So. After working myself up to send Sunny home, we met with the kids’ attorney yesterday.
I can’t go into any details but let’s just say things are not clear cut about a return at this time, and for some pretty good reasons we hadn’t been aware of or thought through. The attorney – a very good one – threw the proverbial monkey wrench into the mix.
We have court next week and I’m dreading it, body and soul. To be clear, I’m not dreading the outcome – I’m at peace with whatever of the several potential outcomes happens. I’m dreading the fireworks that will likely happen between agency and attorney and being seated in the midst of the crossfire. Discord makes me deeply uncomfortable. It’s part of why I hated being an attorney.
All that to say, foster care is a hell of a rollercoaster of emotions and expectations. I’ve been reminded not to count on anything before it actually happens. You’d think I know that by now! But clearly I can still be surprised.
I was chatting with an old friend last night, and he mentioned that foster care seems to be full of challenging emotions. Boy is that an understatement.
About a month ago, the agency was telling us they wanted to have Mama surrender her rights to Sunny and have us adopt her. We were more than happy to adopt her, but we in good conscience felt like we had to tell them that Sunny still hopes to go home. So Seth told the case worker that during her home visit a couple of weeks ago.
Without any further discussion, the permanency hearing report just arrived in our mailbox, and to our shock, it stated in no uncertain terms that they intend for Sunny to go live with the rest of her siblings with her uncle, and for that transition to happen ASAP. It contained some, erm, inaccuracies about the history of how Sunny wound up with us, which irked me. And my initial reaction was fury that we got blindsided by a document that was submitted to the court and they didn’t have the courtesy to discuss it with us first.
In the interim, there was a very contentious court hearing about Sunny and Sprout’s older sister. We sided with their attorney against the agency. I can’t help thinking their lack of courtesy in communicating with us about this change in plans relates to some sore feelings on their part about how that hearing went. Perhaps I’m wrong. Good heavens, I hope I’m wrong.
Anyway, this morning I had a conversation with Sunny about her going home. She brought it up because today is a visit day and she gets to see her whole family. She said in no uncertain terms that she wants to go home, and now. No doubts. No hesitancy.
It helped convince me the agency is probably right, even if their handling of the situation came across as petty.
I don’t know what will happen and when. I know it’s now very likely Sunny will be leaving our care and joining her uncle. He’s a lovely man, who adores his nieces and nephews, and I have no doubt he’ll do his absolute best by Sunny, as he is doing with the other kids.
Sunny will lose out on some things by going home. But she’ll gain back immersion in her native language and culture, which is immeasurably valuable. She’ll be with more of her family.
Her education likely won’t be nearly as good is my guess. Right now she’s in a tiny district getting immense amounts of one-on-one attention to get her caught up, and I fear she’ll get lost in a large urban district that previously had her in a “life skills” class instead of academic education. Now she’s reading, so hopefully they won’t make that mistake again, but it makes me wary that they were ready to write her off previously, when she’s perfectly capable of attaining literacy. I can only hope they’ll actually implement the IEP that our district has so carefully crafted for her, knowing that often city districts struggle to do so.
She’s too young to understand the benefits of a good education, or for that matter, anything else she’ll miss out on by leaving. But I am certain that if she stayed she’d resent us and being here. Her heart is set on home.
It’s also very important to note that every study on family separation seems to conclude that keeping kids with their families is what’s best for the kids if it’s safe and appropriate, and in this case, I think it will be. This is especially the case where the child is from a different cultural background, which Sunny is.
So while my heart is aching with sadness about “losing” this kid who has been with us more than a year and who is thriving here, my head gets the importance of her return home. It sucks for me, but that’s what I signed up for.
The part that makes me saddest is that Sprout will grow up solo, without Sunny in her daily life. While they do fight a lot, they also adore each other, and race to hug each other after school or other separation. Sprout will be reduced to seeing her sister once a month at our visits 2 hours away, and that just seems so lonely for Sprout. But if we are to do what is best for Sunny and if that is going home, Sprout’s loneliness and missing her sibling is just a casualty of a shitty set of circumstances.
That’s really what this is. A shitty set of circumstances without good answers. I just hope we are getting things as right as possible as we wade through our complex emotions and rely on the information we’ve gleaned from research about family separation.
I have to do it. I have to support Sunny’s return home. I truly believe it’s the best option for her.
We’ve been foster parents for almost 8 years, always in the same three bedroom house. Well, now a four bedroom house!
There’s a master bedroom, and that’s stayed ours all along. But the other two bedrooms on the second floor have gone through a million different permutations.
Kiddo was our first foster kid, and she immediately snagged the room that was pale blue. At that time, it looked like this:
The front bedroom
I’d decorated so things were fairly neutral, and could work for a variety of kids.
Kiddo stayed in that front bedroom for a long long time, even after she’d gone home. It stayed Kiddo’s room because she visits regularly, often spending weekends with us.
Sprout’s rooms
When Sprout arrived as a wee almost two-year old, she went into a toddler bed in the other bedroom – the one with a purple rug. By then, that room had had 5 other long-term foster kids in it, and several short term fosters. It too started out fairly generic. Neutral walls, yellow decor to try to balance out the purple of the rug. It had gone through a twin bed incarnation, a crib one, and toddler beds.
The back bedroom
It stayed Sprout’s room for a while, but eventually, we rearranged things again and put in bunk beds so Kiddo could share with Sprout and we could use the front room for a teenager: Miss Kicks.
Back bedroom, incarnation 6, I think. Kiddo on top, Sprout on bottom. Closet space is tight for two in that room.
After things blew up dramatically with Miss Kicks and she vanished seemingly into the ether, we put Kiddo back in the front room that had originally been hers, (Musical bedrooms! Whee!) and Sprout got her own room… until Sunny came.
Then Sprout’s room got a second twin bed added and Sprout and Sunny shared the room. (We couldn’t keep the beds bunked because of the girls’ disabilities so cut the bunk down and bought a second twin bed.)
Sprout’s half of the room with Sunny
A new room for Kiddo:
Finally, Kiddo decided she wanted to move to the attic. It was an out-of-the-blue pronouncement. Ours was a semi-finished attic with fun eave closets and a built-in-desk to rival all others. It had been my office for a while but had gone back to being just storage.
We readily agreed to make a 4th bedroom upstairs for several reasons:
1. We needed to separate Sprout and Sunny
2. It would be very cool tween bedroom space
3. We needed to separate Sprout and Sunny
4. It would add value to the house
5. We needed to separate Sprout and Sunny.
Those two sisters get along way better when they have lots of time apart. They’re excited to see each other in the morning and after school, but argue roughly 80% of the rest of their time together. Ha! They’re polar opposites, like my sister and I were.
Anyway, we built a wall, and redid half the attic to create a 4th bedroom up there for Kiddo. It was designed solely for Kiddo to her specs, and turned out pretty magical!
Hand painted clouds by Miss Holly, per Kiddo’s request, Banksy art, and the most comfortable recliner ever to have been madeBuilt in desk and shelves, with my original old portrait of our Basset hound “Slimy” over itWe even dressed up the window ledge. Kiddo loves rocks and gems.
Once we were sure Kiddo was happy upstairs (I can’t say “once we finished her room” because we still have 1/8 of a wall to finish building and a door frame to install…) we then let Sprout choose: did she want to stay in the room she shared with Sunny, and have Sunny move to Kiddo’s old front room? Or did she herself want to go to Kiddo’s old front room?
Sprout immediately opted for Kiddo’s old room.
The front room’s incarnations:
The front room has hosted Kiddo, Miss Kicks, the 3-day-old infant whose nickname I can’t remember who we had for 2 months, Little Dude, and now Sprout.
How it was when the newborn little guy and I shared it for 2 months
It’s really a sweet little room, with the curtain I’d originally installed for my meditation space surrounding the twin bed and adding charm. But the paint is a little the worse for having had 5 foster kids in it, especially Miss Kicks, who was hard on furniture and walls. It’s also faded in spots, as blue tends to do, and is just… generic. I tried sprucing it up with artwork but it somehow just looks like I put leftover artwork from other rooms into Sprout’s room. Which is kind of what I did.
The bed. Winnie the Pooh is a wise bear, but not gothic enough for SproutIt’s very girly. And Sprout can be girly – she likes twirly dresses. But at her core she’s a shade darker. Ha!
It just… it isn’t HER.
So I should not be surprised that, when asked if she wanted anything for her upcoming adoption, Sprout immediately asked for a “Spooky Bedroom! Pleeeeeease Mommy?”
She’d recently seen this gem of a gothic nursery, the link to which had been sent me by a wise friend. And she is a child obsessed.
I should explain that this kid is into all things spooky. She already has skeleton bed sheets and a skeleton hanging in one corner of her room. But she loves ALL THE SPOOKY THINGS, (or at least likes them in theory – she screams when she encounters spiders in real life). She likes bats, and spiders, and all of everything to be black. She likes skeletons and pumpkins and if she could just have pumpkins in black, please, she’d probably be even happier.
Sprout giving her daily “I’m home from school” hug to the inflatable ghoul she named “Bob” when she was 2. Note the white streak Sprout insisted on wearing in her hair that day, a la Morticia Addams.
I’m not entirely sure how we got here. Surely some of it is positive reinforcement from me because I love Halloween and gothic things too. But this tot has loved Halloween the best of any holiday since she first discovered Halloween was a thing at age 2. She tells me year round what her next Halloween costume choices are, and goes for all black clothing year round too. This is her favorite season. That’s all there is to it. And she thinks spooky things are hilarious and endearing at the same time.
One of her favorite tees, year-round, artfully paired with combat boots and a pleather jacket.
So. In honor of her upcoming adoption, (so far the November date is holding!) we are redoing Sprout’s bedroom to make it gothic. She and I sat down and spent an increasingly hilarious afternoon finding gothic items she loved on Amazon and creating a list for her. Her taste, it turns out, is entirely her own. Each of the items she picked is different from what I would have picked!
The walls shall be:
Steeple Gray
The curtains shall be:
Spooktacular! Bats and skulls!
I’ll change out the curtains around the bed to all black too. My friend C got her this light, which is very Edgar Allan Poe and oozing with Sprout charm:
This thing kills me. It’s so cute!
But my single favorite item that Sprout picked out?
Awooo!
I can’t handle how cute it is that she wants a moon-howling werewolf in her bedroom. She loves this thing hopelessly!
Truly, when I say we had a blast making her list, it is not expressive enough phrase. We laughed and shouted and she did at least a dozen “OMG I love it” dances. Ha! This kid is something else, through and through.
We still have lots of stuff on the list to get before we can make it official and do the surprise renovation, but I can hardly wait. Seth is on board, and we shall start the renovation and try to get it all done while she’s at school one day. I’ll have everything unboxed and ready and hidden ahead of time. Seth will paint, I’ll remove Winnie the Pooh quotes from the walls, and together we’ll meet somewhere in the middle.
Until then, keep dreaming of your gothic fairy tale, Sprout, and keep being undauntedly yourself!
The subject of belonging came up for me recently when I listened to a We Can Do Hard Things podcast called “Being Left Out: Navigating that Lifelong Ache.”
In the episode, Glennon, Abby, and Amanda talk about the need for feeling like we belong, and how fundamental that feeling is to our survival. In essence, humans are social beings, and not being a part of a group during our evolutionary past would mean not having ready access to food and shelter and other collectively gathered necessities. So to us humans, the feeling of belonging is incredibly fundamental, and triggers a part of our brain related to survival. If we are excluded, that part of our brain actually feels like we are now going to die for lack of resources.
I experienced a little buzz of belonging this afternoon, and immediately recognized how important it felt, even though it was a little thing that doesn’t matter that much in my life. I bought myself an abaya to wear to the girls’ mosque, and both girls now have abayas that I’ve hemmed to the right length and well-fitting hijabs, so we all turned up looking like we actually belong at the mosque. I got approving looks and nods from various mothers of kids who have seen me on past weeks, and the woman who runs the place and the Imam both complimented me with a smile and verbal appreciation of my effort. I felt a bit glowy as I left, and it made me think of the podcast. I’m so glad they can see my effort and hope they see it for what it is: a gesture of respect for their faith and way of life.
That got me thinking a bunch about Sunny in particular. I think the poor kid doesn’t particularly feel like she belongs in our home.
It’s different for Sprout. Sprout arrived here when she was less than 2, has been here 3 1/2 years so has developed along with us, and has all sorts of personality traits that fit in with our family. I remember thinking on her third or fourth day here that she fit right in! She loves the outdoors, loves books, is silly in the same way my husband is, and now I know she loves fashion and dark Halloween-y things like me, too.
By the time Sunny arrived, Sprout was “one of us.” It had already been 2 1/2 years that Sprout had been with us. For Sunny, the language was new (she spoke mostly Burmese), having a lot of furniture in a house was new, our English food was new, having many outfits was new, etc. It was a total whirlwind for her. She adjusted incredibly well and quickly to most of it which is a testament to her adaptability and strength, but the very fact that she had to change so much about herself must have been breathtakingly hard.
She’s been with us a year and a month. Her English is really good compared to where it was. She’s used to some of the luxuries we take for granted now. But she was 8 when she was taken from her home and all she knew, so she remembers the details of her old life well, and she’s still keenly aware that her old life and new life are wildly different.
In some ways I think Sunny is afraid to fit in well here for fear that will mean she no longer fits in well in her old home – the home she longs to return to. In some ways she doesn’t want to fit in, and rightly so. She’s Burmese and Muslim. We are not. And she’s proud of those things and needs to hang onto them.
We are doing our best to keep her in touch with her faith through Arabic school on Sundays and making sure she turns up looking the part, but it hardly compares with the daily Arabic school she would receive if she were with her other siblings. We cook our best version of Burmese food for her on occasion but not every day. We drive from here to kingdom come for her to visit her family twice each month so she can speak Burmese and be immersed in her familiar culture, but a few hours twice a month is very, very little.
There is absolutely no way for us to be as authentic as what she comes from. We are, by definition, very white and “English” (meaning non-Muslim). Those are things she doesn’t want to be. And therefore she feels in many ways like an outsider here.
I’ve noticed that Sunny fibs a lot when Kiddo is around. It’s nothing major, it’s just little stretches of the truth or exaggerations so that she can “me too” Kiddo when Kiddo talks about something. It’s been annoying me but I haven’t said anything to her about it because I hadn’t figured out why she was doing it. But suddenly after listening to that podcast I get it: she wants to fit in and belong anywhere she can, and a feeling of belonging with Kiddo is one way to achieve that feeling. It’s also the case that Kiddo has been part of our family almost as long as she can remember and has a lot in common with us as a result, so having Kiddo around might accentuate the feeling of being an outsider for Sunny.
I don’t know how to make Sunny feel better. It’s true that she’s the least like us of the kids, but that’s mostly because she was older when she got here, and has developed along with us less than the others have. She has fewer memories with us. She has fewer tastes in common with us. She hasn’t been to all our usual haunts yet or experienced all our music yet. We’re working on that by making lots of new memories with her and the other girls.
It doesn’t help that she has some challenging behaviors that come straight out of her traumatic experiences, so she gets a lot of feedback that isn’t positive. I have got to get better at couching “correction” within positive feedback. In fact, I need to couch all correction within positive feedback whenever I can.
Here’s an example of what I mean. Even stupid little things like, instead of “please put the eggs away when you’re done with them,” I can say “I love that you’re so enthusiastic about cooking that you made eggs. One thing though, can you please put stuff back after you cook? That would be very helpful for me.”
It’s a lot of effort to couch correction within positive feedback, and when I’m tired and overstimulated and sick of girls wrecking my house or sick of girls arguing with each other, there will be times when I can’t make myself do it. But even if I can do it some, it will help with self esteem and with feeling less like she’s being singled out more than the others, which currently, she is.
Time may help a little too. She’ll grow to have more in common with us as we develop more shared memories.
But I worry like crazy that, if we wind up adopting Sunny, she’ll resent it. That she’ll always feel like she doesn’t quite belong with her adoptive family. It’s a common enough experience among adoptees if adoptee TikTok tells the truth, and I think it does. It doesn’t lead to good outcomes and is a source of ongoing and lifelong trauma for the adoptee. The thought of that breaks my heart. Like all adopters, I want to think of myself as a “good” adopter. But my need to think of myself in those terms needs to go out the window because what’s way more important is how Sunny actually feels. And if she always feels like she doesn’t belong, I’ll have played a huge part in creating an ongoing trauma for her.
It’s important to note that it’s not that Sprout doesn’t experience trauma from being separated from her family of origin and feeling like she doesn’t belong, but it’s diminished some, I think, through her feeling that she “belongs” in our pre-adoptive family.
Am I doing some things right for Sunny? Yes of course. Am I doing some things wrong? Yep. Can I do better? Yes. I can. I have to. I may not be able to prevent the ongoing trauma that comes from feeling like she doesn’t fit in, but I might be able to diminish it even a little through better parenting and therefore I’m obligated to do so.
In the end, it still may not be enough, and we are all potentially going to have to learn to live with that and cope with it and work our way through it as best we can.
Foster care is hard. Adoption is hard. Feeling like we “belong” is hard, sometimes even within our families of origin, much moreso in families we share no genes and less history with.
Sprout’s parents’ rights have been “terminated.” Her mother surrendered her rights, and her father’s rights were terminated recently and he didn’t appeal the decision.
That means Sprout gets a new adoption case worker. In this case, it’s a worker we know and love. She was Miss Kicks’s case worker, and while that situation ended in fire, we adored her case worker through all of it.
The case worker came to our house Friday and announced that she wants to have the adoption take place on National Adoption Day, which is November 18, 2023. That’s just two months and a mountain of paperwork away!!
Now, the case worker cautioned that things can always go wrong. But we have a good attorney, and when I contacted him on Saturday to tell him the good news and ask if he was on board with an adoption date that soon, he assured me he is, and that he’ll get the papers drafted this week.
We already have selected folks to be our references: the neighbors and friends and pastor we reached out to all immediately responded that they’d be honored to help. I passed their names and addresses to the case worker already, so we are officially on our way!
I have some mixed feelings about doing the adoption on National Adoption Day. I was expecting a quiet private ceremony with little fuss. We would then leave it up to Sprout to decide if she wants any kind of gathering and what that will look like.
National Adoption Day in our county, though, is a big fuss! It involves lots of judges, multiple counties, balloons, ceremony, and fun at the downtown convention center. It’s just not what I’d pictured. That doesn’t make it bad, just different. I suspect Sprout will be enthusiastic enough about adoption that she’ll love the fuss, but I can see it being a bit much for a kid who is on the fence about their adoption, like Sunny may possibly be if we get there.
Speaking of Sunny, it’s looking increasingly like adoption is where we are headed. We all have mixed feelings about it. Sprout sometimes wants to adopt Sunny and sometimes wants to send her home, depending on whether they’re getting along. And while Seth and I love Sunny tremendously and recognize that she’s in an excellent situation here academically and medically, we also recognize that her staying here means she’ll lose out on her culture a great deal, and will be sentenced to always missing her family.
In contrast, Sprout has been here since she was less than 2, desperately wants to stay forever, and can’t wait to get adopted by us. So I guess if one kid’s adoption was going to happen on National Adoption Day, it should be Sprout’s!
If it happens on November 18, Sprout will have been in foster care for 1311 days. Or 3 years, 7 months, and 2 days. Or 43 months and 2 days. That’s a damn long time. It is time this was wrapped up.
My spicy 5-year-old had the chutzpah to announce this morning that she’s been telling her friends and her teacher that our house is “dirty.”
There’s lots to unpack around that.
First, she comes from a truly dirty house. Her Mama is not a good housekeeper, unfortunately. So though Sprout was referring to our house (I confirmed with her), she may have shame around the state of her Mama’s apartment which we still see on occasional visits.
Second, she hates our house because it’s old and quirky. When we visit newer homes she always exclaims how beautiful they are, even if they’re messier than ours. She likes new houses the way I like old ones.
Third? Who the heck knows. She’s 5. And as my friends have been reminding me this morning, kids are not very reliable witnesses to much at that age.
I confess I did not handle her announcement well. It wasn’t just that she thinks my house is “dirty,” it’s also that she’s told her teacher and friends that.
I used to work and bring home the larger salary and when I did I wasn’t so sensitive about the state of my house. It was messy a lot. I didn’t have time nor inclination to clean regularly and didn’t. I shrugged about it and cleaned for company and called it good enough. The art supplies lived on the kitchen table for weeks, the books built up in a tower next to my bed, and the dog fur gathered in occasional tumbleweeds.
Now though? I feel like I’ve lost all professional identity I ever had, and am still struggling to figure out how the hell I contribute to my household and the world now that I’m not working, especially since I live in a society that shames women for not being “productive members of society” when they are stay-at-home moms. (Yes, the shame is reverse too – there’s some shaming for women working while parenting as well, but having done both, I’m finding the shame around not working much harder to bear.)
I’m especially sensitive right now because I just spent almost 2 weeks scrubbing the shit out of my house. It’s my annual back-to-school scrub down. I’ve scrubbed light switches and walls, I’ve dusted and vacuumed, I’ve purged and organized, and I’ve deep cleaned bathroom and bedrooms. The house is neat as a pin, smells good, and is literally as clean as I can make this old house.
My mantel My personal art/writing nook The “pet” nook, and yes, “pet” includes the Monstera. Even the playroom is respectable!
Well, ok, I could use to borrow my Dad’s power washer again because I’m a bit afraid of this rug, but at least nothing shows on it…
I love this beat up old rug but ew. It needs a bath.
To boot, I’ve been feeling wicked proud of the state of my house after said deep cleaning! It looks and feels good to be in. It’s still lived-in and loved, but it’s clean and neat.
However, all this has made me realize it’s time for my kids to start with chores for three reasons: 1) self esteem, 2) learning to do household work, and 3) learning to appreciate what Mommy does all dang day.
So, I’m looking to YOU, dear readers, for age appropriate chore suggestions and ways to implement them. Dishes are kind of off limits because of their heights – there’s just too much they can’t really reach well.
So far the 🌶️ one just earned herself the chore of keeping the bathroom sink clean from toothpaste because she specifically complained about that. And the 9-year-old is good at taking out trash and emptying waste baskets. And both will now be responsible for washing placemats after meals, and making their own beds in the morning. But any other ideas some physically small kids can handle would be great!
Ever since Sunny came to us and we realized the importance of Islam to the girls’ family, we’ve been searching for the right Muslim community for them. We tried a mosque by the university, but Sunny didn’t have a good experience there and begged not to go back.
We asked their family for ideas but they couldn’t name a person or address for us. We asked Sunny’s therapist for help but she came up empty handed. I eventually asked my friend S who legit knows everyone in Syracuse. Within like 24 hours she had a name and phone number for me.
That was in the spring. I didn’t call the woman she’d found because I suck, and because I didn’t want another thing on our overwhelmed summer schedule. I promised myself come fall and the start of school again, I’d sort it out, and the girls would start a new Islamic education program.
So last week I dug the phone number out of my old messages and called. At first the woman I spoke with thought I was selling something – ha! – but she quickly understood what I was asking about and invited the girls to come to their education program this weekend.
Today was the day. I got my hijab on and the girls put theirs on and we went to the Center. The woman I’d spoken with was incredibly gracious, and kept looking at Sunny. Eventually we mentioned Sunny and Sprout’s older sister (who looks remarkably like Sunny!) and it clicked for her. She knew their sister, and remembered Sunny, and remembered Sprout as a tiny baby!
The Center is an incredible place. It’s very unassuming and unlabeled on the outside, and inside the carpet is well worn and the seats have been sat on a lot. She said something like 200 kids go through there on a given weekend for the education program. They are mostly from refugee families, as the area of the city where the center is located is filled with refugees. There were other Burmese kids there, as well as kids from Syria, Sudan and about two dozen other countries. It’s beautiful in its diversity.
The woman explained that the Center is crucial for the community in that it provides everything it can for refugees in need, from food and clothing, to furniture and toys, to dishes and transportation. What a priceless resource for a community in need!
Absolutely everyone we met was lovely to us. We stayed for the first hour, then left the girls to adjust on their own for the rest of the time. Apparently Sprout got a bit overwhelmed at one point and cried, but Sunny reported Sprout settled in pretty quickly.
The only downside to the entire lovely afternoon was the person with Issues who was wearing a big cross necklace and standing outside the Center screaming at the children, “Peace before war!” Who screams at children, regardless of their prejudices?! The leaders quickly shooed the kids inside to safety and the screamer left. But honestly, it was a good reminder for why there’s no signage saying the place is a mosque. The vandalism risk alone would be sky high. It’s so sad, especially when it’s a place that is doing so much to help so many people.
As we left, the woman who runs the education program gave the girls a little gift bag. Inside were two little bracelets, some washable Crayola paints, and a hijab for Sunny. She gave me a hijab too, which I appreciate tremendously. The fabric of the one she gave me is infinitely less slippery than the one I kept trying to put back on my head today!
Anyway, my big question now is, do I take the girls out of school a little early on Fridays so they can attend prayers at the mosque? My understanding is that a lot of members of the Burmese community attend, including folks who know the girls. Do I do it once a month? Every other week? Every week? Not at all? I’m trying to weigh the importance of every minute of educational instruction against the importance of their cultural and religious identity. When I asked my friend S what to do, she suggested I ask the kids. So I think I’ll take them out of school once or twice then check in with them to see what their preference is.
I’ll tell you I’m biased toward doing it at least once a month just so they continue to have that connection to faith and community. Even if they groan and moan and complain about having to go to Islamic school, they’re going to go, because one of the most common complaints I hear and read from adoptees is that they weren’t connected to their culture of origin. So even if the girls don’t appreciate it now, I suspect they will someday. And if they choose to leave culture and faith behind as adults that will be up to them, not me. I won’t make the choice for them by neglecting to expose them to their culture and faith.
I’ve taken 2 out of 3 kids to the fair so far. One was Sunny and one was a family friend who is 13. A good time was had by all except me, and I survived, so that’s really what matters.
The highlights of it were as follows:
1. Sunny discovering the new Asian Village:
Sunny, whining: “I don’t want to leave the rides! I’m not done!” Me: “Tough noogies. I’m done. And I want to see the new Asian Village.” Sunny, sulking: “Fine. Just fine.” 5 minutes later we cross through the gates of the new Asian Village, and Sunny exclaims: “Ooh Ooh! I have to see everything here! This feels like home!”
I cried. Like the perimenopausal mess I am.
Yet again: representation matters, folks.
2. Our family friend exploring the Pride booths at the Fair, which were plentiful. She was decked out in some fun rainbows, and she got a zillion free buttons and stickers and a warm welcome from everyone at every table. It made both of us happy to have her feel like she belonged.
I’ve got Sprout left on Monday. Shoot me now. More lines, more people, more loud noises. I tried using Loop Earplugs, but found they blocked out so much noise they were disorienting and gave up. So far Loop Earplugs are good when I’m a passenger in a noisy car, but that’s about it. I have discovered that I need two full days of rest after one fair day before I’m ready to go again. I only took one before I went with our family friend and holy cow it wiped me out! I could barely walk by the time I got home, and I lay in bed wondering how I’d managed to wreck myself quite so badly.
Agency Drama
My last post was about some, erm, issues we have been having since our old case worker left. In short, I’ve been having trouble reaching the new case worker and getting answers to important questions.
I’ve made progress in that I’ve finally talked with the case worker’s supervisor while I was at the fair with Sunny. She was irritated that I’d made a fuss about no one calling me. It was a slightly terse conversation and she defended her staff to the hilt. Okay, whatever. I appreciate her loyalty to her staff but an apology that I’ve had a difficult time would have gone a long way.
I’ve also finally had a conversation with the case worker, about a week and a half after I first called to get answers to important questions. She was finally up to speed on the case but didn’t really have many answers for me.
Around the same time, though, a visit happened. So, background: the agency has been taking Sunny and Sprout to their parent and sibling visit in a city an hour away. It’s a happy medium between where we live and where Mama lives. This has been the routine for many months because twice monthly visits are court ordered. Seth and I do one in Mama’s city and the agency has been doing the other visit.
Well suddenly this month they decided they were only taking Sunny and not Sprout because, according to them, they’re only legally obligated to take Sunny now that Sprout is legally freed. I had a devastated Sprout on my hands and therefore an angry Sunny. At one point Sunny asked me for permission to say a bad word, and I gave it to her. She took a deep breath and said “This is fu**ing stupid!” I couldn’t have said it better, my friend!
So in future I’ll be driving both kids for both their visits each month just so Sprout can go and not be sad about being left behind. I’m pissy about it but adamant.
I mean honestly, why don’t the kids = the priority at all times? Why do they seem to be the last thing anyone thinks of?
The good thing though, is that the agency worker who did the driving for Sunny’s visit is a feisty woman with a lot of experience and respect at the agency. She saw how long this case file has been open and determined then and there to get the case resolved so the children can get permanency. She kind of lobbed some grenades around and blew up everyone about the case’s status. She talked with the commissioner of the agency and some other head honchos and is making rapid progress on all sorts of issues.
Do I love everything she’s doing and saying? Nope. But she’s not wrong about resolution being needed for these kids.
One thing I especially appreciate is that she’s taking my word that the uncle who has the other three siblings is a good man who cares about the kids and that he’s an appropriate permanent resource. She’s got ideas for how to get him and his family more money to help him care for all the kids, which is something I’ve asked for repeatedly, but no one did anything for him to date. Anything she can get him will help. He speaks English pretty well (along with three other languages) but is illiterate so is stuck with low wage manual jobs. He’s got his own children and now the three siblings and he’s always struggling to make ends meet. He needs and deserves help for stepping up for these kids and I think he’s going to get some finally.
So, in short, a lot is suddenly up in the air for this family and it’s going to break some tender hearts and be good for other folks all at the same time and there’s nothing for it but to wade right in and through what’s headed our way.
☪️ Islamic Education
We have been needing to get Sunny back to Arabic/Islamic schooling for a long time. We had her enrolled in an organization that was full of nice young folks but they were unable to control some bullying that was going on for Sunny. She didn’t want to keep going so we let her quit. I’m not about to force anyone to endure bullying.
I intended to find an alternative for her right away but it took some months. Finally in late spring a dear friend did some tracking down of Muslim women in the community who are well connected, and miraculously turned up the phone number for the education coordinator for the Burmese Muslim Community Center.
I put off calling her for months unfortunately, mostly selfishly because I didn’t feel like I could handle anything else on the calendar over the summer. But last week I finally broke down and called my contact, who started the conversation confused but got enthusiastic quickly when I explained what I needed. It turns out there’s Sunday school the girls can attend, and they’ll be more than welcomed there. Hooray!
They’re nervous, but this will be so good for them. They need to know their religion and culture and language and this will help with all those things. Now it won’t just be brief doses of them during visits, but weekly doses for longer periods of time. I know it’s hard to start something new. But they’ll be together and will take care of each other and I think will ultimately thrive there. Fingers crossed.
We are all dressed appropriately, with modest clothing and hijabs. Astrid, a.k.a. Le Shittén, is confused by mine. Ha!
This hijab is slippery and keeps sliding off my head. I’ve literally got little magnets holding it in place!Astrid questioning my fashion choices.
🍁 Fall, here we come!
We are ready for school! Everyone has their school supplies and their classroom assignment. The kids both already know their teachers which is fantastic. Sprout has the teacher Sunny had last year as she’s going into the elementary school’s 12:1:1 classroom. We love that teacher. And Sunny had her new 12:1:1 teacher for summer school so she already feels comfortable with her, and the little communication we’ve had with her so far has been great.
Sunny has been asking to be a Girl Scout for a while now, so I did my homework and made a handful of phone calls and found a nearby community has a brownie troop for Sprout, and a junior troop for Sunny, that meet at the same time in the same church each week. What were the odds of my finding that?!? It’s only like 8 miles away and the leaders I’ve spoken with sound wonderful. So my girls are going to follow in my footsteps and start a Girl Scout journey of their own!
Sprout’s take: “I can’t wait to go camping!”
Sunny’s take: “Oh no. No no no. Please tell me I don’t have to go camping!”
Ha!!!
So. Here’s to the start of school and fall activities, people with energy and drive to get important things done, and the hospitality of strangers welcoming my girls to things!
I’m not in the business of badmouthing anybody, but I figure an update is appropriate as I have followers who are now – or who are thinking of becoming – foster parents who want to know what this gig is really like.
I think I mentioned previously that our last case worker left the agency. She stated to me that she was feeling unsafe herself, and felt like she could not keep the kids on her case load safe, so she made a big career change and left the agency altogether.
That left us needing a new case worker.
I waited about three weeks but heard nothing from any new case workers looking to introduce themselves, so I finally started making some phone calls. Eventually I got a name and a number for both the new case worker and their supervisor. I called the case worker on a Monday morning mid morning and chatted with them for a little bit.
A few things were readily apparent.
1. This case worker is seriously overwhelmed.
2. This case worker is new to their job.
3. This case worker was majorly annoyed they’d had this particularly complex case handed to them.
4. This case worker had not taken the time to familiarize themself with the case all that much, maybe hoping it would disappear off their case load.
5. This case worker had no qualms about taking their frustration out on a foster parent who isn’t doing anything wrong.
Ultimately I asked a question that either irritated the case worker, or crossed an invisible line I didn’t know was there. I offered to the case worker that my husband and I are still willing to take the girls’ oldest sister if that would be helpful in getting her medical needs met, and stated we are willing to be a permanent resource for her. At first the case worker told me there was “internal pushback” against the sister coming to live with my husband and me and her sisters, and when I asked for clarification, the case worker said, “I’ll have to call you back about this.” And hung up on me.
I was left staring and blinking confusedly at my phone.
I don’t know if the case worker was being overheard on a sensitive subject. Or if they were worried they’d say the wrong thing. Or if I said the wrong thing. Or if they panicked. Or if they were angry. I don’t have a good sense of what happened. But regardless, I am not overly happy, especially since no follow up call was made to me.
That was a week ago.
On Wednesday, I sent an email to the kids’ attorney because I needed to know if a particular document had been served. I was asked the question by my attorney but don’t know the answer and can’t get a return call from the case worker, and our attorney can’t start working on Sprout’s adoption until I get an answer. I hoped the kids’ attorney would know the answer.
She didn’t know the answer but said she’d find out from the case worker’s supervisor.
Today, I broke down and emailed the attorney again to see if she’d reached anybody. I didn’t want to be annoying but jeez, I need some answers! All she responded with was that she’s writing a letter to the judge to get the case put back on the judge’s calendar – meaning she wants to discuss something in court. I have no idea what’s up though I have myriad guesses.
I’ve called the case worker one more time maybe Thursday last week, and left a message saying I just want to set up a home visit for this month before it’s too late, and ask her a critical question about the kids’ insurance.
It’s been radio silence. My question pile is mounting. I need travel permission for Sprout for her surgery and want to know if we can get her a covid shot now that her parental rights are terminated. I’ve been getting weird insurance-related text messages I don’t know if I have to do anything with. I need to know what the visit plan is, and I offered to help transport the girls for their monthly visits where they meet their family at a half way point. And I need to get started on a passport for Sunny because we are planning to go visit my sister in Lyon, France next summer. (That last request should go over like a fart in church…)
All I can do is keep a running list of my questions, hope each day that someone calls me, and hope for a court date that isn’t months away.
This is the kind of stuff that is soooo frustrating I want to cry. Now, I am perimenopausal, so take that into account when I start talking about tears. I can cry at even non-sappy commercials now. But this frustration genuinely goes deep.
I’m impatient by nature, so I’m trying not to let impatience get behind the wheel. But I do have kids to care for and need instructions and guidance and authorizations from the agency because I’m required by law to have those things before I act in various ways. And right now I simply cannot get them.
Can some of my questions sit and simmer a bit? Yes, I’m sure some can. But some – like what’s going on with their insurance – can’t. These are medically fragile kids with upcoming appointments and a lapse in coverage because one of us dropped the ball could be problematic. I have no clue if I’m supposed to, or am authorized to, respond to the texts I’m getting from the insurance company. I don’t have the info I’d need to answer the company’s questions.
I’ll figure it out. I always do. But hot diggety, it doesn’t need to be this exasperating.
This is the stuff that has made my husband and me swear we are done fostering except for this particular family. Foster care that looks like this is unsustainable for ALL parties involved, including the case workers who have 16 complex cases and who, according to guidelines, are only supposed to have 7. Has this case worker handled things badly with me? Yes, from the get go. But is this case worker drowning in case files, feeling unsupported, trying to juggle mandates from above and their own gut feelings those mandates aren’t right in some cases? And is this case worker reeling from the stress of their job? Yepper. I’m certain they are.
We need funding desperately. We need to be able to pay these case workers more. We need a massive agency overhaul, with a bunch of new case workers getting hired and trained properly. Frankly, it’s a debacle. Our county legislature is largely to blame for the funding shortages and policies that aren’t working. But the agency administrators have some answering to do too, in my relatively uneducated book.
They can’t operate like this. They need more case workers and lower case loads and more resources and better training and better supervisors. Or else who is going to pay the ultimate price? A neighboring County’s Department of Social Services has already been a good test case for what happens when an agency is underfunded, under scrutinized, and understaffed. Children – plural – have died. I can’t help feeling it’s just a matter of time with my own agency, too.
As most of you know, I collect autoimmune diseases. I’ve been diagnosed with seronegative rheumatoid arthritis, psoriatic arthritis, and ulcerative colitis. Who knows which of those diagnoses is accurate, but the upshot is that my immune system likes to run amok and damage healthy tissues. The result is pain, stiff swollen joints, diarrhea, bloody stools, and gobs of fatigue.
A few months ago, after regularly taking my immunosuppressant Imuran for 3 whole months straight, I felt amazeballs. I was thinking and saying to my husband that I should stop pursuing my disability claim and see if I can find work I can do from home because I felt like I could earn more than the limits provided by disability (if I ever get it, which is doubtful).
But good things don’t last when you have a chronic illness or two or three. This is my current sitch:
I’m in a relationship with my bed. Again.
Things started to go downhill when I had to stop taking my immunosuppressant because of a medical procedure that I had to have. I started having a lot of bleeding that didn’t fit with my regular period schedule. Despite being in perimenopause, it seemed excessive, so I went to my gynecologist. She did an ultrasound, and informed me that I had a growth on my cervix. It needed to come off. So, I contacted my rheumatologist for instructions, and she told me to stop taking my immunosuppressant for two weeks before and two weeks after the medical procedure.
I did as I was told. I stopped taking my immunosuppressant.
Two weeks after I had stopped taking the drug, I was starting to feel a bit iffy. I went through the medical procedure, which went just fine. Thankfully, the growth turned out to be benign. By the time I was able to take my immunosuppressant again I was feeling truly rotten, and was delighted to be able to start taking it again.
Two days after that, I came down with a nasty cold. Sprout brought it home, because at age 5 she is my beloved diminutive vector. She sniffled for one day. I got gut punched with the thing.
It is now two weeks after I was supposed to start taking the immunosuppressant again and have been unable to. The cough from this cold is lingering, and I cannot start my immunosuppressant until all of the symptoms go away or else I will never get better. I know this both from instructions from my rheumatologist and from experience.
Yesterday I dragged my sorry self to the rheumatology office and bemoaned my situation to the Nurse Practitioner, whom I absolutely adore. She gave me a steroid injection in my backside to try to help bridge the gap between now and when my immunosuppressant actually fully kicks in, which should be approximately 3 more months. The injection has already reduced my joint pain and inflammation (I can get my wedding ring on today!) but hasn’t touched my extreme fatigue.
I’ll take what I can get.
The Nurse Practitioner also ran my blood work. Oh, look! Inflammation markers are up! There’s a reason I feel like poo!
Anywho, the upshot is now I am very glad I didn’t withdraw my disability claim. During my good spells I could totally work, for several weeks and sometimes several months together. But during my bad spells I spend my time close to home and making out with my couches and my bed, for weeks and sometimes months together.
God bless my children, who are used to a mommy who is fatigued and can’t quite do everything. The house is a mess and my husband has stepped up cleaning efforts like a champ. My 9-year-old Sunny has been using my fatigue as an excuse to hone her cooking skills, and I kid you not, the child made PERFECT gluten free breaded chicken breast entirely and utterly on her own the other day. She was so proud and so was I! I’m thinking of getting her a cooking apron and an easy bake oven for her birthday this year though by then she may have already graduated to using the actual oven…
My kid can COOK!
Sprout likes to watch her iPad while sitting on my bent knees. It’s her way of getting Mommy attention and closeness while letting me rest.
So, we adapt. We’ve been here before and will be here again. Everyone is fed, the house avoids infestation and open grossness even if it’s messier. Everyone gets to bed and school on time and has clean clothes. Who cares if it takes us 2 weeks to fold all the laundry. At least it’s done.
I’m glad we got our vacation in when we did. I wasn’t feeling great for it but managed to get through it okay. The kids had an absolute blast. Now it’s almost State Fair time. I’ve promised three children I’d take them, and dammit, I will do so. I’ll just have to sleep for a day or two between visits.
My foods revolution
Another thing that is helping me is that I’ve started seeing a dietician who specializes in folks with eating disorders, and who believes in healthy at any size. The initial evaluation was done by an amazeballs woman down in Elmira NY. She did a metabolic and body composition analysis on me and gave me some basic parameters. Now I’m working with a dietician in Liverpool (much closer to me) who is helping me hone my diet.
The brief upshot of all their advice? More protein! Apparently it’s super easy for perimenopausal women to burn muscle instead of fat. The key to having an even blood sugar and enough carbohydrates and protein for my various medications to work properly is increasing protein. I’ve resorted to a protein shake most days because I get sick of my protein options, but am eating a lot more yogurt and eggs and nuts than I had been before and am feeling a bit less up and down throughout my day. I’m also maintaining muscle mass, which is huge. So a diet of proteins and veggies for the win! Anything that makes me feel better = good in my book.
sprinklesonachaoscupcake.com 