Well, my days of being a foster parent may be coming to a close.
After Jacob's violent episode the other night, I wrote an email (which is what DSS and our agency prefer) asking yet again about getting him into counseling.
As our agency had trained us, I also documented the various things going on that day in an attempt to pin down what might be at the root of the problem. I listed about five possibilities. One was that Jacob had just learned his mother would not be going to his graduation, but would be going to his sister's. I wrote that he was very upset about it, and asked if there was any way for anyone to give bio mom a ride after her court hearing (since I know some of them will be there too).
I got no response, of course. As usual. And today, my wife got a call from DSS to say she was confused by the email because she thought we could schedule the counseling appointment. (She and our agency both told us we could not, two weeks ago, but now she thinks we can? If only she had TOLD us this before now...) So she's going to call and get Jacob in with the counselor she prefers. Great! But she added that we shouldn't send emails suggesting "favoritism" again because it might get back to the bio mom.
What??
She went on to say, "You know, you already almost lost the kids once."
Apparently bio mom wanted them to stay with the respite family that they hated so much last week.
This left us feeling quite conflicted.
On the one hand -- these kids are a HUGE amount of work. We are sticking with this solely because we committed to the kids. It's bad for kids to get moved from foster home to foster home. It's very traumatic for them. So when we took them, we agreed to stick with it til the end.
Will we miss them when they go? Yeah. But man, oh man, we will probably never do foster care again and we will not think back on these months as being wonderful or even great. These are high-needs kids to whom we are giving all we can. Being told they could be moved to another family if we keep trying to figure out what is upsetting Jacob to the point of violence is like saying, "If you keep trying to solve this really hard problem at work, by God, I'll give it to another worker instead!"
It's like, um...we know that would deeply hurt the kids. But it's not really a threat, you know? It sounds like a reward. But it would hurt the kids badly, so we're opposed to it. But if they could go home right away, which would be great for them, we would be OVERJOYED.
And yes, we'd miss them a bit. I do love them. But a kid who repeatedly kicks me in the stomach, saying, "I want to hurt the baby," is not high on my "please don't go away" list.
So I don't know. The DSS worker told us, "Don't make a mountain out of a molehill." So...his serious mental illness that leads him to commit violence is a molehill?
And I have to admit I'm puzzled by her comment about the bio mom wanting the kids moved. Since when does DSS move kids based on the bio mom's desires, when DSS knows it's bad for the kids and is also filing a deposition in court saying the mom is unfit?
It's all so confusing. I'm left feeling like I'm doing something wrong in trying to help Jacob. All I can guess is that what they want is for foster parents to be seen and not heard -- in other words, just keep the kids alive, don't mention any problems and certainly don't ask for help.
My wife called me after the conversation with DSS, telling me she is "so done" and wanted to tell DSS, "just take them." She didn't. Because we know it would hurt the kids. But we're doing this for them, not for DSS or the bio mom or our agency or anybody else. We are providing them with consistency because that's what they need. We are giving them love, attention, discipline, broadening activities, all the educational help they need, tons of fun, and most of all, stability.
We buy them everything they need and many things they want, we go to all their special events and make sure to invite their bio family, we plan weekend activities that they want to do...we treat them, in all ways, like they are our own.
Yet I am left feeling I am doing something wrong.
Friday, June 27, 2014
Thursday, June 26, 2014
What makes a parent?
I've written a lot so far about what we can't do as foster parents. It all adds up to one thing: foster parenting is not "real" parenting.
I can't give schools, summer camps or anyone else permission for anything -- not even sunscreen, for pete's sake. Forget about permission for field trips, watching a "PG" rated movie ("Frozen," in school) or attending the "good touch, bad touch" program (also at school).
I can't make any medical decisions -- not even to make a doctor's appointment. In an emergency, I can drive to the ER, but only if I call my agency first. It took a bit of explaining for the agency to understand that if we were going to be driving the children to their doctors' appointments, we should be able to set the time and day, so that we could make sure we were available. Nonetheless, I have three times gotten in trouble for setting a doctor's appointment (but the other eight times, it was OK...so go figure).
We cannot chose a doctor, call a doctor for advice on a medical problem or talk to anyone else about the children. Not even for non-medical issues. We are to not speak to our friends about ANYTHING regarding the children. (This is part of our agency's theory that "no one needs to even know you're a foster parent," which is isolating and extremely strange.)
If we choose to do something with the children, such as teaching them how to ride a bike, read a book, etc., the bio mom may complain, and we can be ordered to not do it. We had to ask permission before starting swim lessons and before buying Jacob a bike.
We cannot cut their hair without permission, and if we style their hair in a way the bio mom does not like, she can complain and we can be ordered to stop doing it. I am not kidding. Ditto for how we dress the children. Apparently, short-shorts that say "sexy" on the butt are OK for a 4-year-old, since that's what the bio mom buys for her, but letting her wear play clothes on the playground with a small stain at the very edge of one pocket of her shorts is The End Of The World. The bio mom's mother reported us to CPS for that.
We cannot travel anywhere with the children -- not even day trips. We cannot sleep anywhere but in our own house. That means: no camping trips, no sleepovers, no going to the great children's museum, the zoo, the water park, etc.
And our parenting decisions are constantly being scrutinized and questioned. Although three different medical professionals have separately, unknown to each other, decided Jacob has a serious mental illness, the only support DSS and our agency have offered is to suggest that surely there's something about the way we work with him that is causing his breakdowns. The bio mom treated us to an hour-long diatribe about how our house must be "chaotic" (although her kids are the only people there, other than us, and the only time their schedule is interrupted is when SHE insists on it), and we must be overwhelming Jacob by, for example, reading him a book about violins and then pointing out a violin when we see it during an event. (This was literally her example.) Yet we are not the ones who lost custody of the children.
DSS and our agency sat through that diatribe without ever saying a word in our defense. They implied afterward that they think she's crazy, but words of praise to us? None. The doctors, meanwhile, have all said we're doing a wonderful job and that other foster parents would have given up by now. Which is nice to hear, but when we want to get him the counseling they recommend, they say -- not til the bio mom signs paperwork allowing it. So until then, we just try to keep him from hurting himself or anyone else, and hope for the best. Powerless. When any REAL parent would be running to a counselor.
In what way ARE we parents, then? We're the ones who hold them when they cry, who reassure them when they're scared, who stay up with them at night and get up with them in the morning. We're the ones who help them with the day's difficulties and cheer on their victories. We're the ones who stay up late trying to figure out why they're behaving a certain way and what we can do better to help them.
We're the ones making up games to help Jacob learn letters and sounds, getting him to school on time, communicating with teachers, packing healthy snacks he loves, working with him to help him love school. Yet on graduation day, the birth family took his graduation certificate before we even got a chance to see it.
Sometimes it feels like we get all the hard parts of being a parent, and none of the fun parts.
I can't give schools, summer camps or anyone else permission for anything -- not even sunscreen, for pete's sake. Forget about permission for field trips, watching a "PG" rated movie ("Frozen," in school) or attending the "good touch, bad touch" program (also at school).
I can't make any medical decisions -- not even to make a doctor's appointment. In an emergency, I can drive to the ER, but only if I call my agency first. It took a bit of explaining for the agency to understand that if we were going to be driving the children to their doctors' appointments, we should be able to set the time and day, so that we could make sure we were available. Nonetheless, I have three times gotten in trouble for setting a doctor's appointment (but the other eight times, it was OK...so go figure).
We cannot chose a doctor, call a doctor for advice on a medical problem or talk to anyone else about the children. Not even for non-medical issues. We are to not speak to our friends about ANYTHING regarding the children. (This is part of our agency's theory that "no one needs to even know you're a foster parent," which is isolating and extremely strange.)
If we choose to do something with the children, such as teaching them how to ride a bike, read a book, etc., the bio mom may complain, and we can be ordered to not do it. We had to ask permission before starting swim lessons and before buying Jacob a bike.
We cannot cut their hair without permission, and if we style their hair in a way the bio mom does not like, she can complain and we can be ordered to stop doing it. I am not kidding. Ditto for how we dress the children. Apparently, short-shorts that say "sexy" on the butt are OK for a 4-year-old, since that's what the bio mom buys for her, but letting her wear play clothes on the playground with a small stain at the very edge of one pocket of her shorts is The End Of The World. The bio mom's mother reported us to CPS for that.
We cannot travel anywhere with the children -- not even day trips. We cannot sleep anywhere but in our own house. That means: no camping trips, no sleepovers, no going to the great children's museum, the zoo, the water park, etc.
And our parenting decisions are constantly being scrutinized and questioned. Although three different medical professionals have separately, unknown to each other, decided Jacob has a serious mental illness, the only support DSS and our agency have offered is to suggest that surely there's something about the way we work with him that is causing his breakdowns. The bio mom treated us to an hour-long diatribe about how our house must be "chaotic" (although her kids are the only people there, other than us, and the only time their schedule is interrupted is when SHE insists on it), and we must be overwhelming Jacob by, for example, reading him a book about violins and then pointing out a violin when we see it during an event. (This was literally her example.) Yet we are not the ones who lost custody of the children.
DSS and our agency sat through that diatribe without ever saying a word in our defense. They implied afterward that they think she's crazy, but words of praise to us? None. The doctors, meanwhile, have all said we're doing a wonderful job and that other foster parents would have given up by now. Which is nice to hear, but when we want to get him the counseling they recommend, they say -- not til the bio mom signs paperwork allowing it. So until then, we just try to keep him from hurting himself or anyone else, and hope for the best. Powerless. When any REAL parent would be running to a counselor.
In what way ARE we parents, then? We're the ones who hold them when they cry, who reassure them when they're scared, who stay up with them at night and get up with them in the morning. We're the ones who help them with the day's difficulties and cheer on their victories. We're the ones who stay up late trying to figure out why they're behaving a certain way and what we can do better to help them.
We're the ones making up games to help Jacob learn letters and sounds, getting him to school on time, communicating with teachers, packing healthy snacks he loves, working with him to help him love school. Yet on graduation day, the birth family took his graduation certificate before we even got a chance to see it.
Sometimes it feels like we get all the hard parts of being a parent, and none of the fun parts.
Wednesday, June 25, 2014
Respite: "You sent me away"
In foster-care classes, we were taught that respite was this holy arrangement, in which other foster parents would care for your foster children while you got a much-needed break from dealing with trauma.
The model was one of foster parents helping each other stay sane and refreshed to give these children our all.
Now let me tell you how my kids experience respite.
Because their bio mom will not allow us to travel with them, even for day trips, outside of a roughly 30-min radius, they have gone to weekend respite twice in three months. And they'll be going to respite again next weekend. Plus, our agency sent them to respite once to give us a "break," and they went to friends for all-day babysitting twice. In other words: it's been a lot.
We cannot tell the kids that this is because of their mom. So we tell them "the rules" won't let us take them, but we'd love to, and we miss them.
This has not worked at all.
After the last respite, the kids flew out of the house, shoes in hand, and ran barefoot to the car to buckle themselves in. They did not want to say goodbye, they did not want to help put their toys in the car, they wanted to GO HOME NOW.
It started slowly. They missed their beds. They missed their rooms. They missed the cat.
Then the real emotions came out.
Sophia: "I hate weekends."
Jacob: "I want to stay home with you."
Sophia: "You sent me away!"
Sophia cried and raged for most of the next two hours, through dinner and bedtime routine. The next morning she spent two hours sobbing inconsolably on my lap.
The bio mom told us that kids had a great time at respite and added, with a bite, that Jacob didn't misbehave there AT ALL. (The obvious implication being that we are the cause of his diagnosed mood disorder.)
The kids, meanwhile, begged us to never send them to that family again. Sophia was mainly upset because the family had other respite kids too, so she didn't get as much attention as she was expecting. But it's hard to feel like we're not abusing the kids when they come home crying and begging us to not send them away again.
The agency tells me I need to be a "partner" with the bio mom. But with each of these respites, I feel like the bio mom is forcing me to hurt her kids for her, is using me to get at them, and I just feel sick. We've canceled almost all of our summer plans to avoid respite, but some things can't be canceled. The agency thinks we're being ridiculous to think the kids are harmed at all by respite, and proposed "regular respite" to give us a break. They don't understand why we were like, OMG, no!
I could do without any more pathetic cries of "Please don't send me away again!"
The model was one of foster parents helping each other stay sane and refreshed to give these children our all.
Now let me tell you how my kids experience respite.
Because their bio mom will not allow us to travel with them, even for day trips, outside of a roughly 30-min radius, they have gone to weekend respite twice in three months. And they'll be going to respite again next weekend. Plus, our agency sent them to respite once to give us a "break," and they went to friends for all-day babysitting twice. In other words: it's been a lot.
We cannot tell the kids that this is because of their mom. So we tell them "the rules" won't let us take them, but we'd love to, and we miss them.
This has not worked at all.
After the last respite, the kids flew out of the house, shoes in hand, and ran barefoot to the car to buckle themselves in. They did not want to say goodbye, they did not want to help put their toys in the car, they wanted to GO HOME NOW.
It started slowly. They missed their beds. They missed their rooms. They missed the cat.
Then the real emotions came out.
Sophia: "I hate weekends."
Jacob: "I want to stay home with you."
Sophia: "You sent me away!"
Sophia cried and raged for most of the next two hours, through dinner and bedtime routine. The next morning she spent two hours sobbing inconsolably on my lap.
The bio mom told us that kids had a great time at respite and added, with a bite, that Jacob didn't misbehave there AT ALL. (The obvious implication being that we are the cause of his diagnosed mood disorder.)
The kids, meanwhile, begged us to never send them to that family again. Sophia was mainly upset because the family had other respite kids too, so she didn't get as much attention as she was expecting. But it's hard to feel like we're not abusing the kids when they come home crying and begging us to not send them away again.
The agency tells me I need to be a "partner" with the bio mom. But with each of these respites, I feel like the bio mom is forcing me to hurt her kids for her, is using me to get at them, and I just feel sick. We've canceled almost all of our summer plans to avoid respite, but some things can't be canceled. The agency thinks we're being ridiculous to think the kids are harmed at all by respite, and proposed "regular respite" to give us a break. They don't understand why we were like, OMG, no!
I could do without any more pathetic cries of "Please don't send me away again!"
Thursday, June 19, 2014
"Do they get fussy if they don't have dinner right on time?"
There are times when I feel like we are the only people who actually care about our kids.
They are a brother and sister. Let's call them Jacob and Sophia.
They're 5 and 4 years old. Every night we have dinner at 5:30 p.m. and the kids are in bed by 7 p.m. Even so, I have to wake up Jacob in the morning for school. We've been thinking about setting an earlier bedtime, but the various things foster care throws at us makes it hard to even manage 7 p.m.
Today's example: Bio Mom wanted to take Jacob to get a haircut. He is biracial and has thick, curly hair that becomes uncomfortably hot in the summer. We normally drive the kids to appointments, but Bio Mom wanted "special one-on-one time" with Jacob. So she asked our family specialist to drive him to her, about a 30-minute trip, pick her up, take everyone to the haircut, and then drive everyone back. Family Specialist agreed to do it Thursday (which is today).
But she never told anyone WHEN she would pick up Jacob. After our umpteenth call and email, she finally responded with: I have training all day! I'd need my supervisor's permission! I can't do it today!
We explained that Jacob knew about the appointment, that we'd taken his hair out of braids in preparation for it, and that he'd be deeply disappointed if it were canceled. (And, by the by, who on earth is the bio mom going to, if she didn't have to make an actual appointment for the haircut?)
Then the family specialist called Bio Mom, who said that her daughter (whom I will call Sophia) had a temper tantrum yesterday at their visit because she would not be getting her hair cut. So Bio Mom wants to take both kids.
Okay, fine. When???
Family Specialist decided she would pick them up at 4:30 p.m.
...
My wife: "What are you going to do about dinner? We normally eat at 5:30."
Family Specialist: "Do they get fussy if they don't have dinner right on time?"
My wife somehow managed to be civil, but the gist was this: If you leave here at 4:30, you will get to Bio Mom at 5 p.m. AT BEST and then to the haircut by, let's hope, 5:15 p.m. Two kids' haircuts. Dare we hope they finish by 6:15 p.m.? And then she must drop off Bio Mom, peel the kids off of her, and then bring the kids home. I'll be stunned if they're home by 7 p.m., and never mind that we start the bedtime routine at 6:30 so that they're actually IN BED at 7 p.m.
And she thinks arriving here at 7 p.m. just means they'll have dinner a little late?
So much for the dinner I had planned (and already made) for tonight. We're sending them with a packed dinner. And when they get home, I'll just manage them as best I can.
Most people know not to screw up kids' schedules, ESPECIALLY on school nights. And tomorrow is a particularly stressful day for them -- so let's start out with tired kids!
This is, in fact, the FOURTH TIME in two weeks that the system has forced us to get the kids to bed late on a school night. It's infuriating. But there's nothing I can do about it. Nothing at all.
Oh, and just to make things even more fun -- tonight we were going to pack for their weekend away. Now I'll have to pack for them, which I'm sure won't cause ANY meltdowns at all. Yeaaaah.
In many ways, we are treated like babysitters by the system. This is one of those days.
They are a brother and sister. Let's call them Jacob and Sophia.
They're 5 and 4 years old. Every night we have dinner at 5:30 p.m. and the kids are in bed by 7 p.m. Even so, I have to wake up Jacob in the morning for school. We've been thinking about setting an earlier bedtime, but the various things foster care throws at us makes it hard to even manage 7 p.m.
Today's example: Bio Mom wanted to take Jacob to get a haircut. He is biracial and has thick, curly hair that becomes uncomfortably hot in the summer. We normally drive the kids to appointments, but Bio Mom wanted "special one-on-one time" with Jacob. So she asked our family specialist to drive him to her, about a 30-minute trip, pick her up, take everyone to the haircut, and then drive everyone back. Family Specialist agreed to do it Thursday (which is today).
But she never told anyone WHEN she would pick up Jacob. After our umpteenth call and email, she finally responded with: I have training all day! I'd need my supervisor's permission! I can't do it today!
We explained that Jacob knew about the appointment, that we'd taken his hair out of braids in preparation for it, and that he'd be deeply disappointed if it were canceled. (And, by the by, who on earth is the bio mom going to, if she didn't have to make an actual appointment for the haircut?)
Then the family specialist called Bio Mom, who said that her daughter (whom I will call Sophia) had a temper tantrum yesterday at their visit because she would not be getting her hair cut. So Bio Mom wants to take both kids.
Okay, fine. When???
Family Specialist decided she would pick them up at 4:30 p.m.
...
My wife: "What are you going to do about dinner? We normally eat at 5:30."
Family Specialist: "Do they get fussy if they don't have dinner right on time?"
My wife somehow managed to be civil, but the gist was this: If you leave here at 4:30, you will get to Bio Mom at 5 p.m. AT BEST and then to the haircut by, let's hope, 5:15 p.m. Two kids' haircuts. Dare we hope they finish by 6:15 p.m.? And then she must drop off Bio Mom, peel the kids off of her, and then bring the kids home. I'll be stunned if they're home by 7 p.m., and never mind that we start the bedtime routine at 6:30 so that they're actually IN BED at 7 p.m.
And she thinks arriving here at 7 p.m. just means they'll have dinner a little late?
So much for the dinner I had planned (and already made) for tonight. We're sending them with a packed dinner. And when they get home, I'll just manage them as best I can.
Most people know not to screw up kids' schedules, ESPECIALLY on school nights. And tomorrow is a particularly stressful day for them -- so let's start out with tired kids!
This is, in fact, the FOURTH TIME in two weeks that the system has forced us to get the kids to bed late on a school night. It's infuriating. But there's nothing I can do about it. Nothing at all.
Oh, and just to make things even more fun -- tonight we were going to pack for their weekend away. Now I'll have to pack for them, which I'm sure won't cause ANY meltdowns at all. Yeaaaah.
In many ways, we are treated like babysitters by the system. This is one of those days.
Tuesday, June 17, 2014
"Don't sign anything"
The rules, according to our agency, can be boiled down to one simple directive: Don't sign anything.
So every permission slip goes to Mom. This totally violates several other directives, including not telling her what schools her children attend, and confusing the schools, who know Mom can't pick up the kids, so why can she decide all these things for them?
In any case, somehow, this permission slip didn't get to her. Did I not put it in the pile for her? Did she not see it? Did it fall out and get lost? Who knows. But somehow, A's permission slip for sunscreen never got signed.
Now she's spending a good chunk of every day outdoors at her preschool, and with no sunscreen. I learned this yesterday.
My next chance to get the Mom to sign the slip isn't til tomorrow night. Do I send the child to preschool with no sun protection for two more days?
No. I picked up the new form sent by the preschool and signed it.
This whole thing is ridiculous. I have the authority to put sunscreen on her. Why can't I give her teachers permission to PROTECT HER from a health concern?
They tell us our job is to provide for the children's health and safety. Keeping them from getting sunburns seems a basic part of that. To me it was a no-brainer: the kid needs sunscreen. I am horrified that she hasn't had it until now! Who knew it couldn't be applied without specific, signed, permission? Ugh.
I decided not to tell the agency about it. I'll get another form from the preschool today, and have her mom fill it out tomorrow. She DID sign the one for E, so at least one of her children can use the sunscreen I bought for them, sent in SEPARATELY with each child, and labeled with their names. So that the tubes could just sit unused, apparently. Sigh. If I'm ever on a jury regarding a lawsuit in which a preschool put parent-provided sunscreen on parent-provided kids without a signed form, I'm voting not guilty. The parent implicitly indicated his/her desire for sunscreen to be placed on his/her kids by providing sunscreen.
For additional discussion: Why do we all have to send in tubes of sunscreen for each child? Can't the classroom share? Are there parents who feel so strongly about one brand or strength that they can't share? If so, can't THEY be the ones to provide their own, and the rest of us can be sensible? Everybody arrives with their kids at about the same time; we could discuss it and send in one acceptable bottle. Much less wasteful...because I now own three bottles of sunscreen (two spray for school, one lotion) and three sets of face sunscreen tubes. At the end of the summer I will own half a bottle of each of these, and the SIX items will clutter up my bathroom drawers for a year, at which point I will have to agonize over whether they are still strong enough to be used and whether I should send half a bottle to school, where they might not tell me if they run out until after they've run out for a couple days. And in the end the half-bottles will just rattle around for three or four years, unused, until finally my wife throws them out. What a waste!
So every permission slip goes to Mom. This totally violates several other directives, including not telling her what schools her children attend, and confusing the schools, who know Mom can't pick up the kids, so why can she decide all these things for them?
In any case, somehow, this permission slip didn't get to her. Did I not put it in the pile for her? Did she not see it? Did it fall out and get lost? Who knows. But somehow, A's permission slip for sunscreen never got signed.
Now she's spending a good chunk of every day outdoors at her preschool, and with no sunscreen. I learned this yesterday.
My next chance to get the Mom to sign the slip isn't til tomorrow night. Do I send the child to preschool with no sun protection for two more days?
No. I picked up the new form sent by the preschool and signed it.
This whole thing is ridiculous. I have the authority to put sunscreen on her. Why can't I give her teachers permission to PROTECT HER from a health concern?
They tell us our job is to provide for the children's health and safety. Keeping them from getting sunburns seems a basic part of that. To me it was a no-brainer: the kid needs sunscreen. I am horrified that she hasn't had it until now! Who knew it couldn't be applied without specific, signed, permission? Ugh.
I decided not to tell the agency about it. I'll get another form from the preschool today, and have her mom fill it out tomorrow. She DID sign the one for E, so at least one of her children can use the sunscreen I bought for them, sent in SEPARATELY with each child, and labeled with their names. So that the tubes could just sit unused, apparently. Sigh. If I'm ever on a jury regarding a lawsuit in which a preschool put parent-provided sunscreen on parent-provided kids without a signed form, I'm voting not guilty. The parent implicitly indicated his/her desire for sunscreen to be placed on his/her kids by providing sunscreen.
For additional discussion: Why do we all have to send in tubes of sunscreen for each child? Can't the classroom share? Are there parents who feel so strongly about one brand or strength that they can't share? If so, can't THEY be the ones to provide their own, and the rest of us can be sensible? Everybody arrives with their kids at about the same time; we could discuss it and send in one acceptable bottle. Much less wasteful...because I now own three bottles of sunscreen (two spray for school, one lotion) and three sets of face sunscreen tubes. At the end of the summer I will own half a bottle of each of these, and the SIX items will clutter up my bathroom drawers for a year, at which point I will have to agonize over whether they are still strong enough to be used and whether I should send half a bottle to school, where they might not tell me if they run out until after they've run out for a couple days. And in the end the half-bottles will just rattle around for three or four years, unused, until finally my wife throws them out. What a waste!
Friday, June 13, 2014
Introduction
The worst part of foster care is the isolation. In fact, if I'm not careful, writing this blog will probably break half a dozen rules, ranging from:
1. no pictures of foster children online
2. don't identify children as foster children
3. don't break "confidentiality" -- definitions range from "medical diagnoses" to "anything about the child other than their first name"
4. in fact, don't tell anyone their first names either
I'm serious.
My agency has actually told me to tell people that the kids are "staying with me for awhile" and asked me why anyone would ever need to know I'm a foster parent.
Um, since I don't have any children, and I'm fairly social and active, don't you think people would notice that children suddenly appear?
So I'm barred from talking to anyone about anything, and it's kind of driving me crazy. Of course my friends have guessed various things, but I really need a venue in which I can pore out my heart without breaking any of the g*d* rules.
So here's my blogging rules:
1. No real names (people, places, pets, whatever)
2. no pictures of faces or identifiable features, which means pretty much no pictures (sorry)
Thanks for joining me on this crazy journey.
1. no pictures of foster children online
2. don't identify children as foster children
3. don't break "confidentiality" -- definitions range from "medical diagnoses" to "anything about the child other than their first name"
4. in fact, don't tell anyone their first names either
I'm serious.
My agency has actually told me to tell people that the kids are "staying with me for awhile" and asked me why anyone would ever need to know I'm a foster parent.
Um, since I don't have any children, and I'm fairly social and active, don't you think people would notice that children suddenly appear?
So I'm barred from talking to anyone about anything, and it's kind of driving me crazy. Of course my friends have guessed various things, but I really need a venue in which I can pore out my heart without breaking any of the g*d* rules.
So here's my blogging rules:
1. No real names (people, places, pets, whatever)
2. no pictures of faces or identifiable features, which means pretty much no pictures (sorry)
Thanks for joining me on this crazy journey.
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