Sunday Confessional, June 6

Forgive me GodAllahBuddha, for what I am about to confess…

But I am secretly glad that BioMaMa and BioGranny look like they do (missing lots of teeth, bad skin, bad hair... as my mom used to say "rode hard and put away wet"), because it is a visual reminder of the life that my daughters can choose to avoid if they so desire.

Add your own confessions below, because getting it off your chest is really good for you!!

Nine Years Ago Today...

Nine years ago, we drove from one side of the state to the other and back in a day. On the way there, we were anxious, nervous, and suffering the adoptive parents' version of labor pains. We had painted all the second hand furniture the colors she picked out. Purchased bedding in her favorite PowerPuff Girl motif. Got some random toys and books. And packed som things to do in the car.

Would she like us? Would she be as bad as the kids we'd heard stories about? Did she really want to be adopted? How much did she remember about her life with her birth family? What did she think about the tall bald guy and the short fat lady? How much of her heart was left untouched?

On the way home, we were beyond anxious. Terror. Sheer, blinding, brain-numbing terror had set in. I couldn't think of a single open-ended question to ask the little brunette with the sad brown eyes watching me in the rearview mirror. So there was a lot of awkward silence.

Since then, I have learned the answers to these and so many other questions. She does not like us. She is worse. Ambivalent. Too much. Suckers! Not much at all.

Since then, we've gone from expecting high school graduation and some form of after high school education to hoping she at least gets to go to prom before she drops out or is kicked out. We've gone from looking forward to her getting married and having a family to making plans to take custody of a child from her should the unthinkable happen and birth control fails. We have given up mentioning our kids around people who have successful kids. It's hard to compare the happenings of probation and mental health court with academic decathalon, honor roll and soccer goals.

"Yay sweetie! You didn't cut yourself or anyone else this week! Good for you! Let's see if NEXT WEEK we can convince that soap is not the devil and make you not stink!"


As mentioned in a few posts, we met BioMama and BioGranny last weekend. One of the stories BioGranny told us was of a visit to a court ordered psychiatrist shortly before Leigh and her sisters were taken again. Apparently, Leigh was covered with bruises from head to toe, where BioMoms evil boyfriend kicked and beat Leigh for falling asleep when she was supposed to be standing in the corner. Leigh told the shrink that they didn't hurt because she liked it when he paid attention to her. BioMom chimed in, "Yeah, he used to beat and kick the hell out of her." (And she probably didn't feel the pain, or at least not for long. We got her when she was six. It wasn't until about age eleven that she started to actually experience physical pain.)

BioGranny then said, "You must be doing somethin right for her to be as normal as she is, because she's always been crazy."

Insert whatever your outrage statement and/or sound effect is. I used a lot of them over the weekend. Repeatedly. Then I just sort of began relying on old fashioned cussing.

But I digress. Today is the ninth anniversary of what we have tried to celebrate for nine years---- Gotcha Day. A kind of bonus birthday to celebrate the day we got her. Today, I paid to have a second set of holes pierced in her ears. This in an attempt to get her to stop poking random holes in her ears.

Happy Gotcha Day, Leigh. I love you. No matter what. Always and forever. My number one job is to keep you safe. I sure wish you'd help us out with that sometimes. Have we helped you fix any of those holes in your heart? Do you still need the angels to watch over you?

Still, so many questions to answer (and most of those are statements or ideas we've used over and over with her). Maybe this time next year, I'll have more answers.

No Shows

So at about 4:15 this afternoon, as I'm getting ready to have the hair color rinsed from my head, the day care calls to tell me that the caseworker never showed up to pick up the babies for BioMaMa visit today. I am upset by this. First, why is it that no one bothered to tell me until NOW that the babies--who were supposed to be picked up at 2 PM--were still there.

Second, what the heck is happening?

I never delete a phone number from my phone. If you call or text me, consider it saved. Forever.

That being said, I have saved several numbers of random caseworkers over the years. There are a very few caseworkers who answer their phones. Knowing who they are is helpful, especially because social services didn't spring for caller ID.

I called the first such one to find out who our caseworker du jour is. (The babies have had NINE since January. And her last day is next Friday.)

All foster homes are supposed to be assigned to a caseworker to monitor their "home." "Home" meaning certifications, placements, stipends, etc. I don't know the last time we had one of those.

Anyway, I called my go-to phone-answerer to find out who to talk to about the complete lack of communication today.

Her very honest answer is, "I don't know. We have so few people working here right now that no one really knows who's doing what." (Thanks to furlough days, crazy caseloads, low pay and a hiring freeze.)

So I called the assistant director.

She actually knew what was going on. BioMaMa has not checked in and no one could confirm that she'd be there, so they didn't pick up the babies. And then she didn't show up for the visit, so it was just as well. For them.

I had my wonderful former student/professional hair stylist, rinse me off and send me out the door with wet hair, so I could go get the babies, and still make the rest of the day. Hair Stylist was horrified that I had to leave unstyled, which is proof that teenagers do grow up, because I can't remember her ever finishing an assignment when she was my student. Everything takes longer with babies, so the rest of my day has bitten something smelly, and left me wondering.

I wonder what would have happened had I been across town at 6 PM as planned, when the day care called to find out why I hadn't picked them up?

Luckily, I was running late, and was still nearby. Since social services decided that we shouldn't drive them to and from visitation, I try to cram as much into that three hour block as possible.

Luckily, the day care director realized that the girls were still there and called me.

Luckily for all of them I was too tired to really get my grouch on.

(Side note--we offered to drive the babies to and from visits, but this didn't help justify someone's job so they told us they'd handle it. I know. I *know.* Don't get me started on another sidebar.)