third.

I felt extremely selfish.  

I was making plans to pick up the newborn when I said to The Agency rep, "I need you to call XXX first... if they won't take the baby, I will."  She was stunned... "Oh, okay," The Agency lady said.

I immediately texted my friends and said, "You are going to get a call.  Newborn baby boy.  If you don't take him, I will."

They took him, except him was a her.  They are in love with this little one.  I feel both great about it and horrible.  Does that make any sense?

I called Darryl on his break and told him.  He said that letting the XXXs take the baby was a good idea because they wanted one so badly.  She will probably be freed for adoption because her mother had other children in care and apparently there is some mental illness there.  I am jealous.  

Is it possible to feel really good and really bad about a decision you made?

Another foster friend told me it just wasn't meant to be and that I'm a good person.  Yeah, okay... still sucks though.

I made Darryl pinky swear me that the next time they call for a newborn, we can take him or her.  He said okay.  It's rare to get those calls.  I know this.

My friend sends me pictures of the little girl I almost got to foster.  I'm so happy for them, but I'm sad and selfish and stingy and grumpy and angry for me.

Does that make any sense?

Misha

On a Friday, during the third week of quarantine, my second oldest cat died.

I got Misha when she was six weeks old.  One of my students told me that his cat had had kittens and one was all black.  My cat Lurch -- whom I had gotten when I was 19 -- had just passed, and Viktor, my remaining cat, was lonely.  I guess I was lonely too, because I couldn't resist her little black furballness.  

She was always fat, even outside of the long hair.  She loved to sit on the scale (see photo) and we used to joke that she was watching her weight.  

She ran away once for six weeks when Tiernen was a junior in high school.  Tiernen was so upset, she broke out in hives and had to get IV steroids because the doctors were afraid she was going to go into anaphylactic shock.  

About two years ago, when she was 11, Misha started to get thinner.  I figured it was old age because Lurch was always fat and when he turned 13 or 14, he really thinned out.  When we went to the vet or our regular appointment, he said she had hyperthyroidism:  she would be ravenously hungry but would lose a ton of weight.  I was jealous.

Over the next two years, Misha got thinner and thinner. Meds didn't work.  Changing her diet didn't work.  She was hungry all the time and stole food from the other cats, from the kids, from us.  She ate anything and everything.  Again, jealous.

But she died.  We found her under the kitchen table. She was already cold when we found her so she must have passed in the night.  I hope she wasn't in any pain.

When we found her, I told Tiernen to take the kids upstairs.  Darryl was at work.

Except here's the problem:  the ground is too hard to dig a hole to bury her.  All the vets are closed unless it is a life or death emergency.  (she's already dead, so...)

So I froze her.  Yup, as gross as that sounds, I did.  I didn't know what else to do.  I went down to my basement and took all the frozen food from our freezer chest.  I wrapped her in a bag and put her inside a styrofoam cooler that my brother gave me.  She will stay there until it warms up and we can give her a proper burial.

If you ask Joshua, "What happened to Misha?" he will tell you, "she died."  He is two, so I don't know how much about death he understands.  He knows that the daddy died in The Good Dinosaur.  I don't know.

Once, Joshua asked me if Misha was going to be a monster now and get him.  I told him she would not.  He does not know she is in the freezer downstairs. 

But I do.  I pass it every day when I do laundry.  It makes me sad and it is morbid but I don't know what else to do...

Fostering during Quarantine...

Fast forward a lot of months.  Sorry to go out of sequence here, but there is so much to talk about...

Let me start off by saying that I love my job.  Let me also say that I love being a foster mom.  I love our fosters.  We've had Joshua for 19 months and Kaylie for 7 months.  

Prior to this whole work from home remote learning thing, this was my day:

I would wake up at 6, shower, dress, eat some breakfast.  I would wake up Tiernen and Darryl.  They would help me wake up both kids, dress them, brush teeth, give Kaylie a bottle and Joshua a quick snack.  I would go to work at 7:30 and Tiernen would take the kids to daycare.

I would teach from 8 until 3 and then work one of my after school jobs until 4:30 (tutoring English at Upward Bound two days a week and advising Proctor Cares crochet club the other two).  Tiernen would pick the kids up from daycare.

I would come home, make dinner, bathe the kids, and put them to bed (hopefully by 9 if I was lucky).  I would watch a little television, maybe waste some time online, maybe crochet or sew or work on this blog.  I'd review my lessons for the next day and go to bed by midnight.

It wasn't a perfect system, but it worked.

Then this damn virus happened and everything changed.

Schedule?  Out the window.  Suddenly I was a stay-at-home mom 24/7 with two babies who no longer could go to daycare.

Okay, cool.  I sort of wanted to be a stay-at-home mom for a long time now.  Here was my chance.

Laundry had never been so up-to-date.  Bills were paid way before they were due.  The house was always spotless by the end of the day.  I was cooking every night (buh bye to our once a week sushi take out meals, impromptu brunch dates, or quick bites at Dunkin.  Nope.  Meals were planned.  Closets were organized.  Heck, why not potty train Joshua while I was at it?

Except. We. Were. Stuck. In. The. House.

Yes, I've read all the literature about "think of yourself as SAFE in the house instead of STUCK in the house." I get it.  I'm thankful. I am.  But when you take a little boy who is used to playing with his friends every day and having a set daycare schedule and suddenly it's just you and mom and your baby sister, well... let's just say he's started to literally jump off the couch. Or table.  Or (insert unsafe piece of furniture here).

Then there is Kaylie who is crawling up a storm.  She wants to touch what big brother is touching or reading and playing with.  And he's not having it.  He hits her, pushes her, takes toys from her, you name it.  (and yes, you can say, "oh that's all siblings" but these are unprecedented times, my friends.  We. Can't. Leave.)  I can't take him to the park to blow off some toddler steam.  I can't take him to Billy Beez and let him pummel other children with soft objects just because.  I can't take him to the library for story hour or swimming or anywhere.  Walks are even out because this is central New York and it's still snowing and it's cold.

Oh, but let's not forget this fun fact:  I'm still working.  Remotely, of course, but working nonetheless. I'm working more hours and harder than I ever have in all my teaching life.  I am recording lessons (which can only be done when a) both kids are sleeping which equal around 1 am, or b) nope, only a.) and require me to put on a shower, brush my hair, get dressed WITH a bra, and put on make up.  (did I mention the two kids under three?)

Students are stressed to and they are emailing and texting me literally from 7 am (you'd think they'd sleep in) until 11 pm.  I'm not kidding.  I'm getting Google Classroom notifications on my phone 24/7 and I can't even see what they are writing unless I check my computer.  Parents are emailing me upset over grades.  Kids are freaking out and saying I'm giving too much work (yeah, too much for ME, not for them).  Did I mention less than 50% of them are actually doing it?  Yeah, there's that fun too.

I'm doing all this remote teaching while trying to watch the kids.  Yes, Tiernen is helping, but we try to each take a kid.  If I have Kaylie, it means I have to hold her or put her in the front carrier, which means I cannot type.  If I have Joshua, I have to watch him because he likes to write on the walls, furniture, my books, and himself with whatever writing instrument he can find.  

Did I mention that Darryl started a new job at the hospital and that he works 3-11 PM and most weekends?  Yeah, there's that too.  So I'm making meals while Joshua is screaming to be let into the kitchen and Kaylie is in the back carrier so I don't burn her.

I've never needed to go to the chiropractor more in my entire life.  BUT OF COURSE NONE OF THEM ARE OPEN.  Plus, at this point, I need something like this:

 I am totally going to text my chiropractor and tell him I will BUY the strap if he will do it!

Okay, I'm rambling now.  Here's the bottom line.

I can rock the whole stay-at-home mom thing.  I can rock the online teacher thing.  But doing it at the same time is really, really difficult. 

Really difficult.

(And it's times like these that I am very jealous and even angry at Joshua and Kaylie's mom for her freedom.  I know she'd rather have them home with her, but she also isn't a teacher...)

Another Call

The school year started and honestly, it was the best freakin' schedule I had ever had.  Life was good.  

I did, however, have terrible back aches, most likely as a result of carrying around an ever-growing Joshua.  Luckily, I was regularly seeing a chiropractor (who just also happened to be a coworker's husband, so yeah).  

One day, I was driving to see Dr. B when the phone rang.  It was Joshua's mother.  Now, while we have regularly texted over the year, we have never talked on the phone.  Maybe it is because of her age (I don't think her generation talks on the phone...ever).

But she was calling.  

I clicked on my Apple Car Play (because I'm fancy like that... and yeah, I got a $175 ticket for talking on my phone in the car, so there's that).  I didn't even get a chance to say hello.

She was hysterical.

"Rebecca, they're here and they want to take my baby!  They want to take Kaylie!"

"Who?"

"The cops!  CPS! They want to take her!  Well, they aren't taking her!"  I could hear her yell to someone, "You aren't taking her!"

I tried to calm her down.  CPS?  What happened?

"I'll call you back!" she screamed.  As she hung up, I could hear her talking to a man, "You're not fucking taking my baby!"

I was shaken.  I didn't know what was going on.  

I had barely caught my breath when the phone rang again.  This time it was The Agency.

"Rebecca?  Hi.  It seems like Joshua's sister is going to be in placement, and we need to know if you would be willing to take her?"

My mind was racing.  

For months when she was pregnant, Darryl and I had wondered whether we were going to have to take in this new baby.  We asked the Case Planner a million times if we should buy another crib.  She kept saying to be prepared.  But then when the baby was born and she went home to mom, we figured that door was closed.  Now they were calling.

You have to know, I couldn't really say no (not that I would have). Had I said no, had I said I wasn't interested in taking a four month old, they would have said okay (you are never forced to take a child when you are fostering) but then within a matter of days, they would have found a foster home that would have taken both Kaylie AND Joshua.  There was no way we were going to let that happen.

"Of course," I said, "but what happened."  

The Agency representative on call said she really didn't know, that she would call me with more details.

So I went to the chiropractor.  I was so tense, it was like adjusting concrete.  During the session, my phone rang and I had to jump off the table and take it (he knows I'm a foster parent and knows the deal... he's also a father of three little ones himself).  

It was The Agency again.  They said to pick up Kaylie at the office around 5.  Shit.

I called Darryl and told him.  He was not as shocked as I was.  He was more... resigned, I guess, like he knew it was a matter of time.

I called Joshua's Case Planner who did NOT know what was going on.  I filled her in with what little info I had.  I told her I was afraid that if Kaylie was taken that Joshua's mother would hurt herself. I really was.

I went on Facebook (not to talk about it but because I guess I'm conditioned) and the first thing that popped up was Joshua's mother LIVE STREAMING THE COPS AND CPS COMING TO TAKE KAYLIE!

WTF!!!

She was screaming and curing and addressing her FB audience, "Guys, they want to take my baby.  You're not taking my fucking baby!  I'm a good mother!"  

She streamed them reading the reason they were taking Kaylie.  She streamed her cursing at them (and her mother).  She streamed her saying, "You better make sure she goes to Rebecca!"

And that is how, one year and six days after we got Joshua, we got his baby sister too.

A Year with Joshua

And just like that, it was a whole year that we had Joshua a year.  It seemed unreal.  Prior to having Joshua, the longest we had ever had a placement was six months, and that was unofficially (Bram was technically only with us for four months, even though he stayed with us an additional two).  Even if we counted all of the time Bram was with us, this was double.

September 24 was twelve months that Joshua was in care. His mom was still having her visits at The Agency, even though they were pop ins (mostly unsupervised visits at The Agency where a worker pops in every once in a while to check on them).  She was not having visits at home.  She was not having overnights or anything like that.  Really, there had been no progress in the case.

Let's review "the law" according to the judge and Joshua's law guardian:

--if a child is in care 15 out of 22 months, then parents' rights are terminated (called TPR:  termination of parental rights) and the child is freed for adoption.  The foster family is always offered the first option to adopt the child.  Of course we would.  We loved him.  

Joshua had been in care 12/12 months.  He was with us half his life.  He didn't remember living with his parents.  He only remembered us.  Sure, he enjoyed his visits with his mother, or at least I assumed so (I wasn't there), but she posted videos on Facebook and he seemed happy enough.  At the same time, he never asked for her, never cried for her.  His visits with her were like playdates.  I wondered if he'd miss the if they stopped...

Joshua's law guardian also told us that TPR could be filed if the child was in care 12 out of 12 months.  And he was. 

December would be 15.  Would TPR happen?

When we went to court every few months, the judge would look at his mom's progress and say, "do X, Y, and Z and we will review your case next time."

It's shitty, honestly, and not because of the torture it puts on me or on the bio parents.  It's torture for the kids.  Could you imagine Joshua going home after all this time?

I don't know if I wrote about Grandma Cindy, but our neighbor who LOVES Joshua told me, "if he goes home, that's it, you aren't fostering anymore!  I can't keep getting attached to these kids!"

Me neither, Cindy, me neither.