The long view

Facebook Memories is now reminding me, every day, of my time with the kids two years ago. And looking at it has forced me to come to a couple realizations.

1. Things were bad from the start. I've been wondering for quite some time now whether medication caused him to get worse -- now I see he had the same behaviors prior to the medication, which did seem to reduce his anxiety (but nothing else).

2. Now that I look back at it from this remove, it sure looks like "Jacob" was actually suicidal.

From the start, he was:

opening the car door at high speed and taking off his seat belt (which I thought then was an act of defiance, and which I stopped by using child locks and then stopped thinking about because it stopped happening)

going to high areas and contemplating jumping (a stone wall at the eye doctor's, a cliff on a school trip, his second story bedroom window)

running into traffic

This started before he was on any medication.

Add that to the reports we got about how he'd repeatedly jumped into a pond after running away from home before entering foster care, and had to be rescued and possibly resuscitated (reports were confused on this) by neighbors, and you have to wonder if all his behavior was intended to be self-punishing.

This is the sort of realization that could have really helped his counselors, if I'd had it two years ago.

Ah well. He's home now, and I just have to keep hoping he's going to be OK.

Second anniversary

I'm thinking a lot about the kids today.

This last weekend, two years ago, they came to live with us.

My "Facebook Memories" is full of stories about them...lighthearted stories, happy stories.

They are back with their mom now, which I think is really good. I've thought about it a lot - abuse vs. foster care - and I've decided neglect is not as bad as foster care.

I know that sounds harsh. But the children's bond with their mother -- as with all children -- was so strong. The separation was devastating. And while they endured very, very bad things in their home, none of them were direct actions of their mom. It was her inaction, likely partly her exhaustion from caring for three special-needs kids while also having special needs of her own.

Foster care is just not working for kids. If you look at the statistics, foster kids do worse than even children who drop out of school and teen mothers. The outcomes just aren't great.

They are more likely to go to jail. They are less likely to ever get a high school diploma. They are less likely to get a job. They are more likely to live their life on welfare. They are less likely to be in a stable relationship. They are more likely to abuse drugs.

They are just not succeeding at life as much as every other kid.

Now, that doesn't mean kids facing physical or sexual abuse should be returned to their abusers. But most kids in the system are there because of neglect. There aren't any statistics (that I can find) comparing foster kids to neglected kids who grow up with a parent. So I can't say for sure that going home is good.

But I can say, for sure, that growing up in the foster care system is NOT good for kids. And I can say their mom loves them, and she was trying really, really hard.

So I'm really, really hoping that those beautiful, creative children are going to be okay.

I just wish I could be a resource for them. I wish she would reach out to me! She needs help. She can't raise three special needs kids alone. But she pushes away all help, and having her kids taken away for a year definitely didn't help with that. She doesn't trust anybody now.

I would love to see them again.

CPS visit (yes, after all this time!)

CPS knocked on our door.

For someone who worked in the system, meeting traumatized children who had been ripped away from their homes by CPS, this was a rather scary experience.

After all, we aren't foster parents any more. We're the parents of a 14-month-old girl, and our first thought was that CPS was coming for her.

It was terrifying. We tried to play it cool, but inside we were shaking.

The guy seemed confused. He was looking for foster parents, and we said we weren't anymore. He told us he was here with an allegation regarding "another foster child, not her," pointed to our daughter. I wanted to snatch her up and say, "Oh no, she's not a foster child!" (Subtext: so you can't take her!)

Except, of course, they can. Did we as a society really intend to give that power to the government?

Of course we had nothing to fear. The allegation regarded Sophia, from "about a year ago." (They last lived here 16 months ago.)

The allegation was that my wife took a photo of Sophia naked, in Sophia's bedroom. And she hadn't, so that was that. The investigator said he was puzzled to be here at all - even if we had taken a photo, he said, "parents take naked pictures of their children all the time."

We told him we were sure foster parents couldn't do that. He shrugged and said, "There's no allegation of misconduct, no sexual abuse or anything. Just the photo."

This led us to make some calls. Our foster agency didn't call us back, but I'm not a reporter for nothing. I found out the children are no longer with our foster agency. So they've been moved again. My heart breaks for them.

Someone is going to interview Sophia at DSS, and then the investigator will come back. I wanted, urgently, to say to him, "Does she remember us??"

But that door is closed.

Update from one heartbreaking year ago

It's been a year now since the last time we talked to Sophia and got an update on the kids.
Jacob lasted just six weeks at the new foster parent's house. Then he was sent to a psychiatric facility for a month. At the end of that month, the doctors were still not sure what to do - they had not stabilized him, had not fully diagnosed what was going on, and had not developed an outpatient therapy. It sounded like he'd be kept a bit longer.
The foster parent said she would "try" having him back in her house one more time if the foster agency wanted it. We later heard from the foster agency that he was back, but it was only half a sentence and I'm not sure if I am interpreting it correctly.
Anyway. Our last call - a year ago.
We had the baby with us, and we had just driven through Albany's Lights In The Park display. The baby was hungry so we pulled over in a parking lot so I could nurse. We decided to call the foster parent for an update (returning a call from her) while I nursed.
It was 8 p.m., so we figured Sophia would be in bed and the foster parent would thus be free to talk. But no - Sophia was not in bed, and was clamoring at the door while the foster parent tried to talk to us. I asked if we could talk to Sophia, since (as we had feared) no visits had been allowed. The foster parent hesitated. Then she handed over the phone.
We got to talk to her!!!
But it was heartbreaking.
It had been less than 10 weeks. But Sophia didn't remember us very well. She couldn't remember the songs, only that she'd liked them. She couldn't really remember much about us. Her voice was happy, but tentative.
She had moved on.
After that call, I realized it was over.
There would be no visits.
We would never see them again.
And so I forced myself to stop calling during the school day to get updates. I've never called again.
But I drive past the road to their house every single day, to and from work. And so I think about them every day.
I especially think about Jacob. Is he OK?
I've broached with my wife the idea of adopting Sophia several times. But - she's moved on, she doesn't remember us any more, and we should move on.
But a part of me still feels like I've abandoned a little girl somewhere, and I need to go swoop her up into my arms.

Another view

A friend took me out to lunch today. She wanted to tell me about how she'd found her foster-son from years ago on Facebook. He's 16 now. He still has the toy box she and her husband gave him when he was a boy.

He's eager to chat with her, and when she invited me to lunch she was ecstatic to have found him.

But by the time we got around to actually meeting for lunch, two weeks later, she'd actually talked with him.

"He's so...violent," she said in despair. "I tried, I told him, that's not how we raised you."

But he's living with his father, and the lessons of home are hard to break even if the child doesn't go back.

We talked, for the first time, about Jacob and about - let's call him D.

D. got kicked out of so many schools, she told me. So many. She can't remember how often she had to leave work to rush off and get him because he was out of control, hitting teachers and other kids.

It sounded a lot like Jacob, but worse. She had D. longer. For years. She tried all that time to fight for him to get help, and no one would let her get him anything - not counseling, not medicine, nothing.

By the time he was returned to his family, she said, a part of her hoped he would go.

"I didn't want him to go back to THEM," she said. "But I was just being terrorized. So there was some relief."

I told her a little bit about Jacob, and she told me she wouldn't blame us for "anything you decided to do."

Especially not with the baby coming. How could we keep the baby safe, she asked.

But I could not bring myself to say the words, "We sent him away."

It is still just too awful.

As I listened to her despair about trying to help D. now, whom she still loves, trying to guide him through Facebook conversations, I had to confess I hoped Jacob would contact me some day.

I hope he will forgive me.

How should we say no?

It's been almost a month since we packed up the kids, broke the rules to tell them what was happening, and managed on our own to create a smooth transition for them. I have grieved them almost every day since then. Our foster agency hasn't contacted us at all -- though the kids' new foster mom has twice given us updates on the kids. Because foster parents are decent people, unlike the people who run the system.

And then, today, our agency called.

Were they calling to see how we were doing?

To arrange a visit to help the kids avoid attachment disorders by knowing we're still around, still caring about them?

To do, perhaps, an after-care survey so they could improve their services, as many actual for-profit companies do?

Nope.

They were calling with a new placement.

Our agency homefinder started the message by cheerfully saying that she knows I'm about to give birth, and this placement might be more than what I want to take on at this time, but...do I want to take three kids?

Now I have to decide how to say no. There are just so many choices.

There's the simple version: Sorry, we have no rooms, my mother-in-law is moving in and we have a baby on the way. (Or, alternatively but still true: Sorry, I have no energy, I am 9 months pregnant.)

Then there's the contemptuous: After everything you did to us, to actively stop us from ever getting help and then making our good-bye with the kids as horrible as possible (until, admittedly, we broke the rules to avoid it), you DARE to...

Or maybe I should go the long way and explain why we are putting our license on hiatus for the foreseeable future. This should start with something like, "We do deeply believe in the needs of the children and we want to be there for them. We just don't want to work with you ever again."

Choices, choices. We had intended to write a formal resignation letter, but my wife is still pretty angry (OK, so am I) and so we have mostly been writing hate letters in our heads, waiting for time to smooth out the rough edges so we can write something professional. I feel strongly that no matter how terrible the experience, it's how we handle it that's important - and therefore, we should be professional and calm, even if they weren't.

But honestly, between getting ready for the baby and moving in my mother-in-law, we've been pretty busy. So I haven't done it. And now push has come to shove, and it's time to talk. I'll let you know how I do.

What now?

So, what can be done about the system we encountered?

The first unexpected problem that I think should be addressed is probably the most controversial: bio parents' rights.

I am all too familiar with the cases in which parents lose their children for ridiculous reasons. And I certainly understand that people's rights should be protected.

But.

If you're going to put children into another parent's hands, you have to give that parent the authority to care for the child. From little things, like sunscreen, to big things -- like medical care.

If a doctor makes a diagnosis and prescribes medication, counseling, running around the block, whatever -- the foster parent should be able to implement that therapy.

I'd be willing to compromise on measures that I found annoying but understandable. Yes, it seems reasonable to have the children keep their pediatrician or other regular doctors they were seeing prior to entering foster care.

But it does not seem reasonable to let the bio parents select other doctors for the child -- particularly when it can lead, as it did for us, to choosing doctors far from everybody just to make it more annoying for us.

Similarly, the foster parent should have the authority to make dental appointments, eye appointments and so on. Letting a bio parent veto those appointments -- for many months -- strikes me as a form of abuse.


Now, in our case we hit a tricky problem: a child with a probable mental health diagnosis. But long before that happened, the bio mom was using her rights to stop eye appointments, counseling, and anything else she could mess with, for reasons that appeared to be frivolous. In general, I think I could sum up her attitude as: Don't do anything, because I'm going to get my kids back soon, and then *I* will do it.

Except that most bio parents don't get their kids back.

And those that do, get them back 15 months later, on average.

Now, DSS has the authority to over-rule the bio parents, and one could argue that's enough.

Except we saw all too clearly that DSS is over-worked (and maybe burnt out and maybe incompetent). At the very end, our DSS caseworker expressed surprise to hear that ANYTHING was going on with Jacob...even though she had been included on every email, had been called on every crisis, knew about the doctor appointments and problems therein, and had spoken with us on many occasions about Jacob's behavior.

Did she forget? Does she have too many children to care about one small case?

She visited the kids a total of twice in the six months they were in our care, even though the law says she must visit monthly. Our family specialist got to us almost once a month -- we saw the FSP four times. But by the rules of our agency, she was supposed to visit weekly.

24 weeks. 4 visits.

This certainly indicates how busy they are, and I don't think it's reasonable to require them to be involved in every nitty-gritty detail of scheduling a medical appointment.

Perhaps the bigger question is: why aren't foster parents trusted with these rights? Why would the system trust bio parents, but not foster parents -- who have, after all, gone through months of training, rigorous background checks and inspections?

I suppose the system respects bio parents so much that legislators focus on them, not the foster parents. I'm not suggesting rights be taken away from bio parents, so much as I'm saying foster parents can't properly parent with both hands tied behind their backs. They need the ability to seek medical help for the children in their care.

I intend to make an issue of this, but I'm hoping I can make it a lot clearer than I've done here.

Saying goodbye

The hardest part for me was Tuesday night, when I sang them to sleep for the last time. I could barely get through Jacob's songs without crying, and had to leave Sophia's room twice to "wet my throat." I finally had to ask my wife to help me sing the last song. Then, with both kids blissfully asleep, we sank onto the living room futon and cried.
 
On Wednesday morning the kids asked, as they always do, whether it was Wednesday. Usually they ask with excitement -- Wednesday is Mom Visit day, and they love cheering when it is FINALLY Wednesday. This time, they burst into tears. It was Goodbye Day.

Luckily, it was also Sophia's big field trip for the end of summer camp. They were going to a zoo. She was excited about that, so we were able to soothe her and get her focused on the good parts of the day.

For Jacob, on the other hand, it was nothing but Goodbye Day. He was deeply depressed by the whole thing. He begged to come back with us while we packed the minivan, rather than going to the new foster mom for babysitting. I let him stay so that he could say goodbye on his own terms. He helped carry out the bags we'd packed, but quickly that turned into him throwing his shoes and running off.

I sat with him while he struggled to cope with the turmoil he felt. He agreed to walk through the house one last time, to say goodbye, and then go to the new house. So my wife stopped what she was doing, we walked through the house, stopping and crying together and talking about our memories in many rooms, and then we all went to the new home.

Luckily, since he's been there daily for babysitting this past week, he was able to fall into a routine. We unpacked the van and headed back to do the last laundry and take the decals off the walls so we could decorate their new bedrooms just like their old bedrooms.

By the time I finished work, my wife had finished everything, and Jacob met me happily at the door to show me his room. He had destroyed so many of the decals he'd earned at our house that my wife decided to simply put up all the decals she had. So there were all new Batman decals, and he happily showed me every one.

Remembering how difficult it was for us at first, handed a mixed garbage bag of clothes for both kids, Sandy had sorted and folded everything so that the kids' clothes were all organized by type. The new foster mom was happily putting the last of Sophia's clothes away.

Then we had to get Jacob into the car to go get Sophia and bring them to their mom visit. They knew the goodbye was looming, but we tried to stay happy, singing the songs they have come to love. We also talked openly about it -- we talked about how much we'd miss them, and that it was OK to be sad, but that we hoped they would love and be happy at their new home. Finally, we pulled into the parking lot. Sophia looked stricken.

"You can do this," I told her. "Be brave. Remember, Mommy said we can see you again. All you have to do is ask."

She nodded and bravely got out of the car. I'd been afraid she would stick to her promise of refusing to leave, forcing me to carry her inside screaming and have the caseworkers peel her off. I wanted a better goodbye than that. I wanted her to remember something less traumatic than that. So we hugged them goodbye and walked them in, them clinging to our hands. Remember how it was supposed to be a therapeutic environment, with clinicians there to help the kids transition?

In reality, they had scheduled a lengthy meeting with the bio mom, in which she screamed at them for two hours, blaming them for god knows what. She had also brought a movie for the kids to watch. There were no clinicians there. Very therapeutic. I am so, so glad we told them early!

We were kept waiting because bio mom was off screaming at the caseworkers, and someone was dispatched to try to wrap things up so the kids could come in. The kids were utterly silent and motionless. This was not a good way to start things.

Eventually a caseworker came and walked them back to the room for the visit. We went back to the car and unhooked the car seats and gathered up other stuff that the new foster mom would need, which we had agreed to leave for her at the office. Then one of the caseworkers came out, saying that we were wanted in the visit to say goodbye. We explained that we'd already said goodbye because we'd been told we wouldn't be allowed in the visit. Well, she said, bio mom wants you to come say goodbye.

Righty-o. One last time, we will do whatever the bio mom wants. So we went in, and bio mom instructed the kids to hug us and say thank you, as if any child should ever have to say thank you to people for caring for them. We hugged them, and bio mom said that when they came home, she would take them to a park to meet up with us.

We tried to ignore the implicit threat: and until then, you won't see them. We knew, going into this, that was likely.

But the kids know they have to ask. It is unfair, and they are too young, but they have to advocate for themselves in this.

The DSS caseworker came out to chat with us as we were leaving. She told us that after the events of Monday (when bio grandmother whispered something to Jacob that made him cry hysterically for 15 minutes, and which he said she told him not to repeat to anyone), bio grandmother is banned from visits, doctor's appointments and phone calls. Given that she has caused no end of trouble during those times, we took it as a very positive sign that things might be easier for the new foster mom.

The DSS caseworker also expressed surprise when we said we would not be fostering anymore. We were professional, but we explained calmly that we did not want to be involved in the system any more.

More on that in another post.

In the meantime, we went home. I went to work. My wife went to work. We had to just pick ourselves up and carry on, as if our hearts were not broken forever.

The Big Reveal

We told the kids Friday night, after it became clear no one was going to do anything about the "tell them Wednesday, say goodbye and leave" plan. (And, indeed, despite people promising they would call us "today," no one actually called us until Monday, when they were still intending to go ahead with the plan that they all privately agreed would be bad for the kids.)

Thank god we did it, because it really helped them process the news and come to terms with it. As we watched them slowly grieve and then heal over the past four days, we knew we'd made the right decision.

And we also learned (this week) that no clinicians had actually been scheduled to make this a "therapeutic" event, and also that communication was so poor that none of the three agencies involved knew where and when the event was to take place. One agency (the one with the supposed clinicians) thought it would be at the DSS office at 4 p.m., which is when and where visits were being held at the start of the summer. DSS thought it would be at their office at 3:30 p.m., because that's when the visits have been for the past month. But the third agency had actually told bio mom to come to their office in Malta at 2:45 p.m. So by the time the clinicians, if there had been any, showed up at DSS, the visit would have already been over in Malta.

It would have been horrible, even with clinicians.

So we told them at the end of dinner. This is how we did it. (All our statements are true, though they are not, as you know, the true reason for the move.)

I taught the kids how to converse at a table by explaining that each person should tell their "big news" from the day and then ask another person about their big news. So at the end of the dinner, we explained that our big news was that Sandy's mom is very sick.

They know her and have visited her in the hospital, as well as going on car rides and such with her. They got very quiet.

We explained that she is so sick, she must come live with us so we can take care of her.

And then we explained that they can't share a room with her or each other, and thus we don't have enough bedrooms.

They started to get a bit concerned at this point.

So, we said as brightly as possible, we talked with mommy and the caseworkers and they asked if there was anyone the kids really liked, who would love to have them live with them, and we said yes! They love Jacob's new babysitter!

And so, we said, we were very very sad but they would be moving to her house next week.

Sophia burst into tears first. It took Jacob a moment longer to understand, and then he burst into tears too. We held them both, rocking them and singing to them but not trying to stop them from crying. I think it's healthy to cry at big losses.

At first they both kept wailing, "Right now? Tonight?" in tones of despair. When we assured them it was not until next week, they kept asking, "Is it tomorrow?" But we counted the days together -- five days! -- and that reassured them. Thank god we didn't do this at the last minute Wednesday!

After awhile -- 15 minutes? 30 minutes? -- they calmed a little and we talked about ways they could comfort themselves. They both requested their comfort forts, so Jacob and I put his back together (he's ripped it apart many times) and my wife got Sophia's out and put it in the dining room for her. But just the act of doing that seemed to calm them, and then we got out all the toys that we had taken away from Jacob over the months because he hit people with them. All the big, hard, painful toys. That really delighted them and they played happily for a little while.

Then we went into the bedtime routine, and they took great comfort in that, and in being in their bedrooms, which they love. Both kids needed more soothing than normal, of course, but the reason we chose Friday was because we would both be there to do bedtime for as long as it took.

It took about an hour. Both kids fell asleep well.

Heartbreakingly, the next night Jacob asked me: "When we sleep at [new family's home], we'll still have dinner here, right?" He wanted to always hear my big news.

They have both repeatedly asked if they will see us again.

We told them we want to see them, want them to visit us, want to visit them, and have told every agency involved. But, we said, they have to ask. Not just once or twice. They have to beg everyone: mommy, caseworkers, law guardian. It's mommy's decision.

They know that mommy probably won't want us to see them. But so far she has not told DSS to have us stay away. So I'm hopeful. Even if we can just see them a couple times after the move, I think it will help with the transition -- they'll know we're still around, we still care about them, we didn't just vanish.

But just in case, I also told them how to remember the name of my wife's business, and told them that someday, when they're older, they will be able to use computers and phones and they can look her business up on the computer. Her website has her phone number.

Probably in a few months they will move on, adjust well to their new life and not think of us much at all. They are so young -- 4 and 5 years old -- that we will quickly fade in their memories. I remember almost nothing from that age. But if they do, if they someday want to piece together parts of their life, we will be here. Waiting. Ready.

Guilty thoughts

I'll update later with how it went, telling the kids, but overall it was a really good, therapeutic weekend.

Today was Part 2 of the psych eval. The doc convinced Bio Mom to let Jacob have the medicine that his pediatrician tried to prescribe months ago. This time she agreed, and signed the paperwork.

He also agreed with the pediatrician that there's more going on here than ADHD. He said there's some sort of anxiety disorder, and maybe other things -- but he's so young and so overwhelmed with impulses that it's hard to tell. But, he said, in his brief talk with Jacob he had to redirect him more than 30 times.

What he did not address was the times when redirection doesn't work, and Jacob goes into a violent rage.

Is that because he doesn't believe it happens? Does he think it won't happen once Jacob is on this new medication? Did we give up on him too soon?

He told Bio Mom that Jacob might seem like "an entirely different boy" after the new medication takes effect. We start it tonight.

This decision was so, so hard, and seeing the kids grieve has been so hard. And now I'm wondering...Sure, I can tell myself the following:
1. She still hasn't set up the counseling that the doc says Jacob needs, and which is court-ordered, and which she said she would set up weeks ago.
2. She could withdraw approval for this medication at any time, just like she did last time.
3. It might not address the rages at all, which the pediatrician said are not a symptom of ADHD.

But a part of me feels like a terrible failure for giving up. And the new family seems great at handling stuff like this, yes, but there are things the new foster mom says at times that worry me. Will he really be loved and cherished there?

Did we do the right thing?

Certainly I can say foster care in general was not the right thing for us. We are clearly not the right people for it. We care. We get attached. We advocate for the kids.

And also, we were clearly not the right people for these kids...the 4-hour medical appointments, once or twice a WEEK, were killing our ability to work. And the utter lack of communication was driving us batty. Only by directly asking a caseworker today, two days before the next mom visit, did we learn they'd changed the time of the visit again. This time they've decided it should be at 2:45 p.m. (It was previously at 4 p.m., except that they randomly change it.) I explained that Sophia's camp has a field trip, and won't be back til 3 p.m., and thus the earliest we can get the kids to the location they've chosen is 3:45 p.m.


I don't know how other foster parents who work full-time do it. But we can't.

And we can't raise children without loving them, and driving ourselves crazy beating our heads against the wall of bureaucracy.

So this wasn't for us, but we wanted to give the children our all anyway.

I just hope this decision is right.

Child abuse

Today we were informed that our agency's "clinicians" have decided it's best for the children to not be told of their impending move until it literally happens. They want us to bring the kids to their visit with their mom next Wednesday, and we are "welcome to be present" while someone else tells the kids they are moving to a new home right then.

Until then, we are asked to please not tell them anything.

I cannot, frankly, think of anything more damaging to do to a child -- except, perhaps, permanently physically injuring them.

I am literally shaking with rage.

So, tonight we're telling the kids. I recognize this might lead to the kids getting removed earlier, if our agency or the bio mom find out, and there's not much I can do to keep them from finding out. I figure we'll do the daily mom call early today, and then tell them, and try our best to keep Saturday's call short and focused. Possibly if we call while we're doing something really entertaining...I won't do anything as awful as telling the kids to keep it a secret. Never. But I am not going to let them be blindsided by their horrible mother and the spineless caseworkers who are supposed to protect them.

If it does come out, I might be able to excuse it as the kids figuring it out -- their mom asked incredibly leading questions last night. I thought she was going to give it away right then. Their new mom also gave it away a bit -- told Jacob "this is going to be your room!" when he came over to visit. And then our family specialist called last night while the kids were in the car and tried to schedule a time to tell the kids. We eventually gave up having that veiled conversation, took the kids home, and hid in the bathroom to talk. But they obviously know something is up. Sophia would not leave me today -- took me 30 minutes to get her to go play at preschool. She just wanted to cling to me.

So here I am again, at work, trying to get work done while spending the majority of my time advocating for the kids instead. It's just so frustrating.

"Transition" plans

So, at long last we have a transition plan.

We gave them essentially unlimited time -- up to three months -- with encouragement to do the transition in the next six weeks so that it's done before the school year. But then they found a family that's in the same school district, so they still had plenty of time for transition.

Then they held meetings and discussed and came up with a plan (without us, of course).

Ready?

Here it is: in six days, the kids will move in with the new family.

That's it.

That's the transition plan they came up with, when given all our support and all the time in the world to put together something.

And THAT, in a nutshell, is what is  wrong with the system.

To be clear: DSS came up with this plan. I can't blame this on our (incompetent) agency or the bio mom. This one is the product of the system.

Now, we do have some things in place that will help the kids. Jacob is going to be babysat by the new family for the next week, because he was expelled from his summer camp. So that allows him to get to know them, at least. That's really good.

We've asked for permission for Sophia to spend a day there too. We have not gotten approval for that.

We also haven't yet been officially "allowed" to tell the kids. Frankly, I'm gonna tell them tomorrow night (Friday). That gives them the weekend to process the news, allows them to focus on the things they most want to do for their last weekend with us, and gives them the maximum amount of time in our presence after they're told. If I wait for permission, they're going to say we can tell them on Tuesday or something. The kids leave Wednesday.

Here's the plan I would've recommended, following basic child development and child attachment philosophies:
1. Do not do an abrupt "break." Have the children visit the new family slowly, over the course of six weeks.
2. Have them spend increasing amounts of time with the new family, starting with short visits, then all day, then an overnight, then a few days.
3. Once they "move in," have them slowly leave our home -- first come back for a weekend after 5 days there, then come back for an overnight after a week there, then come back for a daytime visit.
4. Continue contact through respite care.

This is, in fact, what many foster parents have developed on their own. But the system prefers quick and dirty, and never mind how many children it hurts.

Sent home again

Jacob was sent home early from summer camp again today, this time for throwing rocks at the camp counselors. Miraculously, they will let him return tomorrow.

Yesterday, he took off his seatbelt and opened the car door while my wife was driving down the street. (It was in the new car that we'd just gotten -- I'd forgotten to engage the child locks, since it had been so long since he'd tried something like that. Apparently the lock was all that was keeping him from doing it.)

They are hopefully meeting the new family this weekend, at some point. Then they will go to that family next Wednesday for Labor Day weekend, while we go on our annual trip. No word yet on whether the plan is to have them move out at that time or come back and slowly move into the new home. Why no word? Because Bio Mom is losing her mind.

She announced yesterday that she wants us to not tell the kids, and just drop them off at next Wednesday's visit with a couple bags. Then, she'll introduce them to the new family at the visit, tell the kids she's decided they will live with the new family, and pack them off with no chance to have said goodbye to us first.

She also vowed to never let us see the kids again. She does have the right to decide that, although I think that's bullshit. While they're in foster care, their foster family should be able to decide who they interact with -- she shouldn't get to choose. Anyway, we plan to get around that by giving our friends' phone numbers to the new family, so the kids can pass messages if they want.

This whole thing is just such utter bullshit. Foster parents are expected to partner with bio parents, and even if they adopt the children, they're expected to maintain connections with the child's bio family. But bio parents are under no such expectations.

Anyway, I must admit I had assumed, based on bio mom's behavior with the kids' last foster mom, whom she declared they could never see again, that we would also be banned. But my wife is devastated.

Bio mom also told her that she would do her best to "erase" the kids' memories of us and of foster care. My wife was deeply hurt -- she's been making them a memory book. I was able to console her only by reminding her that it's very unlikely these kids are ever going back home.

We are making the memory book anyway, and giving it to the new family to take care of, add to, and pass on when the kids move.

Our agency, which has been ignoring our increasingly urgent calls on this issue, finally called my wife back and assured her that this whole no-goodbyes policy is not the agency's normal policy. DSS and our agency are now (finally!) planning the transition. Or at least saying they will plan it, which is progress of sorts.

These poor kids are trapped: surrounded by a mom who cannot think past her own emotions and caseworkers who are too overworked, incompetent or burned out to care.

I am so sorry to abandon them in that world. But I will be glad to escape it.

Maybe they just need clear instruction

Today, Jacob got sent home from camp because he went through a camp counselor's bag on the bus, found her wallet, hid all the cards under his seat, and hid the wallet in his backpack. It was only found when his counselor searched his bag, though he did then confess.

At first it looked like he was going to be expelled again (and really, who could blame them?) but the camp director relented. She seemed pleased that I came to fetch him right away and treated him firmly -- not angrily, but not with warmth. She could clearly see he would be disciplined, I think. So she said she thought he would be able to learn his lesson this weekend and try camp again on Monday.

However, I had a 30-minute drive to get him in which I didn't know if there was any chance of a reprieve. So I called our foster agency. Our homefinder didn't answer (and never calls us back anyway, though I left a message). Our family specialist is out with a broken toe. Her voicemail said to contact her supervisor. But that person's voicemail said she is out today, and gave me the number for HER supervisor. That person didn't answer her phone, but her voicemail gave me a main office number to call.

It took 10 minutes to get through all that, while driving, but eventually I spoke to a real person, who transferred me to the supervisor's supervisor. Except, of course, she dropped the call by accident. So I called back, and finally got to talk to her.

I explained that I had a crisis and briefly described the problem. Then I said, as clearly as possible, "What I need right now is to find a child care facility that will take a 5-year-old who hits, steals and runs away. It needs to be very structured and have no field trips, because that's when he really falls apart. And I need to get some possibilities lined up today, so that I can call them and try to get him into one starting Monday, because we both work."

Every other time there's been a crisis, I've asked for help in handling Jacob -- I've asked for counseling, advice, doctor referrals, etc. This time, knowing that he will be moving on (and knowing there's no way they will offer me help for him), I was just focused on the practical: we need a way to keep our jobs.

And, to my surprise, the agency was very responsive. They got right on it, coming up with possibilities and actually calling the places for us.

Then the camp director relented, so all is well. For now, at least.

Shockingly, Jacob's bio mom was also supportive of us -- I called her to talk to Jacob when he kept insisting he'd done nothing worth sending him home from camp. "It's not fair," he kept saying, arguing that it wasn't THAT bad because he gave the wallet back. When someone else searched his bag.

So she gave him a good talking to -- and, amusingly, said basically the same things I did. She told me that she would back me up on whatever punishment we came up with, and that if he threw a fit or otherwise misbehaved about it, to call her back and she would back us to the hilt. She has never before said or done anything like that. I was pleasantly surprised.

She was also completely in agreement with me on our planned punishment: he has to spend the rest of the day in his room (five hours, which you have to admit is a LONG time) because my wife is busy working downstairs and I'm at the office. And then, after dinner, while his sister and I go to the big outdoor presentation at the park of "The Lego Movie," he'll have to go to bed. In the past she's seemed unhappy if he gets any sort of punishment at all, including a 5-minute time-out. I'm not sure what's caused this about-face, but it's great. Maybe it's because she's happy to get rid of us? Though she might not know yet....

Because also today, DSS apparently told our agency that looking for a new family without telling the bio mom first is "sneaky." We didn't tell them to do it that way, but DSS is punishing us for it anyway. (Given that we've been told not to speak to the bio mom outside of kids' calls, how exactly were we supposed to tell her?) So DSS told our agency not to allow any respite until -- well, until further notice, I guess.

We have plane tickets for our annual vacation in two weeks. There is no way we are skipping that trip. They have known about it literally since the day we took in the kids, six months ago.

I guess the problem is that the respite family is the family that would take them. Ah, cannibals. You might have to work with them, but you can't trust them to have your back.

Jealousy and doubt

My Facebook feed is full of pictures of smiling children, sitting together, having fun in wide-open spaces. Of parents who went on these trips with these children and HAD FUN. And are looking forward to doing it again.

I am so jealous.

I ought to be happy for them. But really, a part of me sees those pictures and thinks: If only Jacob and Sophia could be like that!

Then I think, Well, they aren't saying it, but I bet they had to chase their child around too, stopping him from hitting other kids and stealing their stuff! ...No, probably they didn't.

There is a part of me that's mad about it. I want to say, hey! I didn't sign up for this!

But parenting is hard, right?


So how can I just give up?

Am I a failure as a parent already? Will I give up on my baby? Does this prove I'm not up to the task?

My wife says this makes us even more ready for children. But to me that sounds like saying that after a divorce, you're an expert in the marriage game. No, you're not -- you're an expert in NOT succeeding at marriage.

All I can say is: this thing is hard. Moving them to a new family feels just as hard as keeping them with us.

Psych eval

Today was the long-awaited, long-fought psych evaluation. Well, part one of it, anyway.

The doctor took us seriously, I think. At one point we told him that our foster care agency told us all foster youth act like this, and he looked down at his notes and laughed.

But it wasn't a collaborative, frank meeting. Bio mom was there for all of it, and started the session by saying that she sees nothing wrong with Jacob and has no concerns "except for your house" (meaning that we are raising him incorrectly).

We described the sorts of things we're seeing, provided him with letters from Jacob's two camps, and told him about Jacob's behavior in hitting kids at school.

I did also lend credence to bio mom's claim that foster care is what has caused all this for Jacob. I figured -- what the hell? It might be true, after all. Certainly, being ripped from one's family is a major trauma. I am hoping that the doctor will also be able to hypothesize that the things that went on prior to him being ripped from his family were also a major trauma.

Bio mom did seem to thaw a little...though she was also taking notes, probably for her next round of complaints about us. She did eventually say that she also thinks Jacob is unpredictable, with good days when everything is great at the visit, and bad days, where all he'll do is spit in her face and yell, "I hate you!"

She also said Jacob was diagnosed with ADHD at age 2.5, which surprised the doctor, who made a small comment about the age. (ADHD symptoms are pretty common behavior for 2.5-year-olds; it seems very odd that he could be diagnosed that way then, and certainly suggests it was a misdiagnosis. ADHD can often really be PTSD, anxiety disorder, and other such issues.)

He met with her alone, and with the caseworker alone, and then met with Jacob for awhile alone, and then gathered all of us adults again. He told us that Jacob could definitely benefit from talk therapy (that would be that counseling I've been begging for) and bio mom FINALLY seemed to acknowledge that. She said he "really needs it." So maybe that will go somewhere.

He also said he doesn't think increasing Jacob's dosage, as his pediatrician wanted and his mother opposed, would stop him from running away at camp. That suggests to me that he doesn't think anxiety is at the root of this -- but then he talked a lot about anxiety, so maybe...I don't know. He did say Jacob was on a "very low" dose and that he wouldn't want to increase it without waiting 6 weeks (which would be next week). So perhaps there's the possibility of improvement there.

Then he told us that we should all give him short commands, as if we don't already. I know bio mom is convinced we talk Jacob to death, and god knows we are talkers, but it was just annoying. I mean, I'd even told him how I'd told Jacob, "sit down and put on your seat belt," and he responded by throwing a cup of water at me. If that wasn't a short command, what is? But whatever, I'll look more closely at my words and try to shorten my commands...even though, honestly, ordering him around seems to get the worst results.

When we left, bio mom seemed to be wanting to partner with us again...she was saying she would work on getting Jacob to not run away by telling him that he could be taken and the stranger wouldn't know where to take him to see Mommy at the visits. She said at the visit this afternoon she would talk with him about why summer camp is fun (we'd told her it was the only place where he could go swimming, which he loves) and why he wants to not get kicked out.

Thankfully, his grandmother waited downstairs. But she overheard that last remark, as we walked down the stairs. Her comment, to bio mom: "Why? The camp would only be a couple more weeks."

Of course, I don't argue with these people, but I was stunned. Does she not care about how badly he feels when he gets kicked out? Does it not occur to her that it makes him feel badly about himself? Does she not realize that he loves camp? Does she not understand that since my wife and I both work, we need childcare during the day? And does it really, truly, not occur to her that by running off, he's putting himself at risk? In the last few weeks he ran in front of a car and nearly ran over a cliff.

These people drive me mad.

As much as I'll miss the kids, I will not miss all of this bickering and undermining and drama.

Sleep? What sleep?

I couldn't sleep last night. I just kept trying to figure out what Jacob needs. Why did he run away EIGHT TIMES yesterday at camp? What can I do to prevent that today? What am I going to do if he gets expelled again? Neither of us has any more leave, but one of us needs to take off work to be with him until I can...what? Find a camp that will take a kid who has been expelled TWICE for destroying other kids' art work and other anti-social stuff AND running away?

How do I even put that in an application?

How are we going to get through this month?

Sometimes it just feels like it's all too much. And then I lay awake all night. I watched the sun rise this morning...it was pretty. So there was that, at least.

This morning I had a new game plan. It occurred to me that yesterday was Monday. Maybe new kids joined Jacob's group at camp (they sell camp by the week, so each week some campers leave and some campers start). Maybe this was all anxiety?

He told me, upon questioning, that there were new kids and he made friends with them "anyway" -- an odd word choice. I queried further, which is always dangerous because I could end up feeding him an answer. He said he knew all the kids. But he also said there was one scary kid.

I pressed on with my plan anyhow. He says he trusts his camp counselor, who we will call Mr. Jack. I told him that whenever he feels "uncomfortable" (because what boy wants to admit he's scared?) he should go up to Mr. Jack and say, "I feel uncomfortable. Can I stay with you all day?"

Then I tried role-playing with Jacob. We all -- his sister, my wife, me, him -- acted out various parts, pretending to be a scary kid, Mr. Jack, Jacob. He took great delight in yelling at me and pushing me back to the group when I "ran away" when pretending to be Jacob while he was Mr. Jack. But then we went too far -- he decided to play himself one more time, and this time he went and hid, ran from place to place to keep hiding, folded his arms and yelled no and all the stuff we see him do during a classic anxiety attack.

My wife was like, "Is this what you do at camp?" He hid under a blanket. We looked at each other. No wonder they were upset, if he was doing this all day.

We finally got him to go to my wife, who was playing Mr. Jack, and say the phrase -- but he was so worked up he couldn't remember it on his own.

I tried to call the camp director to tell her about this, so they could give him cues, but she wasn't in and hasn't called back yet.

My wife thinks I made it worse by working him up like that. I hadn't intended to! It just got out of hand. It's hard, sometimes, for kids to remember they're pretending.

I don't know what to do. I feel like I'm blind-folded and stumbling through a crevasse, trying desperately to visualize the turns I've taken so I can find my way out.

He's going to be so upset if he gets kicked out again. He hated himself for a week after the last expulsion. And I tried to put it in his terms: there's no other camp that has swimming, so if he runs away, he's choosing to not go swimming anymore. He loves swimming. But he can't seem to hold it together.

Tomorrow is part one of the long-awaited psych eval. Please, let this lead to something that will help him. I know it won't be in time for me to see it, but please, just let him get the help he needs.

That's all I want.

Eight days

That's how long Jacob lasted at his new summer camp before we got our first warning of expulsion.

"He's been 'wandering away from the group' consistently and it's now a safety concern. If he doesn't stop, we won't be able to keep him at Camp."

Wandering away is the polite way to say "runs off."

Why does he run off?

Well...he runs off if he's told to do something he doesn't want to do (like, "let's leave this activity now and go to the next one"). He runs off when he sees something he would like to do, even though the group isn't doing it. He runs off when he's embarrassed, if other kids are teasing him or if something happens that he suspects will lead to kids teasing him. He runs off when he's mad, usually because he's been reprimanded for doing something or kids are teasing him. He runs off to get attention.

In general, the only way we've found to keep him from running off is to either give him constant attention (and I do mean CONSTANT) or keep him in a fenced area and sit in front of the gate.

It just makes me so sad. And so tired.

I tried to put it in a way Jacob would understand, tonight: "This is the only camp where you can go swimming. If you run away, you are making the choice to not go swimming. Because any other camp we send you to will not have any swimming."

Swimming is, he regularly says, the only thing he likes about camp. He loves swimming. And it's a physical thing in which he's grouped with people of the same ability level, and his developmental delays don't affect it, so he feels normal. He's not the last, the slowest, the worst. This is a big deal. At this camp they swim twice a day.

I have no idea where we could send him if this doesn't work out. But, having frantically searched for options last time (just a week and a half ago), I do know for sure that none of the other places have swimming.

He only just, this weekend, got over his feelings of disgust and despair at himself for being expelled from the last camp.

PLEASE do not let this happen again, Jacob!!!

In other news, our agency sent a clinician today to help "support us" and work with the kids. (Too little too late, but it is nice of them. God knows I'll take any help I can get.)

Her eyes widened as I described his most basic actions. And then he arrived...Honestly, he was pretty good tonight -- I had to redirect him every minute so he would stop slamming doors, screaming, jumping on people, throwing things, etc. But that's typical whenever he comes into any new situation. He feels anxious (or at least, I think so) and then he acts like that until we're able to reassure him enough that he calms down.

Let's hope that, unlike the last clinician, she actually comes back. (The first clinician came only once. And never called us again, never came back again, even though we had appointments with her...she eventually told us we were making mountains out of molehills but took Jacob to be evaluated by a mental health professional and was told, in front of us, that Jacob had very serious issues and should have been prioritized for help. We never got any help after that, either...and then she quit her job, two months later.)

So I don't have much hope for this clinician, but hey, you never know.

On Wednesday we have our big appointment with the Major Psychiatric Doctor. This is the appointment we fought for...and for which we were recently told we could not actually attend or provide any information. Luckily they relented...but I imagine the day will be full of confrontation.

Bio mom and DSS don't want to face the fact that anything is going on with Jacob. They don't want to hear the truth. They're worried about what we might say. It might upset bio mom. There might be a confrontation, they said. It might be difficult.

Bring it on. I am so, so ready to deliver a nice frank dose of reality to those people.

Guilt

We've had an up-and-down week, as I suppose every family has. Jacob completely lost it at camp, two days in a row, and then pulled himself together for two days, except that of course he keeps running away from the group and that it's difficult to diffuse/refocus him.

Yeah. Tell me about it.

On the plus side, the structured, frankly highly-regimented atmosphere is working well. His counselor is always able to get him back into the group. So that's good.

But then there's things like last night...he went into time out for dropping toys into my wife's water glass, sat down calmly, and then screamed as loudly as he could (clearly trying to get my attention). I continued to talk with Sophia, so he grabbed the nearest item and threw it at my head. Luckily it was a plastic tube.

It wasn't a big deal. I refused to react, so he didn't get the attention he wanted, and instead he had to go directly to bed. He took this well, unlike the last time I sent him to his room -- when he climbed out onto the roof.

But it was just tiring. I wish things weren't always such a fight. I want to be able to play with him and show him cool things and have interesting conversations instead of these battles.

Sure, I know it isn't always like this. But it seems like it is like this every day, for at least a portion of the day. And I would just like it to stop.

I feel guilty about sending them away, but at moments like this, when he's trying to throw things at my head, I am looking forward to them being gone. And then I feel even more guilty.

I feel guilty for wondering what would have happened if he'd picked up something heavier, as he's done in the past. I feel guilty for wondering what could happen if he did that while a baby was laying next to me.

I feel guilty because my wife and I agree that if these were our children, OUR children for keeps, we would not have chosen to have a third because it would be too much to manage.

Then I feel guilty for looking forward to our baby. Who I'm choosing over these children.

My whole day just feels laced with guilt. When they're great and happy and fun (or even just not horrible), I feel guilty. How could I send these sweet children away? When Jacob is actively trying to hurt me, or is running in front of cars on purpose, and so on, I feel guilty for thinking, "Only a little longer...you won't have to deal with this forever."

It would be so nice to just look forward to the baby. To just be happy. But even that thought makes me feel guilty.

Laugh or gasp?

Oh, Jacob. Last night he lost control -- destroying things, throwing things, refusing to go to time out, etc. I sent him to his room to change into his pajamas. Shortly thereafter, he came down to tell me he'd climbed out onto the roof. He was ecstatic. What a cool experience! And also very much hoping that this would get my attention.


Well, it was a real dilemma. Should I laugh and think: boys will be boys!

It would be a lot easier, I must admit, if he was MY boy, if I didn't have to answer to an agency and DSS and his mother if he fell off the roof and broke his leg.

I wanted to laugh. I did. I wanted to find joy in his youthful exploration.

But instead I kept thinking about how, when we tell him not to do something because it's not safe, he races off to do it. If the oven is hot, he has to open it. When he is told not to run into the road, he deliberately does so...and on Sunday, even waited until a car was coming and then darted in front of it.

Is he getting a high off risky behavior? Or is he,  as I suspect, looking for anything that will get that gasp of horror?

It seems to me that he has been searching for that since the beginning...at first he could get it from throwing something. Then we got smart and stopped reacting, so he figured out that shredding books got that reaction. Now any sort of destruction gets no gasp from us...but being incredibly physically unsafe does.

So last night, I just sighed and said, "Now I can't trust you to be in your room anymore." I got him into his PJs but made him sleep on the futon downstairs so we could keep an eye on him. Then I nailed his window shut and got him upstairs to bed.

This morning, the first thing he did was to try to open that window. He unlocked it and got one of the two nails out.

I tried not to react to this either.

Unfortunately, he's also figured out that if he destroys his sister's things -- -shredding her art work, for example -- he gets that gasp. So now he's doing that, too. And his mother encouraged him, last week, to shred papers when he felt scared. Since then he's become a destruction machine, ripping and breaking everything he can find, and saying, "I feel mad," as an excuse whenever we ask him why he's doing it.

The situation is getting more and more intolerable. And I am now desperately afraid he will somehow manage to hurt himself -- and it will be my fault. I don't know how much more I can do to keep him safe.