From Foster Child to Social Worker

2011-07-19T18:40:00.000-05:00

Oh wow! I did it. I actually quit my job and I'm free. Things at DCBS had become so overwhelming and as I told you all in December, I had a goal to be out by August 1st. I quit July 15th. I give my hat to all the workers who stay and retire after 27 years. So impressive.

So now I'm doing Impact Plus Service Coordination. Also going back to school at the end of August to get my MSW on a part time basis. I hope to be doing therapy in two years. It was a hard decision to go to contract work after being salary for so many years. I gave up my insurance and retirement, but I also gave up the liability, the stress and gained peace of mind and to be honest am still feeling a little guilty for those I left behind.

When I started at DCBS five years ago, I asked myself "what the hell have I done", five years later I was asking myself, "what the hell am I doing". They cut all overtime, gave us furloughs, caseloads were astronomical and finally we went from being specialized to generic... meaning our job duties included doing investigations on top of our bulging caseloads. Life became insane for months,... working off the clock, worrying about our kids and families, neglecting our foster parents. Neglecting our own families.

The final straw came when a family on an in home case started using and I suspected it, but didn't have time to follow up in a timely fashion. When the police called me from the hospital and said get down here, a child on your watch is here bc the parent was using with her present (a very young child), I knew it was time for me to make the change. I'm not beating myself up, but the outcome could have been horrible and it was the final straw. I sat in the hospital the about seven hours with this child and it's parent who was out of their head and thought about how on top of my game (so to speak) I used to be and how things had become increasingly crazier over the last year and a half. I thought about things in true drama queen mode, while I sat quietly and professionally never giving my thoughts away. I tried to remember the last time I saw a movie with my kids, (foster kids, biological kids.... it didn't matter) and couldn't remember. When was the last time I read a book or blogged? When was the last time I cleaned out the hall closet? How would I have lived with myself if the child I was currently sitting in the hospital with had died? How would my family cope if I went to prison because we all know the state wouldn't stand by a worker.

I remembered that the reason I decided to become a social worker was because I knew the system was "faulty" and truly wanted to make a positive and permanent change from the "inside". Little did I know then what a daunting goal that was. I knew nothing of politics and had no idea how little politicians know or even care about "protective services". How can the secretary of state veto new positions that desperately need to be filled? How can the government allow an agency who is working so hard dwindle down to so few workers with "hiring freezes" and cut overtime when overtime is the only saving element for workers to get their work done? Before I left, workers were only doing "triage work" as we call it and connections with their families were left by the wayside. Swimming upstream for an eternity was just something I couldn't do... and honestly that's okay. I learned so much and made so many connections. It's time for a different approach and for now... that approach is a step back. And that's okay too.

What's up?

2010-12-09T01:04:00.000-06:00

Hi everyone! I've been home for almost a week sick with bronchitis and laryngitis. Funny how life slows you down sometimes. Maria(Canada), thank you for your comment. I never really "go anywhere". I look at this blog several times a month and think "why can't I blog". Then I give myself permission to ignore it. Ha. I've been giving myself permission to ignore myself all my life. I need the push so thanks!

So let's talk about why I'm not blogging. Um, because I'm scared. There I said it. I went too far into my story too fast and got scared. What exactly am I scared of? The vulnerable feeling I get that I spent forty years building a wall around. Telling this story is like getting naked in front of people in the mall or something LoL.

I'm not really good at getting "nekkid". I had a good friend tell me once that I come off as a "hard" person, but that anyone who takes a little time to get to know me can see it's a cover. Ah, how many children do we see doing that? But I'm not a child. So when will I allow myself to be comfortable in my own skin. Will I ever trust or is that even necessary for finding "peace".

I have learned/recognized recently that I'm not content with my "all or nothing" approach to life. I am not able to do anything half way. I either give it everything I have or nothing at all. That includes housework, social work, parenting, friendships, relationships and of course, this blogging (obviously). I don't know how. I love my therapist. She promises me she's going to teach me to find some middle ground and how to find some peace of mind. I believe her too.

One decision I've made is to set a goal for myself to be out of CPS work by August 2011. (Every social worker knows that time will fly by). I don't want to jinx myself by telling my hopeful plans just yet, but new and exciting adventures are on my horizon and if they fall through, I'll develop a new plan. I'm resilient like that. It's time for me to be a social worker on my terms and CPS work has been a definite growing experience for me. I know it's time for me to be happy... now... not five years from now. I love my families, but I do not love the "system". I might talk about the "system" later, but not tonight. I will always serve families and children. I know that is my purpose... I just need to find the right fit and avenue that will allow me to have balance in my life. It's going to be exciting!

Traditions

2010-09-11T10:50:00.001-05:00

I love the weekends. Every Saturday morning I get up and let my dogs out to potty and stand on the back porch that my sweet husband built with his own hands and look at my back yard which extends about an acre or so back. A field lies beyond our yard so I'm not looking at someone else's life. I see birds and bunnies, wasps and bees. Our little pool which has been so much fun this summer. I have never been so grateful to be just able to live my life. Our little dogs (a Cocker Pug, a Cocker Jack Russell who looks like a hot dog, and a Boxer) bounce around to say good morning (one of them is just a sleepy little runt and stretches and yawns and looks like she couldn't care less that I want her to make some business). I feed our two cats, one geriatric and the other most definitely gay. I always laugh when my daughter has put a night shirt on him that has rhinestones on it. He loves to wear night clothes to sleep for some odd reason. I pull his night shirt off and give him a good scratch on his belly as he flops over on his back.

My husband is always up before me and waits for me to get up each weekend morning to make breakfast. He's been making weekend breakfast for 21 years for us (when he's in town) Sometimes pancakes or French toast. Today, bacon, sausage links, eggs, biscuits and gravy. He always pours milk in glasses and sets them in the freezer so they are extra cold for our meal. He's a morning person and usually only gets a sleepy smile from me until I've been up about an hour. We don't usually talk in the mornings. We just "be".

Our son comes in from his morning walk and declares he's not eating this crap as he makes his way to the shower. After awhile he is in the kitchen making a plate of biscuits and gravy while his dad teases that he'll have to walk ten miles to get that off.

I comment that it's awfully quiet without our daughter here who is pulling a shift at her job. She'll excitedly come in around noon with some treasure she found on clearance while she was working and proudly show everyone in the house what kind of steal she got.

Soon we all start talking about our week and what we want to do for the weekend... Chores get divided and done so we can get on with the business of doing something fun. Next weekend we're planning to go to the International festival so we'll probably skip breakfast and just get ready to go to town.I've been taking my favorite former foster child there every year for the past five years. We'll sample lots of cuisine from other countries and talk about getting a Henna tattoo which none of ever end up getting. I love the predictability of my life. So sweet and so simple.

Hope all of you are enjoying your weekend traditions.

An appearance

2010-09-10T00:28:00.000-05:00

Hi everyone, I'm wide open tonight. Drinking tomato juice and watching Big Brother After Dark. I'll probably have dark circles for the judge tomorrow, but that's okay cause it's Friday!!!

Anyway, I've gotten a second job. I'll be moonlighting as a hotel desk clerk. Sounds really fun to me. Not that I have a lot of extra time, but I do have a lot of extra bills. Having a lot of kidney stones can get expensive even with insurance!! But I'm soooooooooo thankful for Lithotripsy (or however it's spelled). I could have gotten a side job doing some social workey stuff, but I'm saturated with that so I thought NAH.

The weather has been beautiful here. We've been getting furloughed at work as a "budget balancing measure" so I had a four day weekend last week. Honey took off work too and we did a lot of yard work and house work and watched a whole season of Weeds. SO irreverent and so funny. I didn't even feel a minute of guilt LoL. I was proud of that.

Therapy is going amazingly well. I know that the reason I've stopped writing is because I'm a place in my writing were I had very difficult suicide attempt. I realize I'm not ready to talk about it and that's really okay. I was just 13, but what a powerful time in my life. I can't decide whether I should skip that part and pick up after that so I can keep writing or wait until I can write about it. I'm definitely open to votes. Skip and write or wait. (I reserve the right to make the final vote LoL).

So what else is going on? My son is in love. Love definitely looks good on him. He's cute. The sad thing is that I'm concerned about his girlfriend and her family. I don't think he chose to fall in love with her. I don't really know them, ... only by reputation and the jail website. Not good news. We've talked about the issues and tried to set some boundaries, but he will be 18 next May and I really don't want to force him to become "private" about his relationship with her. (I call it secretive, he prefers the word private Hahahaha).

I hope everyone is well and thank all of you who are following this blog. I see there are some new comers and hope this blog helps someone in some small way. You all are the best and have been SO good for me.
I'm gonna go see what some of you have been writing about and hope to hear from a bunch of you soon!!

Sleep tight Blogger Friends!!! Babs.

Hmmm

2010-08-11T07:43:00.000-05:00

I wonder why it is that when I feel like I could post and talk about the past when I only have about fifteen minutes before I need to leave or be somewhere? Then, when I have an hour or four... I'm sort of like... stuck. Like I don't know myself. But I do know myself. Moments of clarity... a lifetime habit of ignoring.

Anyway, I have a flat tire and my honey is out of town. Thankfully, I have sweet co-workers willing to give me a lift into town. It's too hot to teach myself how to change a tire for real.

My mom's birthday is coming up on the 18th. Those are the times I wish I believed or believed more... or knew what I believed. It's so much less painful to just say I don't. Playing with those ideas is like sticking my hand in scalding water.

It's days that I have flat tires, no money, and a whiny attitude that I want her. But not her... the her I wanted her to be. That I want her to be.

I want to whine and laugh and cry with her and see a smile or hear an exaggerated "I'm on my way".

I hope my kids feel like they have that.

Seveth Grade.

2010-07-31T08:07:00.001-05:00

My mom had a lot of Church friends. I feel like I'm repeating myself. The majority of the friends she chose to surround herself with were people with were at the lower end of the intelligence scale. The majority had a host of mental health issues. Depression, a lack of ability to see beyond their own issues, made them blind to the reality of our lives. Well meaning. Big hearts, little sense. One of her friends had an ex-husband that ran an alternator shop. She arranged for me to have a summer job at the shop. I thought it was odd, but money was money. The man was never out of the way with me, but mistrust ran deep. I was always on edge waiting for him to try to touch me. He was older and odd. In the shop there was a caged monkey that he instructed me never to feed or touch. I could not open the cage, but I often talked in a quiet voice to the entrapped animal. At just barely 13, I was out of place in a run down building that employed just a few other men. A few days a week the man would pick me up and I'd spend my day doing odds and ends. He never preached to me. Never attempted to be inappropriate. I still questioned my mother's judgment and waited for the other shoe to drop. I was never able to develop trust with the man who picked me up, but an there was an awkward kinship with that monkey. I knew that the man and his ex-wife had very active adult children in the Church. They had children by the van full. By active, I mean fully participating in the Church. The man appeared lonely and his ex-wife was off her rocker. He appeared to be alienated from his children and grandchildren and I often wondered how he got through each day. I thought he would probably kill himself, but he never did.

Summer went by in a haze and it was time to start back to school. I had no place to fit in really. No child doing drugs thinks the people they do drugs with are really their friends. They might tell you they do, but they don't. They are just other people who have as many problems as you do. Misery loves company as they say and you learn to settle. Children who don't do drugs avoid you like the plague. There were no "friends" at Church because let's face it. I hated them.

School began and my attitude pretty much sucked. I skipped 28 days of school my 7th grade year. Slipping a pad of school excuses in my backpack was easy from Dr. Dumbass's office. I became the master of my domain in seventh grade, but was lonelier than ever. I definitely was able to find people to hang out with while I skipped school, but not anywhere I'd want my children to be hanging out for sure. Some days I'd hang out with a girl from school who skipped more than I did and others I'd go to a man named Pappy's house. Pappy had four grown sons. None of them on the up and up. But Pappy never asked questions and there was plenty of alcohol in that house among other things. I will say those boys were very respectful of me in the sexual sense and it was as safe a place as any other.

But as luck would have it I did eventually get busted. I was skipping in this young woman's apartment in my own apartment complex. She needed to take her toddler to get his immunizations or something and I was getting ready to fry some potatoes to eat. I'd never fried potatoes, but I wanted some so I thought I knew what I was doing. How hard could it be?? Her parting words to me were "Don't burn my place down" and within 20 minutes I had set fire to her kitchen. Flames flickered up under the Cabinet as I grabbed a towel to put out the grease fire and of course the towel caught fire. As I panicked looking for salt or baking powder, the wall caught fire and a deep black smoke filled the apartment. No fire extinguisher, a small disposable salt shaker and water. I knew not to use water on an electric stove. Finally I abandon ship. I could hear the fire trucks and knew I was in deep shit. I was probably high truth be told. When I exited the apartment in full view of the crowd that had gathered in the parking lot, I spotted my mother immediately. God help me I knew what was coming. And this time I deserved it. That was the last time I skipped school.

Confession Time

2010-07-27T07:27:00.000-05:00

Okay, so I started seeing a therapist. I thought I was just going to go and gripe about work. What social worker doesn't need an outlet? Of course, before the end of the session we'd already gotten to the heart of the matter... Mommy issues. I'm so transparent LoL. Anyway, I think it will be good for me, not to mention my friends. I never want to be that friend who uses every person in their life as a sounding board. I'd rather enjoy my relationships. It's amazing to me the effect she still has on me 19 years post death. I'm actually pretty proud of myself for going. I went through all the same bargaining dialog with myself that I imagine everyone else goes through... "I'm not crazy", "I got this", etc etc. and I DO "got this", but it's very nice to have someone to release all the things I'd like to talk about that I just wouldn't put on someone I care about.

In other news, we got a pool this summer. So much fun!! Great exercise, very relaxing. The heat has been unbearable this year and the pool is just a perfect cure. (except I get sea sick if I swim too long... I'm just a freak like that LoL) We've been enjoying all the summer veggies our local farmers have grown, watching Big Brother (which is kind of boring this year) and getting ready for our son's Sr. year. Sr. pics were so funny. He's had that "Bond, James Bond" look in almost all of them. Oh! and I turned 40 this summer. What what!! Yes, I'm a grown up now. Thank you... thank you.. you can stop the applause now.

Tonight we're celebrating my daughter's best friend's birthday. She's such a sweetheart. I hope we can make it a very special day for her. Cake, presents and good food followed by the show "Pretty Little Liars". What could be better?

Hope everyone has a great day.

Life under control

2010-07-25T20:56:00.000-05:00

Hi everyone!! I've been away forever it seems like! Caseload is back down to a managable 24 cases. Summer is beginning to wind down as school starts back in a little over a week. I've been taking a few summer classes to prep for grad school. I was thinking I'd go in August, but the ever procrastinating me is thinking maybe next year hahaah. I'm going to start posting again, but first I want to go read everyone's blogs. I've missed you guys bunches!!! Looks like I have some new emails too : )

Still alive LoL

2010-05-05T13:10:00.000-05:00

My case load's off the hook right now. Attempted suicides w/ gun in front of kid, sexual abuse allegations, meth use, etc etc all on different cases. On the brighter side, I get to give away two cases to get my case load to 27 and have about eight kids being adopted this summer which will get me down to about 21 or 22 cases. Going to pick up a netbook today so I can stop lugging this laptop everywhere!! Thankfully I recently discovered McDonald's Frappes. Now that's some good stuff. Good for me mentally anyway. I'm having withdrawals bc I'm so behind on blog reading and posting. I don't know what's going on with anyone! Hope everyone survived the floods in Ky/Tn areas! Will check back and post soon!

Eat. Lie. Laugh.

2010-04-20T08:16:00.002-05:00

Depression and low self esteem was my constant friend. I was familiar with depression and migraines and had been for years. Even though I wanted something different, I didn't know something different. I was never a "woe is me" type of person, but I was still miserable. First the yelling and hitting, then the migraines, then the vomiting. I learned to vomit just by thinking about it. I regularly saw Dr. Dumbass or was taken to the ER for Demoral shots as migraines. As usual, my mom was super nice when I'd get sick. After she caused me to be sick. Looking back now, I can see the cycle of abuse very clearly... tension builds, incident occurs, reconciliation, calm. (Even after I went to foster care and the migraines stopped... I continued to vomit out of habit for several years into my marriage. I weighed 98 pounds on my wedding day and never really felt energetic).

Demoral was a certain escape and a dreamless sleep. I relished a time to sink into oblivion. Dr. Dumbass put me on blood pressure medicine to try to control the migraines. Since the issue wasn't about my blood pressure, and Dr. Dumbass continued to up the dosage at every migraine, I was eventually on enough meds to stabilize a 400 pound hypertensive man. S.T.U.P.I.D. My blood pressure began to bottom out causing me to be lethargic and even more depressed. The hospital finally told my mother Dr. Dumbass was going to kill me.

One thing there was no shortage of our apartment complex was pot/pills/alcohol etc. The summer of my 13th birthday I smoked my first joint. Everyone I knew got high. There was a sweet girl and her husband with two very young children who lived upstairs. She cooked mashed potatoes every night and I'd always sneak in and get a bowl of them. She was always kind to me and seemed to be glad for company. I always left her apartment before her husband got home. They got high and were nice people. I began to see pot as just something people did for relaxing, fun and entertainment. It was a rare day that you didn't go outside and smell it. My mom and step-dad smoked it. His dad smoked it too. What's the big deal right?

I began babysitting for a few of the neighborhood parents and usually they would smoke it right in the living room before going out. No one even hid it. They'd smoke it out on the porch, in the kitchen, in the living room... it was like smoking cigarettes. One of the women I would babysit for always talked about how she got the munchies after smoking. She said she couldn't pay me for babysitting, but would give me a joint when she got home. I didn't care. I just wanted out of the house. She said I could use some munchies.

I talked my mom into letting me go to the skating rink the next night and arranged to ride with my friends. I went to another girls house to get ready. I think my mom was glad I even had a "friend". I was definitely anti-social and sometimes stuttered when I'd try to talk to people if I was especially nervous. Pot was GREAT. I laughed, I talked, and I ate. I drank a whole pitcher of Kool-Aid and my new friends laughed at me chugging due to having "Cotton Mouth". They laughed harder as I leaned over the balcony and immediately spewed the whole pitcher back up. My body wasn't used to having that kind of volume thrust on it. I had been nit-picking my food until my body had it's own ideas of what was allowed in an what wasn't and munchies be damned.

Now having a few "friends" wasn't something I was used to and lying came naturally. I'd spent years lying to cover my ass at every turn. I'd spent a good amount of time daydreaming up fantasy worlds to live in to escape my own life. I'd learned to keep secrets and lying was a way to develop a world I'd like to live in. As the summer passed, I developed a crush on an older boy across the hall from our apartment. He was the brother of the residents who lived there and I'd often babysit for them. Night time babysitting was easy. Kids were put to bed and I basically watched TV until parents returned. We'll call my crush Nasty Boy. Nasty Boy was bad. Bad. Bad. Bad. He was also about six years older than me. Another skill I developed through the years was flirting. I'd heard my mother more than once talk about what a seductive child I was.

I put my skills to work and loved the challenge of trying to get Nasty Boy's attention. I told him outlandish lies about being a model when I lived in Missouri and said I'd gone to modeling school. He laughed, knowing I was lying, but didn't call me out on it. He just let me spin my web of deceit.

[I believe that children lie for only a few reasons. 1. to cover their ass. We've all done that. Usually parents cause this type of lying by asking children stupid questions like.. "Did you do that" or "Why did you do that". If you want your kids to lie... ask those two questions. 2. to build their self esteem aka Fantasy Lying - self explanatory and finally 3. to control their environment. Kinda goes with 2. ]

Lying would by my friend for the next ten years or so. I really thought people believed this shit too. "Oh, I recorded this song wanna hear it"... "Um, isn't that Janet Jackson's new release". "Wtf... don't you listen to KISS? What do you know about Janet Jackson"? "Hello... MTV"?.

I was out of touch with reality. But that was okay cause I could just smoke a joint and laugh. And laughter felt wonderful!

The wedding

2010-04-18T09:08:00.001-05:00

Pothead's family lived in a very rural area just past a national park in our state. They were so rural it made the community we had lived in on the farm look like a city. Anytime I was exposed to new people, new families, I was very observant. It was like taking an Amish child and putting them in one of our houses for a few hours. Everything was new. Everything was strange. So let me tell you about this family.

Pothead had a mother that worked herself to the bone. She was short and thin. She had a hair-sprayed bonnet hairdo. She, nor none of the family members could sign, but she could finger spell to Pothead. Pothead and his dad and sister were all heavier set. The sister was in her mid-twenties. She still lived at home. She was homely and had really bad hair. It was kinky/frizzy. Nothing could really be done with it. She kept it short, but it looked like a football helmet. She could also finger spell. The dad, who was illiterate and an alcoholic, used his wife or the sister to communicate with Pothead.

I asked my mom why his family didn't learn to sign. This was their son and they'd had like 30 some odd years to learn. Mom said that Pothead had been sent away to school to live and learn to sign and read etc. Since he was only home during the summers and holidays she guessed they didn't get a lot of practice. To me, it spoke volumes about Potheads worth to the family. Explained a lot.

We'll call Pothead's Mom Venita and Dad we'll call Henry. Venita and Henry got up at 4 am even on the weekends. Venita kept the whole house clean and grew vegetables in her spare time. The family drank a lot of instant coffee. The kids were lazy. Neither had any independent living skills. We'll call the sister Kara. Even though Kara was grown, she sat in her room and listened to music all the time. She had no social life, no friends, no job. Henry wasn't in the best of health. He made extra money selling pot. Venita pretended she didn't know he did that, but if I knew... everyone knew.

Venita tried to be very nice to my mom and us girls. She was happy Pothead found someone. She'd slice tomatoes for me if I asked and I'd try to teach her signs. Kara wished we'd just disappear. We were annoying.
I generally followed Venita around because there wasn't a single thing to do when we'd go there on weekends. Venita did all of the laundry in the full basement and had no contamination rules. The house was clean, but not to mom's standards.

I was talking to Henry one day, standing beside his recliner. He was stupid. He was always touching his dogs wang because he said his dog liked it. Venita would yell at him and tell him to stop. He asked me to get him a beer and as he did slide his hand up the inside of my leg. I leaned down and whispered that if he ever touched me like that again I'd break his fingers. He quickly moved his hand and I felt empowered. I never mentioned it to another soul. I assumed a lot of men were this way and had decided that I'd never allow a man to touch me again. But there was no sense in getting the whole house in an uproar. Would anyone even believe me? This was the third time someone had been a pervert with me. I felt confident things were nipped in the bud and went on about myself.

I have no doubt that it's likely almost every girl in the world has been put in that type situation. Maybe not a full incident of anything happening, but that some adult somewhere made them uncomfortable.

I was moving into a stage in my life full of angst and depression. I wore some matching stupid outfit with my sister to the wedding in Hog Waller County. Donna was there and as mom and Pothead took center stage, I remember feeling very disconnected from the events of the day. I can clearly remembering thinking that something was wrong with me because I didn't experience joy anymore. I thought it was because I wasn't Church worthy. I experienced anger, depression, nothingness, curiosity, longing, but joy and pleasure escaped my grasp. I was powerless. The only person I had a connection with was in California and I had no idea if I'd ever see her again. So I developed some coping mechanisms. As someone who loved music, I wouldn't just listen to music,... I'd often pick out one instrument and focus on that part of the song imagining myself playing the instrument. This technique allowed all other thoughts and emotions to be drowned out and gave my mind a rest. We weren't allowed to listen to the radio at night, but I'd listen to songs in my head to drown out any thoughts that were threatening to drag me into darkness. And time marched on.

Nodes aka Weepuls

2010-04-16T23:51:00.001-05:00

Amanda... These are "Nodes"... except this one has feet and stuff aka Weepuls as these are called. Nodes are just the eyes. All different colors. If anyone wants some Weepuls you can get then here.

Here are the type stickers used for "kisses. I stole this picture from Amazon :O

Clarifying and upcoming posts

2010-04-12T23:24:00.000-05:00

My daughter (who is grown before I get another hate email - which you can stop sending by the way because ~~you're stupid~~ I just delete them) who reads this blog and knows me as well as anyone in my life... pointed out that I might want to clarify to the readers that although yes, I was sexually abused, I consider the majority of my "trauma" to have been inflicted by my mother who did NOT sexually abuse me. So, now that I've said that out loud, I want to talk about why I've been so slow to post lately.

The next several years of posts are going to include disassociation aka splitting, lying, promiscuity, suicide attempts, eating disorders, and a lot of other really reactive behaviors that we see in children in foster care every day. I'm going to talk about them so that we can possibly have a little understanding and compassion for what abused children could be going through although I make no claims that every child is reacting the way I did or that I had every reaction that other children have had or have. Every person/child deals with their reality the best way they can with the coping skills they have developed.

Also...I do not use the word survivor to describe myself because I am no longer a victim. I am mentally healthy in today's life (to the best of my ability LoL) and I don't pretend that the past doesn't affect the way I view the world. That is true of every person. I also realize I talk a lot about being in spiritual conflict and crisis throughout this blog which has remained a final unresolved issue. I have received a few emails from some well-meaning, but narrow minded people who want to tell me that I'm going to hell if I don't accept Jesus Christ as my Savior, so let me say this:

I love people (and sometimes I hate people). I love the variety of paths that people have lived and where that has led them. I love learning from them and developing new perspectives because they were able to articulate something in a way that made sense to me. I love a lot of believing people, both Mormon and non-Mormon. My issue is not with people as people... so don't make this about you or your religion or your personal relationship with God... and please... don't make it your personal goal to save me by telling me I'm going to hell. I climbed out of hell and my personal belief is that hell is created by people. I've found the most loving of Christians are gentle with non-believers. I don't respond well to any other approach. And I'm really not ready to deal with all that yet and I don't have to. I'm on my own timeline, living my own life at my own pace. If I get hit by a bus tomorrow, I was still a good person despite other's criteria regarding my soul.

This is my journey. I cuss. It's not to offend, it's because I thought I cuss word. I blog my reality... as I remember it. It's not my intention to cause contention among believers. It may help you to understand the struggle of abused children as it relates to their conflict with religion and/or God, if you'll just take a deep breath. I think this is where some psychologist somewhere says "I'm okay, You're okay".

Church Camp

2010-04-10T20:35:00.003-05:00

It was hard to make sense of my world at 12. I was grieving my grandparents and my understanding of my mom was in utter chaos.

One night as I was laying in bed, my mom came into my room and sat on my bed. Wtf.

I just sat there. What. does. she want.

"Are you excited about going to Church Camp in the morning"?

"No, I'm scared".

"You'll be fine... and...I have good news...when you come back Pothead and I are getting married".

Silence... crickets... I don't get it.

"Um... is that why you're sending me away this week so you can be with your (insert 12 year old smart-assy-ness here) ~~deaf~~ ~~pot smoking boyfriend~~ LOVE"?? This was one of the first times I can remember consciously trying to manipulate my mother. I usually was a soldier at trying to please her, but the window was opened so I jumped through it.

"No, of course not! I think you'll have fun". She tried to hug me. Such a rarity. I stiffened my body.

Now I lay in bed wondering why... why was she smoking pot, why was she marrying a non-church-member? Yet, at every opportunity she was speaking "Church speak" and etc etc.

The next morning she dropped me off at the Church so we could head off to camp. I was not a child who was comfortable in her own skin and definitely didn't do well with change. I needed what was familiar even if it was bad. Shy and awkward I got into the van. Most of the girls in the van were from two different families. Each family had like 421 children. I was always curious how these righteous girls' fathers could not only afford a gazillion kids, but they all lived in beautiful homes and had the nicest of things. On one income nonetheless. It must be because they were righteous, I assumed.

I nervously twirled my Choose The Right ring as we pulled up into Church Camp and read the sign that said "Mt. Zion something something". As we got out of the van, I quickly scanned the surroundings. Up on a far away hill was a beautiful lodge and opposite were several medium sized cabins. One of the particularly pretty, but bossy girls told me to grab her luggage and bring it to the Lodge. I was new and it was tradition. Fury swept over me in a flash and I kicked her suitcase over as her dumb ass flew up the hill giggling with her friends. Eff her. Second thought. Turn the other cheek. I trudged up to the Lodge carrying my bag (leaving hers) when the girl looked back. "If you don't have MY bag, why are you coming up to the lodge"?, she sneered... "YOU sleep in the Cabins. You're a first year"! Ooooh, that BITCH. So much for Jesus touching your cold heart. Another faker. I'm sick of them.

I turn around and head back towards the Cabins and am directed to the correct one by some older teen wearing a camp t-shirt.

I hugged myself with a little Jesus talk and summonsed the courage to go into the cabin. My temper had cooled by the time I got there and as always I got over myself as quickly as I got mad. That just meant I wasn't mad, not that Ms. Priss and I would be friends.

I had wasted time getting into my cabin and was left with a top bunk. I was not a fan.

I put my belongings on there and climbed up. I would just listen for the night before I acknowledged anyone or talk. The girls tried to talk to me and I just looked at them. I couldn't speak even though I knew it made me look rude.

We had supper in the cafeteria and got ready for bed. I climbed into my sleeping bag and let releasing tears of anxiety slip quietly into my pillow. Crying made me feel better and I fell asleep hoping a spider didn't crawl on me in the night.

The next morning I woke up slowly. No one else was in the cabin. As my senses came to me I felt a stickiness between my toes and noticed that several differently colored circled stickers we all over me. I must have been OUT. In my bed were little colored puffs with eyeballs. Cute. I didn't mind that they had put toothpaste between my toes, but I was pissed that my sleeping bag was now sticky and I didn't know how I'd get it clean. Pain in the ass.

One of the girls ran back into the cabin to grab a hat and noticed I was awake. "Hi, come on, we're going to prayer".

"What is this"? "Node kisses", she stated.

"What are...nodes"?, I asked feeling stupid.

The girl picked up one of the fluffy balls and held it up... "Nodes... every year the nodes come and kiss the girls in camp and one girl is chosen to be the Node Princess. She is absolutely covered in kisses. Hurry and get ready and come see." she said smilingly as she hurried back out the door. Maybe I'd make a friend.

(*Edit: I somehow learned to cope with abuse, but it nearly took me down when people were nice to me. I don't know why I feel the readers need to know this, but in re-reading it, I felt I should say that).

I got myself out of the sleeping bag and cleaned up the toothpaste the best I could. I dressed quickly and went to find someone to tell me where they showered and to ask how to clean my bad. The staff showed me to the shower and kindly took my bag to wash it.

Let me tell you about this shower. In a word, G R O S S. I tentatively crept up on the cinder block building which had several shower stalls with shower curtains covering each stall. It was dank and dark and dingy. I grew up on a farm, but I at least had a door to shut when I bathed. I checked the corners and walls for spiders and thanked God for flip flops. I decided I wouldn't get "nekkid" and would just wash my legs off and make sure I had a bathing suit on next time I came to shower. I just couldn't get undressed in this open building. As I left the shower building I looked up at the lodge and hoped I could stay there the following year.

I made my way to the rest of the group who was done praying by now. They were heading off to breakfast and then crafts. I liked crafts. Later in the week we would go rafting. I don't like open water. So that's going to be a problem. I also don't like hiking or exercising. I would really like to just swim in the pool and do crafts, but we stay together as groups for the week. I finally make it through the week and it's time to go home. I didn't make friends. It wasn't that I didn't want to. I was just too awkward in my own skin and my own mind. I climbed back into the van for the return trip and just resolved myself to letting life happen to me.

The Priesthood

2010-03-29T06:46:00.000-05:00

Life was full on new things to adjust to in our new town. There were lots of people and living in the "city" made me feel small. I had never been in a mall which I found to be overstimulating and overwhelming. The new ward we were in was also vastly different. No longer was I sitting in a small one room church with all the blue haired ladies, but was now surrounded by large young families with lots of children and loads of church activities. I started going to Relief Society on Wednesday nights with my mom and sister. There were many Sunday school rooms and a large Chapel. It kind of reminded me of the Ward we attended in Missouri.

There were church youth dances and the young boys were obtaining their Priesthood holdings.
Boys become Deacons when they are 12 and at that point are "over" their mothers in their homes because they hold the Power and Authority of God.

(Here is the hierarchy and privileges of the Priesthood holdings in the LDS Church if you're interested. I won't bore you with the details).

Now older members of the Church may be able to "explain" the reasoning behind this, but 12 year old boys do not have the maturity to handle holding the responsibility of acting on God's behalf without a little ego of their own in there. Which.rubbed.me.the.wrong.way.

In Sunday school I would ask the tough questions because I was simply fed up.

WHY can't girls hold the Priesthood?

"Because you are a Daughter of Eve and have the honor, privilege and responsibility to bring spirit children to this earth who are waiting for a body. Boys can't do that".

Well... WHY can't girls get into heaven unless their sealed in the Temple and their husband "pulls them through"?

"It's time for the hymn, maybe you should talk with the Bishop".

I smugly know your ass doesn't want to talk about it and I really don't care about the dozens of eyes burning into me because I'm asking. I know, I know... When the prophet has spoken, the thinking has been done.

I feel sorry for my mom because she is single with two children in a Church that says she will not get into the highest heaven without a worthy priesthood holder dragging her up there. (Plus she said she's so sick she has to try pot to feel better. I had to laugh at her lame attempt to tell me she was just "trying" pot). She's basically busting her ass and my chops for nothing.

I'm confused about why I, as a 12 year old girl, can think enough to question religion and the existence of God when fully grown college educated men and women sitting in the pew beside me just accept without question. Faith means nothing to me. Where has God been? When my mother makes comments like, "We need to pray because I can't find my keys" and "The Lord has blessed us" I wonder what the hell is wrong with her. She seems so smart. I silently berate myself because I'm apparently not worthy to know God's presence (sounds a lot like my mother's own voice now that I think about it). I resolve myself to live the teachings of the Church so that God will find me.

I recall my grandmother telling me she believed in God because Jesus sat at the foot of her bed during a terrible crisis in her life. To this day it is the single comment that causes me to continue to struggle. My grandmother never lied to me and if not for hearing her words of conviction I would be done with discussions of God for good.

Amish Grace

2010-03-28T14:09:00.000-05:00

Amish Grace is premiering on the ~~Prozac Channel~~ Lifetime Movie Network tonight at 7 Central if anyone wants to watch it.

A hypocrite

2010-03-28T12:26:00.002-05:00

Now that we had moved and another summer began... life was very different.

Mom got a job in another town and was gone during the day. A grocery, doctor, Laundromat and our elementary school was within walking distance of our apartment. My sister and I often slept in and then walked to the school for the sack lunch provided by the school's summer lunch program. We sat under a tree and I often let my sister play for awhile after we ate. I usually saved the fruit from lunch in case I was grounded to my room for the evening. I felt grown and very adult like that I was responsible to taking care of my sister and took full bossy advantage of that. I often cheated on my chores and made her do part of them and broke all the contamination rules for the ones I did do.

We began attending a new ward at Church. There were some "mean girls" in the new ward. Many of the families were very large and there was an on-going competition to see who was the most temple worthy. I didn't make myself any friends correcting doctrine that was being taught wrong in Sunday school. Apparently not every child is read to from the Journal of Discourses.

I always had the chores done before mom came home in the evening and on Saturdays carried the laundry about a block away to the laundry mat. My mom went the first few times to show me how to bleach out the washer before using it. How to wipe out the laundry baskets during the wash cycle so that I didn't contaminate the clothing. Each week I was given a roll of quarters and most of the time told to carry the laundry down. Sometimes it would take several trips, but there was no more hanging clothes on the line. Sometimes I would put some of the quarters in the Pacman arcade game and pray while I was playing that my mom wouldn't "check in" on me. I cherished moments away from her. Freedom that wasn't really free.

We fell into a routine of chores and church in our new community. Sometimes we would go outside and get to know the neighborhood kids. None of them too savory. My mom made a new friend, Donna. Donna had an edge to her. She didn't play by life's rules and I liked that. She was blunt and to the point. Shit didn't get to her much and she just dealt with whatever needed to be dealt with and moved on. She sometimes stayed all night and I soon learned she had cancer. A shame really.

Days went by and routine set in. Donna convinced my mom to lighten up the reigns on us a little bit and told her to let us go outside and "play". I remember smiling as I heard Donna say "What the hell", putting my mom on the spot. My mom and Donna bonded. I think maybe because they both took a lot of medicine. Mom said she had Rheumatoid arthritis and took her pain medicine and "Gold" shots. Donna took pain medicine for the cancer. I had decided my mom was a hypochondriac and her "illnesses" were an excuse to make me do everything while she took pills and naps. I tried to be good and wrestled with my relationship with my mom during the day and God at night.

My understanding of my mom changed on a late night when thirst brought me out of my room while Donna was sleeping over. I snuck across the hall and put my lips under the bathroom faucet for a cool drink of water. I listened to my mom and Donna whispering and giggling at the kitchen table and took in the smell of something funny. A smell that was familiar in the air of our neighborhood. My mind was spinning. No way. My mom still smoked cigarettes then even though it was her last barrier to being given a temple recommend. But this wasn't cigarettes. I snuck down the hall and as I approached the end of the hall, made a surprise appearance and announcement that I needed a drink. I glanced at the glass bowl contraption filled with smoke as my ears rang with mom's controlled voice telling me to go back to my room. The one that said she meant business.

So mom was smoking pot. I laid in my room and tried to make sense of it all. Nothing made sense.

Hershey's Better Basket Blog Hop

2010-03-27T17:44:00.002-05:00

My good friend Social Wrkr 24/7 over at Eyes Opened Wider sent me an Easter Basket to help out the Children's Miracle Network.

Here’s all you need to do: HERSHEY’S BETTER BASKET BLOG HOP RULES:

* Create a blog post giving a virtual Easter Basket to another blogger – you can give as many Virtual Baskets as you want.

* Link back to person who gave you an Easter Basket.

* Let each person you are giving a Virtual Easter Basket know you have given them a Basket.

* Leave your link at BetterBasket.info/BlogHop comment section. You can also find the official rules of this #betterbasket blog hop, and more information about Better Basket with Hershey’s there.

* Hershey’s is donating $10 per each blog participating to the Better Basket Blog Hop to Children’s Miracle Network (up to total of $5,000 by blog posts written by April 4th, 2010).

* Please note that only one blog post by each blog url will count towards the donation.

Simple enough right?

So check out these great blogs who I'm sending an Easter Basket to and let's help some babies along the way!

Meet The Meanest Mom , Jana, who writes about her journey raising four little ones. She seriously cracks me up.

And Dragon Li who is On the Path to Bliss , an excellent writer, who like most of us, is just trying to figure out who she is.

And finally, Ms. PennyWilliams who is sharing A Mom's View of ADHD.

Blog Roll

2010-03-26T23:46:00.001-05:00

How come the new blogs I follow aren't jumping into my blog roll? Am I supposed to do something?

24/7 we're going to have to get together to sort them somehow too. I've found so many great blogs!!

In response to "A tough day"

2010-03-26T22:53:00.004-05:00

Rebekah
Your Mom sounds like a wonderful lady  As for seeing so much, I think I’m pretty desensitized. I know that doesn’t sound like a good thing, but it can be.

Hi Paula *Waves* You know I feel like pinching people’s heads off all the time, but I at least have the common decency to do it behind their backs and behind their kids backs. It’s really hard to develop understanding and tolerance sometimes because of the really stupid things people do.

Snarkymom. Love your blog. You sound like me in my real life. I try not to put a lot of my real thoughts out there because I’m scared I’m going to alienate a lot of people (of course a few trusted people know that side of me) Lmao. Guess I should get the over that. I definitely didn’t say anything to the foster parent. I sent the R&C worker and my supervisor out there while I removed two children on another case being exposed to meth use. Yuck. And really it’s a good thing too because she had really pissed me off and I like to use the F word… a lot.. esp when I'm mad and that's just not professional. But I was honest with the little girl (on an age appropriate level, of course) and she was ecstatic to be moved which made things SO much easier in moving them. The baby is adjusting quickly too.

J, R&C found a wonderful placement for them in the same school district which made me SO incredibly happy. They are the sweetest kids.

Tara, I seriously KNOW that it’s hard. I struggle at least every other day not to snap someone’s head off because they have smart ass mouths, make stupid decisions and then blame everyone else. And the lying… Yeah, I really despise lying. I’m glad you are able to control yourself for the sake of your little ones especially when they are venting on their own. It’s be so easy to be like “Yeah, your mom really freakin' sucks”.

Hey Jodi, be glad you chose the other path hahaha. I tried to make sociology my minor, but the social work department and the sociology department wouldn’t accept the other one’s stats class and there was no WAY I was taking stats twice. I hated that class. LoL.

K…mom, this blog is the epitome of free therapy blogging. I was told today I’m getting a reputation. This is the fourth foster home I’ve caused to be shut down (and I've had a few others put on notice). I’m determined common sense is going to make a come back though LoL.

Hi Maggie, I totally agree it sucks. I’m glad the majority of my foster homes are fantastic or I’d really have to quit!

Hi Von, Welcome to my journey. I checked out some of your blogs which are really cool. I really liked the quote you had on one of you blogs that said "the lifelong dialogue between our mothers and ourselves transcends their deaths"

I’m probably gonna have to steal that if you don’t mind.
Anyway, I’d have to respectfully disagree that the other comments weren’t as sympathetic to the children’s plight as they were to my own. I think they're just trying to be supportive and I really need and appreciate that.

And yes, I agree the kids are having a rotten life, but I truly have so much hope for them. The little girl is sharp as a tack and very intuitive. She’s going to go very far in life. The little boy, such a doll… I’m very hopeful that their mom can turn things around too. She drives me nuts, yes, but she has potential and if she can’t turn it around, I’m confident in my own abilities to make good decisions to ensure they have what they need and deserve (ultimately it’s the judges decisions, but I write a pretty good court report)
I also completely agree that foster parents need and most would appreciate more training, but confidentiality is common sense and common courtesy.

24/7
I just wanted to say I was really proud of R&C on this one because I usually get a lot of shit from them when I point out problem areas with their foster parents. They get really defensive like I slapped them around or something. They didn’t really have a leg to stand on this time though did they?

Cross my heart

2010-03-26T07:31:00.000-05:00

I read all your comments and am going to do some serious blogging/responding this weekend. Everyone raised some good points. And plus I checked out Snarky mom's blog for the five seconds I had this morning and I think she's my freakin sister. LoL. (But I think I have to work Saturday so it might be Sunday before I can get back here).

Update

2010-03-25T21:29:00.000-05:00

Ended up moving the kids and closing down the home. The kids did great and I'm so glad we made the right decision. Did another removal too. I think there must be a full moon out. People have been off their rockers this week! Thanks for all the support :) Babs

A tough day

2010-03-25T03:02:00.001-05:00

So I had to put my big girl britches on the last few days.

Eight months ago I got a particularly tough case where there was an infant and his seven year old sister placed in care due to the mother's drug use during pregnancy.

Let me first say that I don't think anyone sits down and thinks "Wow, I'd like to be a drug addict".

The mother simply doesn't have coping and good decision making skills.

The foster mother was new. Her first placement. I hope I can support her through the turmoil that is foster care.

On several occasions I asked her R&C worker to go on home visits with me so she would feel supported. (R&C is Recruitment and Certification for those not familiar with foster care lingo).

Foster mom and dad have a daughter of their own who is about five years older than the little girl.

The little girl has way too much knowledge for her age and is very intuitive.

Foster mom and mom clash. Well, to be honest I clash with mom too. Mental health issues can be difficult to navigate.

The tough part is that the little girl keeps telling mom, who tells me that the foster family is saying very degrading things about her mom in front of her, on the internet, to other people etc.

As the SW it's my job to address those issues. Of course, foster mom lied and said the child was making stuff up and manipulating. Okay.. maybe... I'm just letting you know that IF these things are going on, they shouldn't be.

Then I find out that not only is it true... (Shoulda blocked your Facebook), the family's real names, pictures and foster mom's true opinion is all over Facebook.

The child reported to me that she gets punished when her mother reports things to me because the foster mom says that "what happens in the foster home should stay in the foster home".

So, even though I rarely move kids. I hate moving kids, my supervisor says this is enough and I have to move them. And I agree this isn't a workable situation since I've addressed this about five times now.

I feel like I've failed these kids. I'm probably going to need to cry this one out. I did buy a few weeks to make one last ditch attempt to find some relatives. I have a few leads.

I completely understand the foster mom's frustration and feelings! But her feelings don't come before the child's feelings and needs.

It really doesn't matter if you think that the child's mom is crazy. The child loves her and should be free to do that without hearing snide remarks. Now, I have to move a child from the only home he's ever known and the mixture of heartbreak and anger are a disappointing wave we all will have to ride now. Ugg.

Open Adoption Interview Project - March 2010

2010-03-22T20:52:00.007-05:00

I kept meaning to post that I was participating in a match and interview project about open adoptions hosted by Production, not Reproduction but I kept thinking Ooh, I'll get to that and of course, didn't. BIG props to Heather for putting this together. It's exciting that over 65 people participated!! I can't wait to read them all and hope you do too.

I was matched with a very special woman named Jodi. I was really nervous at first because I am not adopted... not adopting or anything. Maybe adoptive parents wouldn't want to hear my perspective, but I am a social worker and I love to learn.

Jodi did more than teach me. She allowed me into her life and her heart. She has already adopted two beautiful children and she also received another placement during the time we were getting to know each other!! I'm so happy for her and her family and their families too! Jodi is living a Simple Perfect Life.

Jodi went above and beyond with two sick children and a newborn to answer my interview questions (which were pretty personal). Thank you so much Jodi for showing us some of the most selfless love I've ever encountered. Jodi welcomes her children's families in with open arms. She completely enjoys every new experience her kids have and wants to share that with their "first family". Adoptions I've worked with are generally involuntary on the part of the birth parents. They aren't allowed to see their children. It made me so happy to see another side of adoptions. You're simply amazing!

1.How does open adoption work?

There are probably a gazillion different perspectives of what open adoption is. We worked with an adoption agency and had a profile in a book where expectant parents working with the agency would select profiles/families that interested them. Generally there would be a "match meeting" where everyone would get together and have kind of like an interview or get together to see if the families feel like they would make a good match. If you become a match, then usually there is a "cooperative agreement" that is created with what the families agree to with openness in the adoption and the adoption process sometimes even including the birth process, doctor appts., what you agree to help with financially (the laws vary by state). Our adoptions are fully disclosed--meaning, the birth family knows our complete names, where we live, (haha--that's funny to me because they come to our house for visits), our phone numbers, we "facebook" each other, email and call (well, at least we have each other's phone numbers. . . it doesn't work very well for me to make phone calls cause the kids are always noisy when I'm on the phone!) Some adoptions just have the birth parent pick the family and they never meet and they don't know what state their baby goes to or last names and such. . . Each adoption is so unique to itself that all the finer details are always completely different--so it depends on what kind of ongoing contact throughout the child's life will be decided upon.

2.Are you allowed to change your mind or is it a legal agreement?

Not all states have what is called a "contact agreement", which is a legally binding agreement on what is decided upon in the adoption. (ie, visits, photos, how many, when, etc.) Even though it is legally binding--if it is broken, the adoption would not be overturned--and mediation is required before you could take the other party to court. I think it is kind of a crock if there really are no serious repercussions to not following a legally binding agreement. We do have contact agreements here in MN, but we do not have one with Jakob or Jada. I am not sure if we will have one with Jenay. It is usually up to the birthparent. We have a cooperative agreement with Jakob's birthmom which we don't really follow (for the good) because she is just part of our family now. We don't even have a cooperative agreement from Jada's birthmom. She originally wanted a closed adoption and it "opened" fairly quickly starting with emails, then some visits. I think both our birthmoms are pretty comfortable asking if they feel they want to see us, or want some more photos, or whatever.

I think the most important thing is to not intentionally promise something for the purpose of getting a child when you rightly know you are not going to fulfill those promises. Open communication is so very important. If somebody is uncomfortable with something or the situation changes then you need to at least communicate that rather than ignore the person or "close" the adoption.

3.What are some of the pros and cons of having an open adoption?

I seriously can't think of any cons of having an open adoption. I am not saying that things are always easy, or not exhausting, but we sacrifice because this is what we have accepted as our family. Any parent would do anything for their child and this is what we choose for ours. There were many ups and downs during the first year of our first adoption. We were not really understanding what Kaiti was going through and we were all in uncharted territory. Lots of uncomfortable situations--that seriously would not be uncomfortable now that we've been through it all! haha! (Like her graduation open house and meeting all of her relatives--we were very very nervous!) All that unsolicited advice, again, from people who have no business even thinking they have the first clue about adoption. People telling us she shouldn't be coming over to our house or that we saw her too much. Our kids are awesome and they wouldn't be our kids without their birthmoms choosing us to be their parents. I think I put this in another answer, but you should see our kids when they are with their birthmoms. It is amazing!

Our kids get to know their stories. They get to see who they look like. They get to be loved by more people. They get to ask their questions in the future and get first had answers. We get to face all the difficult times together. There are so many emotional layers to adoption--aspects on all sides--and by coming together and being open, honest and respectful, we can at least face the emotional hardships (and happy stuff too!) with love, support, honesty and respect.

4. How open is open? Does that degree of openness vary from situation to situation or is it pretty much the same for all parties involved?

Openness in adoption is what makes every "open" adoption unique. Generally, the chosen "adoptive" parents and the people involved with the birth family side sit down and decide what kind of openness they all agree upon for their adoption plan. That could mean photos, emails, letters, visits, whatever they agree upon. Some families may not exchange full names, addresses or phone numbers. Their communication may continue through the agency or attorney that facilitated the adoption. All of our birthmothers know where we live and we usually have visits at our house. The kids are comfortable and I know it is child proof and quite honestly--it is the easiest. Anyone who thinks you can have a truly quality visit in a restaurant with young children is fooling themselves. The birth family gets to see their child in their home, their room, their place of comfort where their true personality (and tantrums) come out. They have our phone number, email and we are on facebook together too. It is a great way to share photos and updates and quick notes. We have a cooperative agreement with Jakob's birthmom (which we hardly follow). Kaiti has been super helpful and been available to watch our kids when we needed help. I think we try to get together around once a month, sometimes more or less, depending on our schedules. We have nothing written up with Jada's birthmom. She currently lives out of state and when she comes home to visit she just calls us and we get together. We email on facebook too. I wish she lived closer, but facebook helps it feel like she lives here. We don't have any agreement written yet with Jenay's birthmom, but it will be open. We will be meeting her mother in the near future and have plans for her to visit us at home too. It is my dream to have them all over at the same time someday. They haven't met in person yet. . . but Jakob and Jada's birthmothers are "facebook" friends. They are all a part of our family. They are a part of our hearts and souls, the reason we are who we are today. So, I will do whatever it takes to keep them involved in our lives.

5. Do you or your husband ever get jealous?

I think there was a time when my husband worried about our son not wanting to spend Christmas with us when he was an adult and choosing to spend it with his birthfamily instead and felt a pang on his heart. And then I said why wouldn't we be able to arrange something to spend it all together? In all honesty, it makes me cry good happy tears to see my children love their birthmoms. There comes a time when we need to let go of our children and let them make their own decisions and spend time with whom ever they choose. They are not possessions. I never want them to feel like they are letting us down for wanting to love their birth families--or anyone else for that matter. I don't want to hold them back from anything.

6. Is there an open arrangement with just the birth mother, or is the father and extended family involved too?

All of our adoptions are just open with the birthmoms. We have a family relationship with Jakob's birthmom and her family. We know her boyfriend, periodically meet some of her friends and have met some relatives too. We know who his birthdad is but have no contact at this time. We have a relationship with Jada's birthmom and have met her birth grandmother a couple of times. We know her birthdad's first name and a bit of his story, but have no contact with him at this time. We will have an open relationship with Jenay's birthmom and are meeting her mother sometime in the near future. We may or may not ever know whom her birthdad is and most likely will never have contact with him. Of course, things are ever evolving so relationships may change as we all change, grow and mature. We may meet more family members in the future--who knows!

7 Do you worry that the birth family will try to tell you how to raise your children or undermine your parental role?

No, we do not worry about this. Our birth families have been very supportive in our roles as parents. I know that I am very over protective and cautious as a parent. It shows--in very obvious ways. It was more obvious when we just had one child. I'm sure they have all thought I am kind of weird with my ways at some point! haha! No different than my own biological family--only my biological family has no reserves about voicing their opinions! haha! If people really know me, for me, they know that I will listen respectfully--and then just do things my way anyway! :0)

It is really amazing how much unsolicited advice finds it's way into our lives--in anyone's lives--when it comes time to parenting. I, personally, have felt a lot of internal pressures as an adoptive parent. Hoping that I can live up to not only my own expectations as a parent, but the expectations of our birth families. I want to make all their hopes and dreams come true too--for their child that they entrusted to us. We are certainly not perfect, either, so if things are not going the way you envisioned, we are always carrying the extra pressure of letting our birthmoms and their families down. We have learned along this journey, that we cannot worry about things we have no control over--it will eat you up. We cannot worry about something that "may or may not" happen in the future. We can only educate, communicate, and prepare ourselves for the unknowns. We have to support each other. We have to "walk by faith, even when I cannot see" (Jeremy Camp). And that is why our faith is important and strong and necessary in our lives.

8. Do you ever feel intruded on by having an open adoption? Any regrets?

I definitely do not feel intruded upon with an open adoption. There were a couple of times in the very beginning that we had some unexpected visits with Jakob's birthmom stopping over unannounced--completely innocent, but I guess it only was kind of pushing it because we were so tired but didn't want to hurt anyone's feelings by asking to end the visit at a reasonable time. Now that I see things from a whole picture rather than from a cloudy over tired mind, I cherish the unplanned and unexpected. You just don't know what life may bring!

I think most of the intrusions come when complete strangers walk up to us and ask us if our kids are adopted and where from--without any respect that maybe it is a sensitive subject for our children. We do love to share our stories, but we know that at some point, it will be up to our children what is openly shared with strangers who ask silly questions out in public. (Well, they are not silly, but sometimes I just want to say DUH!). Once somebody asked if Jada was adopted and my hubby said, "no, we just forgot to put sunscreen on her."

I think my only regret is not starting the process sooner. I do believe that it is all in God's timing, but had we started sooner. . . we would have most likely adopted more! The cost was so intimidating when we initially pursued adoption that we held off for awhile thinking we couldn't afford it. Who knew what giving up a few "finer" things in life would bring us!

9. How do you think having and open adoption vs. a closed adoption affects your children?Do you think it will be confusing for them in the long run?

I think keeping things a secret and creating the opportunity for our children to create that "fantasy" is far more confusing than having an honest open adoption. There are some tricky things that we will have to face in the future as far as when to share age appropriate truths, but far better than a fantasy. If only all of you could see our children with their birthmom's--you would get it. The light in their eyes, the laughter, the happiness that comes when we get together. I'm sure there will be more difficult days and questions, but we hope they know they can love their birth families as much as we love them. I like to explain it to people like this~Jesus has enough love to go around for everyone that wants to accept his love--even enough for those who don't want to accept his love, so there is no reason we can't love like Jesus and have more people in our lives to love and be loved.

I also feel like I know my children better because I know their birthmoms and some of their birth families. I see their personalities, their looks, their mannerisms, all in my children. If I look at how much I love this. . . then I can see how much more it will mean to my children. How neat it will be to have somebody to share those things with on a personal level.

Ministers and Moving

2010-03-14T09:28:00.000-05:00

As I've said before, my mom drew the weirdest of people into her life. Generally, the children of her odd friends were my playmates. There was a family building a log cabin who lived their summer in a circus tent. They were vegan and had twins; a boy and a girl.

During the summer we participated in the play "Annie" for the locals and went a few days a week for practice... nerves always got the best of me and I was sure to break out in hives that a dose of Benadryl would easily cure. I spent a lot of time with the twins that summer.

After their house was built in the fall I went to spend the night with them. We ate vegan pizza and the twin’s biological father came to see the new house. I though it was really neat how the step-father and natural father of the twins were friends. The girl twin was a hateful little princess and would get mad if I tried to sing while she was singing. Soon I found out why she was so hateful.

After going to bed that night her biological father, who was a minister, attempted to put his hands in my underpants, thinking I was asleep. I simply rolled over avoiding him until he left the room. I waited a few minutes as anger boiled inside me. I thought that because everyone in the town knew my secret, they thought I was fair game. I finally summonsed some courage and jumped out of bed and went downstairs to tell the mother. She was shocked, but got him to confess that indeed he'd tried something on me. After that the matter was simply dropped. I felt as if I wore a scarlet letter and my mistrust in the "clergy" deepened. I never saw the family again (they went to a different school and were not members of our church).

It wasn't long before my mother announced we would be moving to the town she went to school in about an hour away. Grandma would be moving to California with Papa to be near the auntie. My world was shattered. On one hand, no one would know, but to lose my grandmother again was devastating. I did look forward to more modern conveniences, but to be alone with my mother left me feeling defeated.

We moved to “government assisted housing” aka the projects and I finished out my sixth grade year in a new school. I didn’t bother to get to know my classmates and couldn’t tell you any of their names. At this point I was living one day at a time and sometimes an hour at a time. Isolation swallowed me.

A new boyfriend

2010-03-13T23:07:00.000-06:00

Momma met a deaf man while she was in school. He was pretty funny. Between his visits, visits from Church members, momma going to school, going down to grandma's house, etc, life began easing up a little bit. Summer always seemed to make life a little easier.

There was a big spool that cable used to be on that Papa knocked a few boards out of the side for me so I could hide inside. I loved hiding. Hiding made me feel safe. I'd climb into the spool with a book and no one would bother me for hours that summer. I'd giggle when one of the cats would find me and try to climb into the spool with me. I'd be even happier when Papa would set a PB&J sandwich cut into fourths and a cold glass of milk on top of the spool. He'd walk through the yard whistling with the goodies Grandma would make, sometimes cookies, sometimes cake and leave the treats pretending he didn't know I was in the spool. I'd barely wait until I heard him turn back towards the house before my hand would reach up to gather my treats.

I liked mom's new boyfriend. He taught us how to sign and was a big kid himself. This is how stupid he was though... one day he was goofing around and poured motor oil over my head. Now remember... all the water had to be heated so I was PISSED I had to wash my hair in Dawn dish washing liquid about 92 times to get the oil out. He felt really bad though. He didn't go to his own church so he was open to going with us. I really liked that I could turn my back and say smart ass things and then turn back around and smile innocently when he was around. He kept momma occupied so I tried not to run him off.

Anxiety

2010-03-11T19:56:00.000-06:00

I hope all my Christian friends can bare with me for a few minutes, but there is nothing in life that brings me more anxiety than the Mormons coming to my house... unannounced and uninvited.

They just left. This time they brought the former bishop with them. We were playing Wii (before Survivor and Greys come on) because we needed to destress from the day for awhile.

The mere half an hour they were here filled me with almost a panic.

Why do they keep coming here? UGGGGG.

Yes, please come on over on a work night when we're all in our boxers and tank tops playing Wii (Thursday night is sandwich night before some hater talks about how I need to be tending my grown children). Thursday is our favorite day... great TV, the weekend is just a day away. LOVE Thursdays!

Ahhh and thank you to my children who scattered like roaches. Chickens. LoL

And Amanda... Thank you for encouraging me to keep posting. I plan to post more this weekend.

Good Morning Beautiful Sunshiney Weekend!!!

2010-03-06T09:13:00.000-06:00

I can't believe you are you there Mr. Sun! I've been waiting for you for ever so long. I'm going to a babyshower and to do two home visits today. Please don't run away when I go outside. I've missed you so!

Time for a Round Robin!

2010-03-03T00:26:00.001-06:00

I love games and so do my "kids". I found an amazing teacher's blog here with LOADS of free resources, games for autistic children and links to everything and anything you can imagine. One of my favorites to use if I have a child in my office is this simple sequencing site found at Jacob's lessons. I've never met a child who didn't love to play on my computer LoL.

Let's see how many of your favorite resource sites we can list and compile. Take the link and add it to your own blog along with your favorite resource link. (Post it here as well so we can share what resources we're using for those long days and bonding exercises!!)

I haven't figured out the sorting blogs and links in my side bar yet, but I'll try to do some google learning this weekend.

Send your RAD kids cards this week!

2010-03-02T08:04:00.000-06:00

I can feel today is going to be an awesome day!

I'm really grateful for my loving friends and family. I hope I can touch their lives today in a way that makes them feel cared for and appreciated.

I hope I'm productive and knock several assessments and case plans out.

I hope I trust today... I hope I give the benefit of the doubt today.

I hope the same for all of my RAD "kids". Please take a minute to mail your RAD and Asperger children cards/postcards/letters today. Even if you live with them. They love mail and it only takes a minute. It helps them feel connected and thought of. It's something they can keep and hold onto when they have bad days.

Have fun today :)

Book Lovers ~ Check out this Awesome Contest to win books!!

2010-02-28T19:14:00.001-06:00

If any of you love to read, you'll LOVE this contest from a fellow blogger! Check it out here at Bloody Bookaholic.
Now I just need someone to tell me how to post in the side bar! Thanks in advance and good luck in the contest!!!

During the last post...

2010-02-27T13:17:00.004-06:00

First, I want to note that I noticed when I post about "then" that I start the post out in past tense and by the end am writing in the present tense. I could go back and change it and am fully aware it's not "correct", but I've decided I will leave all "then" post as they are because I literally do start out thinking in past tense and as I journey feel I am actually there. (Probably the reason the posts are slow coming LoL).

Secondly, I want to say that three young Mormon Missionaries graced my door while I was posting the last post.

My first thought was that I didn't want them to come in because I haven't started Saturday chores because I was blogging and few chores get have gotten done this month because I worked the past two Saturdays. How embarrassing.

We stood out on the porch for a bit,... a former bishop had given them our names and said we were "good people". He really should have warned them and maybe he did.

Good or bad, I am an honest person. Can we come in... well, no, the house is in disarray ( I haven't even brushed my hair and so am I). I feel caught off guard and struggle with wanting to send them away and the feelings that these three young boys are someone's sons.

These young children saved their money and left their families to have this experience.

Come to the back porch and I'll talk to you for a short visit in the sitting room. We're remodeling the living room and there's drywall dust on everything. Dishes aren't done and the dogs are excited with visitors. Trash isn't taken out yet and our house needs a good cleaning.

I'm very thankful they can't see my car which is much worse since my daughter took it to go to work this morning.

The boys come in and have a seat. Awkward silence fills the room. Finally I say "You realize I'm inactive and have been for more than 20 years right"? They reply yes and I realized they had been warned. " Do you mind telling us what your issues with the Church are"?

Oh good grief... Really?? DO you have all day? I try not to cry. I hate talking about my relationship with "God, the Church, and especially Mormon Doctrine". I'm fully aware that this is an unresolved issue in my life that I try to ignore, but is harder to ignore than any other aspect in my life.

How much is appropriate to talk about? Why open this can of worms? These boys are barely older than my own children. What life experiences do they have that can equip them for not just a non-believer, but someone who carries baggage regarding the Church?

I just sat there embarrassed and wishing my eyes weren't filling up. UGGG. Where the hell is the control you have at work... This is my home... I wasn't expecting this and not prepared to put my armor up. I was JUST blogging which makes me really vulnerable.

"Did you grow up in the Church"? - Yes, my father was Catholic and my mother was Mormon"...

Church babble began filling the room and I can't hear anything being said because my mind is spinning --- "Can we pray with you"?
"You're more than welcome to pray for me when you leave as I'm sure you will, but no, I'm not comfortable with us having a prayer"...

One of the boys is speaking, the other two are quiet. Finally, I just spill it...

"I don't believe... I think the Church is based on a bunch of lies and nit-picky rules that are meant to control it's members and nothing you say is going to change that today... can I get you something to drink"?

"Mr. Bishop did tell us you had some harsh experiences with the Church and feel very hurt by the Church... I've also been hurt by the members of the Church"...

The Missionary talky boy is struggling and has soft eyes. His chin quivered. I feel sorry for him. I'm making him uncomfortable. I again realize his heart is in the right place and he deserves respect and honesty...

I don't have all day for a back story and quietly begin to talk with the young men.

I ask if they ever read a book called "The Miracle of Forgiveness", written by Prophet Spencer W. Kimbell. A book that teaches the six steps to true repentance.

They have read it.

I start by stating that I respect every other person's right to self-determination and that I don't want to share my views of the Church if with them because I just don't have nice things to say.

They continue to press me and I share with them that I believe the Church to be racist, sexist, and harmful.

Most people are aware that the Church did not allow Black and Indian people to hold the priesthood until 1978.
That they were marked with their blackness as a punishment for the sins of Cain.
Prophet Kimbell often talked of the delightsome of their races becoming more white... as can be seen in this quote:

"I saw a striking contrast in the progress of the Indian people today.... The day of the Lamanites is nigh. For years they have been growing delightsome, and they are now becoming white and delightsome, as they were promised. In this picture of the twenty Lamanite missionaries, fifteen of the twenty were as light as Anglos, five were darker but equally delightsome. The children in the home placement program in Utah are often lighter than their brothers and sisters in the hogans on the reservation. At one meeting a father and mother and their sixteen-year-old daughter were present, the little member girl--sixteen--sitting between the dark father and mother, and it was evident she was several shades lighter than her parents--on the same reservation, in the same hogan, subject to the same sun and wind and weather....These young members of the Church are changing to whiteness and to delightsomeness."

Prophet Kimball also taught perfection... which plagued my daily life.

But the final straw for ME... was when my mother was murdered... We no longer talked and that's for another post... but I truly believe my mother died due to the teaching of the Prophet Kimball who taught that:

"Also far-reaching is the effect of the loss of chastity. Once given or taken or stolen it can never be regained. Even in a forced contact such as rape or incest, the injured one is greatly outraged. If she has not cooperated and contributed to the foul deed, she is of course in a more favorable position. There is no condemnation where there is no voluntary participation. It is better to die in defending one's virtue than to live having lost it without a struggle."
- Prophet Spencer W. Kimball, The Miracle of Forgiveness, page 196

These types of teachings caused my mother to 1. blame me for not fighting back an incestuous relationship with her husband... and 2. to lose her own life because she DID fight back. I believe if she had been cooperative she could have escaped with her life... and she didn't.

So Dear sweet Missionary boys... this river runs deeper than any bishop could prepare you for and while I will never disrespect you, because I understand you have the right to do and believe as you will... Life has taught me more than your testimony will ever overcome.

Pretty much after that they left. I should have just let them stand on the porch until they left.

******* I'm moving this post to the "then" section" because I feel like it's a better fit. Hope that doesn't make things too confusing!! ************************

The Worst Birthday ever...

2010-02-27T11:46:00.004-06:00

The auntie had built her house on the farm and within a year or so moved away. We moved into her house which had concrete floors. We were excited because it had running water (no water heater though). We still would heat with wood or coal, but the house was bigger.

My mother started dating a man who we'll call Bob. Bob had bug eyes and a lanky awkward build. He was a godly man, but not a Mormon. The mixed messages were infuriating. I wore my homemade "Little House on the Prairie" matching - my - sister's -dress as we drove to the next nearest town to attend Bob's church. They did not believe the way we believed and also held a Book of Mormon up during their sermon and talked about how Mormon's were a cult.

I looked at my mother with accusing eyes.

She ignored me. She knows I'm on to her bullshit.

On Monday we had Family Home Evening as "suggested" by the Church. Momma read an extra long article from the Mormon Doctrine book she'd purchased years earlier. The book was thick and laid out in an encyclopedic fashion. Footnotes legitimized it's content from the Book of Mormon, Pearl of Great Price, Doctrine & Covenants and now and then the Bible. There were also teachings from prophets of the past and their teachings of blood atonement and multiple wives scared me into submission.

My birthday was coming up and I had not embraced my mother's new boyfriend and his wicked religious ways.

He attempted to make friends with us and I was having none of it. When I saw them kissing I would interrupt them. He would be the damnation of my mother and God would be proud of my interventions.

I whispered hateful scolding words to my little sister if I caught her interacting with this misguided weirdo.

My interference in my mother's personal life would be paid for. She reminded us daily of how she risked her life to get on the interstate to go to school to provide us a better life.

On my birthday, the May morning sun warmed the air to a comfortable temperature. I loved Saturday birthdays and was excited at what the day would hold. School was out for the summer and I was excited the exploring to begin. My mother usually set aside her usual sarcastic bitter tongue on a holiday and birthdays were definitely a holiday!

Chores would be done first and I thought we could rush through them and maybe we would get to go to the town library which was our tradition.

I was assigned to dishes as usual and set about warming the water on the cook stove. While the water heated I ran into my room and quickly straightened and tucked. I was only a head start. Dusting would wait! It was going to be a great day!!

Grandma would make something special to eat. I just knew it would be my favorites.

I took extra time while doing the dishes to make momma proud and to ensure the day went well. I carefully unfolded a clean towel, careful not to let it touch me in any way. She had cautioned that we were unclean and mustn't contaminate while we cleaned by touching clean things on our bodies, letting it brush the front of our shirts etc.

I poured three caps of bleach into the soapy dishwater and swooshed it around.

Always start with the glasses. Wash inside, then outside, then wash the rim, then the bottom. Rinse very well because if she tastes soap in her drink she will bare down on you.

Silverware is next and make sure you wash where you held the utensil to wash it. Then bowls and then plates. Pots and pans will be last because they are the dirtiest of all the other dishes.

Done. I start drying and putting up dishes. I inspect them quickly to make sure I got them clean. I'm trying to hurry so we can get on with our special day. I know if I put up a dirty dish, I'll have to wash every dish in the house because I've contaminated and need to be taught a lesson.

After I finish I am assigned to clean the tub... I sprinkle Ajax in the tub and carefully scrub in small, circular motions and try not to miss spots.

Methodically and carefully, I scrub the tub when I hear her from the other room remind me to wash the walls as well. Uggg. My arm is tired and my fingers are pruney.

I hear her tight voice tell my sister that cleanliness is next to Godliness and to gather the laundry. She will begin the laundry in the electric ringer washer and I will hang it on the line. Dread fills my body. My arm aches from scrubbing and I long for a break.

Hanging laundry is hard because you have to shake and snap out the wrinkles without the towels and clothes touching your body.

Then you have to reach above your head to hang the clothing as she has specified in a very particular fashion. Nothing can fall to the ground so you have to ensure that socks aren't stuck to the clothing you're hanging. My arms and shoulders ache and I'm feeling overwhelmed. I can tell we're going to clean the entire day.

Hopes of going to town soon vanish and I clean and cling to the hope of going to Grandma's for supper.

After laundry I'm sent to finish cleaning my room. I'm tired and don't really give a shit. I tuck and hide what I can and spend some extra time making the bunk beds. The top bunk is hard to make and I pinch my sister hard when I see her sitting on the bottom bunk I just made. She cries out and runs to her savior and queen.

I turn up the radio in my room to drowned out my thoughts. TURN THAT DOWN AND GET IN HERE.

"If you can't be trusted alone in the room with your sister, you can work out here where I can watch you". ... I Windex about seven windows and the storm door inside and out. We finally eat a sandwich which I devoured. My hands smelled of bleach which made the sandwich taste funny, but hunger won over. I wonder how much more we'll do. She has cleaned out closets and done chores we're not able to do. Momma tells me to sweep.

After that I can dust. You never dust before you sweep. I sweep and sweep with vigor because her eyes are on me. Anxiety and anger begin to make me shake. Clouds of concrete dust fill my nose. My bleach burns the back of my throat and my left eye begins throbbing.

I hold back hot tears of anger and despair. Hatred fills me and I try to fight it off. Nausea and pounding fill my head and stomach.

I hear her in my room dumping out my things in the middle of the floor as she has done so many times before. A mountain of shit... clothes, Legos, toys everywhere. I hear her fake-calm, sarcastic, tight "Do right the first time, or do it over"

I drag myself into my room... I can't take anymore. I feel so sick and I just want to lay down. I don't even CARE about this shit. I know I can't throw it away because she sacrificed to buy these things for me. I sort and fold and recruit my sister to please help me.

She forgave me for the pinch and I could see the pity in her eyes. Quietly we sorted and dared not stop... The longer I sat there, the sicker I got.

Finally, as we neared the bottom of the pile, nausea overwhelmed me... I knew the clothes on the line were dry and needed to be brought in for ironing while I hung another load outside... the day was nearly over... There had been no acknowledgment of my birthday and I was given nothing but a migraine for my 11th birthday.

I heard Bob's car pull into the drive and it was more than I could take. I got sick and was grateful to have made it to the toilet. I recalled having my hair cut off because I got vomit in it several years before... I always felt so much better after getting sick. Not well, but much better. My mother's demeanor changed immediately with the arrival of guests and, of course, now that I was sick, the "other mommy" would visit. I took a nap with a cold cloth draped over my eye and when I woke up we walked down to Grandma's for cake.

I ate my favorite... Carrot Cake with Cream Cheese Icing... There was no excitement, but I forced a smile knowing that despite the day I had... Grandma didn't forget... she cared enough to make a cake that I swallowed over the lump in my throat. I eyed Bob across the table and was happy to be invisible for awhile.

Our responsibility...

2010-02-21T17:27:00.001-06:00

This week has been filled with so much work related drama. Last Friday while I was in another town seeing some of my little ones, a referral came in on a case I had decided I was going to close. Actually three referrals came in on the case.

Apparently the teenage child in the home told some of her friends some disturbing information and they shared with their own parents who called it in. (Which actually makes me very happy! It's very comforting to know that people who are called to action are taking that action.).

The referrals were of a sexual nature... in our town, on-going workers only investigate neglect on their own cases, so one of my favorite investigators was assigned to the case... after placing the children with a relative, having interviews, having a forensic interview at the Child Advocacy Center, it turned out to be false information.

Regardless, the situation really made me question my own abilities... I absolutely want to remain fair, unbiased, professional, objective etc, but in this instant, I felt like I was riding a fast moving train and had no control over where the train was going, where it would stop, what seat I was sitting in and who the conductor was.

I am so thankful for my supervisor who I felt comfortable enough to say you know... I just don't know if I can continue to work this case. He offered me a get out of jail free card, but also encouraged me to take some time to deal with myself.

It's hard to deal with "self issues" when so much other crap is going on... a bio mother harrassing a foster family, another mother up in arms because she missed her visit due to weather, and yet another issue with another family. We need time to process, but people want an answer now. And they want respect now. Sometimes I don't feel respectful. I realize that we are supposed to provide "unconditional personal regard" (phrase stolen from SocialWrkr24/7), but sometimes I just feel things.

I feel disdain and I feel discouraged. I feel disgust and frustration. I lack understanding.

Then again, at times, I feel empathy and warm fuzzies... I am a person before I am a social worker. I am a mother, sister and wife. I am a friend and I am not always confident.

Then some days I am confident and self-assured. I am the master of my own domain; I am quick and productive. No, I'm not bi-polar LoL, but I definately have to continuously check myself...

Am I giving my best, am I honoring the families I work with, am I honoring the relationships in my personal life.

When we get a case that we don't feel we can be objective about, is it our responsibility to give it to someone who is more equipped?

Or to work through it and learn from it?

Feedback welcomed :)

Woo hoo! Awards!

2010-02-15T19:00:00.005-06:00

This blog has connected me with a few like-minded (and sometimes not so like-minded) people who have been reading, inspiring me, encouraging me and of course, teaching me. One that I look forward to reading every day, SocialWrkr24/7, in her awesome blog Eyes Opened Wider, has very kindly given me an award.

Thank you so much 24/7!! That made my day :)

So here are the rules:

1. Put the logo in my post or within my blog.

2. Pass the award onto 12 fellow bloggers.

3. Link the nominees within my post.

4. Let the nominees know they have received this award by leaving a comment on their blogs.

5. Share the love and link to the person who gave you the award

Kk, So first, I'd like to share this award with a very special lady named Kelly who writes The Missing Pieces. She is an amazing woman who is parenting 8 beautiful children! She can really touch your heart with stories about her very special children who have had to endure so much. She has true insight about her children's needs!

I'd also like to award Kevin Barbieux, who writes The Homeless Guy. This blog is an accounting of being chronically homeless from his standpoint. His advocacy for the homeless in his community is unparalleled.

Okay, that's two... # 3. goes to Anti-socialworker , an MSW student with a sassy flair.

4. A very funny and interesting OB nurse who needs to remain anonymous at At your Cervix

5. Neikiegirl - at Single Mom . She is definitely able to pull you into her journey.

6. Momma Chaos at Kingdom of Chaos - She cracks me up.

7. Tudu, a mom of 9 children who is Finishing off her family. Kelly you and this mom have lots in common!

8. Kimberly, has something she wants to tell you. She takes amazing pictures too.

9. Rain at Raining Rain who is a wonderful writer trying to complete her family.

10. Paula, an amazing foster mom at Circle of Love

11. Melissa, a fun mom of three at Mrs. Firecracker

and finally, last but certainly not least, Karen at One Good Egg who is also looking to complete her family.

YAY. I love reading all of your blogs and hope everyone else loves them as much as I do.
Don't forget to follow the rules. :)

Hello Sky

2010-02-15T08:14:00.001-06:00

Why are you pooping snow again?

Don't you know I have to wear dress shoes today... smile all day after you get the bottom of my dress pants wet?

Why have you pooped your white doo doo on my car windows? Don't you see I can barely get in it from all the McDonald's bags my daughter left in it when she borrowed it for the last three weeks? and now you want to bury it in your icy grip?

Don't you know that my son needs to go to school because he's a messy fart and will vegetate in front of a video game all day while I'm trudging out into your cold hug?

I know you think you're pretty... I think you're pretty too, but you need a reality check because you're only pretty for the first snow of the season and then you're just annoying.

So seriously, I'm sick of you and want you to go back to Michigan or somewhere people are expecting you every few minutes. Thanks!!

The Soloist

2010-02-13T21:31:00.002-06:00

Has anyone has the chance to see this movie on HBO? Here's the synopsis:

HBO will be running the Soloist movie starting midnight tonight, January 3, 2010. The Soloist movie is based on the true story of Nathaniel Ayers (played by Jamie Foxx Foxx), a gifted cellist who had a mental breakdown in his third year of studies at the prestigious Juilliard School in New York. The breakdown caused the loss of Nathaniel Ayers' hopes of a music career, and left him homeless in Los Angeles.

It's been a really good movie so far. Definitely makes a person think about the causes and effects of homelessness. I hope it ends well LoL.

A child's spirit.

2010-02-13T08:42:00.001-06:00

A few months ago, I inherited a case with five special needs children in three different foster homes spread all over our region. These children were feral when they entered care. Thankfully their foster parents, hospital staff, Impact, and their previous social worker were able to help these children learn to function on a daily basis.

When I got the case, one of the little girls had just started a new school. She is seven, non-verbal, with Rhett's syndrome. She is served by two speech pathologists, two OT therapist, Impact, Michelle P. Waiver, special ed. etc. The foster mother was overwhelmed with the school when I met the family because the child was being mishandled. She was being restrained in class daily and laid over in her restraint chair when she would try to kick the chair over. She was having recess taken away when she would ask to go to the bathroom, but didn't "produce", and left to sit in her own feces if she used her pants because the teacher thought if she had to sit in it she'd stop doing it because she was just trying to use the bathroom as a control issue. I tried to discuss my concerns with the teacher and principal who believed they were justified in their behavior management techniques.

Soooo I called a referral in against the school so someone could look into it (since it's outside of my county), and contacted Protection and Advocacy to assist me in helping the school develop an appropriate IEP for this child since I'd already alienated myself with the school. (Thank you to my sister who has been battling with schools on behalf of her autistic son and guided me through the process!!).

Yesterday I drove to a town about an hour away and went to the IEP meeting for this little gem. I was already sour because I had to miss the adoption of another one of my "kids" to be there. I already knew things would be tense. THREE hours and a few tears later, the meeting was finished.... the child has free access to the restroom without pentalty. Child will be changed immediately. School with develop a Safe Crisis Management plan before using "the chair". School with use IRS method with child daily (Interupt, Redirect, Subsitute) for behaviors that are disruptive to the class. Teacher will attend new training in behavior manament to learn positive, rather than punative responses. I hated missing the adoption, but I felt so victorious for this child!!

We went and got her some soft tacos and went to the home afterwards for a home visit... She had a Valentines Day party at school and was anxious to show me all of her candy and asked me to teach her the signs for some of them... She learned party, peanut butter, and taco!!! Her spirit was SO contagious! She's stopped maturbating when she is stressed out. She isn't spitting, biting, or kicking. She's learning to sequence in school and her intelligence is really beginning to shine through. And even though I came home and did a removal last night, her spirit stayed with me and is still with me as I get ready to go do some home visits this morning. If she can endure all she's been through, change, grow, smile, love... then home visits on a Saturday morning should be a breeze!!

Have a great day everyone :)

To foster parents...

2010-02-11T18:57:00.003-06:00

I just want to say that I personally feel so BADLY that at least on my caseload of 23 cases and no telling how many children, that I never EVER seem to have enough time to devote to them and my "children" that they deserve.

I obviously can't keep up with the pace I met yesterday, but somehow I still manage to put in at least ten hours a day and hope it's enough. What is it about the system that makes judges, community partners, parents, etc think that because we're the social worker, we can do EVERY thing. And maybe I just need to vent, but we have approximately 20 work days in a month. I'd say I spend five of those in court.... ALL day.

So that leaves about 15 working days to do about 44 home visits, answer endless phone calls and emails (usually bitching about something you just haven't had time to do)... write court reports, supervise visitation, transport, make referrals... meet with the community partners of all the referrals you made (MONTHLY)... Go to therapy and/or mediation with your families because they can NEVER get along for some reason... do case plans, assessments, document every single contact you have. Initiate, investigate, terminate, ... All kinds of crap I'm not even listing, get cussed on at least a weekly basis, and expect you to it all with a smile? I'm obviously tired tonight. I'm working on a spreadsheet so I can TRY to keep up with myself. I'm doing home visits on Saturdays this month because I can't even get to them without staying out until 9 pm every night. Oh and don't forget TRAINING.... and there's just not ENOUGH of me.

But I'm still here. Even if I never do laundry, grocery shop, sweep, mop, wash my car, etc. I KNOW it's worth it. I believe in the power of CHANGE. I just think that we should be allowed to carry reasonable case loads so that we can SERVE.

And I think I'm going to go to school full time next year? I am Crazy!!

Ok. Thanks for the bitch session... Therapy is over LoL.

Because I'm amazing!

2010-02-10T21:38:00.001-06:00

I popped off 1 CQA, 12 court reports, initiated a new case, answered 9 emails, had lunch, and prepped for a termination hearing tomorrow. And I stabbed no one!

Something about Sunday

2010-02-07T23:23:00.004-06:00

I used to hate Sundays. I hated getting ready for Church. I was sure to make her mad. I hated feeling guilty for my hateful thoughts. I hated meeting her disappointment. I hated feeling disconnected no matter how hard I tried to make a connection with the Church, with its teachings, with God. To be a real believer.

But now Sundays are a comfort. Sunday nights are full of warmth and security. I've usually taken an afternoon nap, chores are as done as they will or won't be. We eat supper and settle in to watch our favorite Sunday night television while I straighten my hair.

I'm so thankful for my life, my husband and my children. I feel safe. I feel safe enough that my mind is allowed to wander back to another lifetime. A time I've hidden and ignored for far too long. I realize that I actually think about my past almost every day, even if just for a passing moment. That's not new, but recognizing it is somewhat new. Over the years I've found ways to push it away. Find something else to do, ignore it. I'm glad I started this blog so I can put it all somewhere.

I realized that as I write this blog, I've begun remembering things that are just so random. I don't want to really jump back and forth but that's how the mind works.

I was on a home visit this past week and trying to get to know a little girl who is four. Her brother is six. Crafts are a wonderful way to make friends with a child and I had taken some stickers and door hangers for the kids to make whatever kinds of signs they wanted for their rooms. I imagined the slightly older boy would put "NO GIRLS ALLOWED" on his and the little girl I had no idea. She began drawing with markers and as she put her stickers on my mind wandered. I kept flashing a paper plate pumpkin that was hanging on our refrigerator. I finished my home visit with my new friend who had proudly made mini muffins just for my visit and drove home, but the drive is about 20 minutes... long enough to explore where I had gone.

The pumpkin was made from two Styrofoam plates. Each plate had a pumpkin face drawn on it. One happy and one mad/sad. They were stapled together and hung from a string held on by a magnet. I remember being happy to be making something with my mom, but then she revealed her motives.

The rule was that if the pumpkin was on a happy face when Asshole got home, then life was fine, but if she flipped it to the mad/sad side, he would immediately know my momma was mad at me and I would be in trouble by him.

I don't remember what I did to get the pumpkin on the mad face, but I begged her to turn it before he got home. I went to bed early hoping to avoid him. I was getting a migraine from the anxiety. I refused supper. I refused to speak. When she would try to talk to me, I'd look at her with that blank stare that infuriated her. I couldn't say the right thing so I would say nothing. As I drifted off to sleep I could feel my pulse beat throb in my left eye. I might be sick.

He jerked me out of bed and smacked the back of my head. I saw a white flash from the blow as I was startled awake. I felt like he'd picked up a skeleton and imagined my body had no flesh. I was dead. I was dead inside and my mind visualized me as a corpse. I don't remember anything else after that. I have a lot of moments that my memory gets to a certain point and I remember a feeling, but not what happened. I don't know when the pumpkin disappeared.

I think it's very odd how children deal with themselves in these type situations. How the smallest things can trigger a child into rage, tears, depression, lying, fantasizing, wetting themselves, masturbating, people pleasing, fighting etc.

I spend a lot of time trying to educate relatives and foster parents about how these behaviors are NOT personal. That "Fuck you" mentality is a defense mechanism. My heart breaks every time I get called to move a child because those behaviors are just overwhelming to their host family.

Please PLEASE stop having your foster children moved because you don't understand them!

Children need understanding, new coping skills, and boundaries. They need adults to understand what the child doesn't. Once the adult understand, they can begin to help the child understand. Don't "react" to them... TEACH them.

Questions children might wonder... Am I normal. What is normal. What do other people do when they are upset. What is this feeling called? How can I practice using my words when I hate you? Why do I hate you? Will you think I'm crazy if I tell you I see myself as a dead person sometimes?

Elderberry Jam and Sassafrass Tea

2010-02-07T20:07:00.005-06:00

After we pick berries and gather roots, we go back to the house for Grandma to make jam and tea. She sends me to the garden behind the house with a small bucket to get potatoes for supper. If I'll get them she'll fry them she said. Yay. I can drench them in ketchup.

I walk down to the garden which is a section cut out of the cornfield. It's a leased field and grandma reserves a section for a mid-sized garden. She grows tomatoes, potatoes, carrots, cucumbers, green bean etc. We take corn from the cornfield. The dirt is not soft, but is field dirt. I am a child who needs to touch things. I'm still sensitive to touch, sound and light as an adult. I run my hand over the dirt and hope I see some worms. I lift a rock in search of a worm and find some roly poly bugs. I play with those for awhile before I get busy digging up some potatoes. I could never linger while doing tasks for my mom, but my grandmother encouraged me to explore, relax, take my time. When I've satisfied myself with a little play and gotten the potatoes, I head back towards the house.

As I'm walking, I get this sick feeling. I feel like someone is watching me. I look back and no one is there. I start off again and the feeling intensifies. I recall my grandmother telling me my mother was so connected to her father that she could announce his arrival five minutes before he'd get home. I "connect" with my grandmother and tell her I'm scared. I'm in trouble. I quicken my pace... but the faster I go, the more I get this sick sick feeling. When I stop, I feel like it also stops.

I get to the side of the house and the feeling is overwhelming me. I'm terrified. SOMETHING IS FOLLOWING ME. I turn all the way around and see it. It licks its tongue out at me. I don't scream, I don't cry. I am frozen. I can't move. It's looking at me and I'm stuck in my own body. I don't know what to do. Its beady eyes are just there and I'm just there. If I move, it moves. I'm screaming in my mind and the bucket is getting heavy. I hear my grandmother coming up behind me. Hot tears finally release from my frozen, tense face.

"Be still while I shoot", she whispered. BANG!... its head is gone. Its body is still moving. WTF. OMG, its not dead. I drop my bucket and wrap my arms around my grandmas waist. My quivering voice asks, "How did you know?" I'm astounded she could hear my thoughts. "I saw you out the window", she laughed. "Don't worry, its dead, its muscles are just twitching".

I'm so impressed with her shooting skills. I'm so impressed with her intuition. She may have seen me, but she couldn't have seen that snake. It was really actually small. "Do you want to eat that snake with your potatoes", she teased. Uh, no I don't. I had the best grandma.

This is a blue racer. They are one of the few snakes that chase people. I borrowed this picture from the internet and it belongs to www.natureconservancy.ca

Mental Illness

2010-02-07T19:07:00.003-06:00

Growing up with part of my family being Catholic and the other being Mormon was a little confusing. I always joke that I had the Pope and the Prophet covered. After the trial I tried to become a good Mormon. I memorized the 13 Articles of Faith, prayed, took the Sacrament, gave my pennies and tried to know God. My mother started school after the trial in a town about an hour away. She was so histrionic that she bitched about "risking her life" on the interstate every time she had to go to class to provide a better life for us. We were just glad she was off the farm so we could play.

My mom had this knack for drawing the weirdest people into her life. She had friends that lived in a barn (Mormons), friends that lived in a circus tent (vegans), friends who had mental health issues (almost all of them), and friends who, like her, took life to the extreme. In our house, the extreme was religion, cleanliness, and obedience. I began noticing the lives of other people after the trial. There was a girl who rode my bus that only wore dresses and never cut her hair. Most everyone who lived in our county was poor and so no one really felt poor in relation to others. It was just a lifestyle. My grandmother had more time with us since my mom was in school. I took a lot of opportunities to ask her questions in an attempt to understand my mom better.

I wish there was some way I could describe my connection to my grandmother, but there aren't really any words. We didn't need words. I could place my hand in her hand and draw energy from her. Strength.

We went for a walk one day to pick elderberries and get sassafrass root for tea (taste like rootbeer tea,... REALLY yummy). I asked her why my mom was so different from other moms and as always my grandma was honest with me.

She told me a story about my mom's real dad. I did know that my grandpa was her step-dad.

My mother's father was a schizophrenic. He drank a lot of alcohol and abused the family physically and emotionally... except for my mom. My mom was the youngest. The golden child. "What's a schizophrenic, Grandma"... "Someone who has a brain that messes up their thinking, sweetie" The aunt and uncle (who I haven't introduced into this blog yet) took a lot of abuse from their dad. My mom would have too, but they protected her. Since they took the blame for everything she did, he never knew and therefore loved her the most.

When momma was eight, her daddy tried to pick her up from school. Grandma worked two jobs and was out of the home a lot. Grandma was smart (not smart enough to leave, but smart). She had told the school not to let anyone pick the children up but her. He went home and shot himself that day. He wanted to take my mom with him, but didn't. The abuse my mom witnessed and the suicide of her father shaped her.

Now I couldn't comprehend this information. I was probably ten years old, but slowly over the years, I put more and more together. It took me years after my mother's own murder to understand that she was also mentally ill. More on that another day.

Grandma's farmhouse years after we all left.

Here's one of the Aunt's house...

Here is one of the trailer we lived in down the path...

Thoughts

2010-02-03T22:00:00.001-06:00

I'd thought about posting Asshole's sex offender pic on here or the link and then decided I wouldn't because my page is pretty and I didn't want his mug darkening my space, but please make sure you check your own sex offender registry at least a few times a year so you are aware of who lives around you so you can keep your children SAFE. And remember for every convicted sex offender, there are no telling how many who aren't convicted or caught. A lot of people teach their children about stranger danger, but most crimes are commited by the people we KNOW. Our neighbors, our family members etc. Teach your children that they can TELL even if it is your favorite uncle. :)

So much for only talkin about this junk on the weekends LOL.

Oh... Who's your favorite LOST character and why? (Question stolen from a friends sister).

Lesson of the day...

2010-02-02T22:28:00.002-06:00

I'm watching Oprah (thanks to DVR!). They are airing the show of the adult children of the woman who helped kidnap Elizabeth Smart. I've been noticing that people are really able to acknowledge all types of abuse, but one that is rarely touched on is religous abuse. More on that later. What I was really intrigued about was when the siblings where talking about how even though all of the children grew up in the same home, they all had different experiences. I found that to be true with my and my sister as well, but I don't think I've really realized it in a way that would be practical until I just heard it said allowed. I'm thankful I can learn something everyday!

Weekend Posting

2010-02-02T20:41:00.001-06:00

I didn't sleep well last night. I thought about my past for the better part of the night and felt hung over from the emotional roller coaster this morning. I was thankful to have the luxury of going in a few hours late and glad I didn't have court first thing this morning. I'm only going to post on the weekends to this blog. I need time to get over myself so I can give my best to the families I work with. I have to pace myself so I don't drown LoL. Thanks for understanding.

Obedience

2010-01-31T23:54:00.002-06:00

I cuddled in my grandmother's arms and imagined the conversation/interaction between my mother and step-father as she confronted him. I knew I had shattered everyone's lives. My grandmother whispered as she held me, almost speaking to herself, but explaining at the same time, "I could hide behind that door and shoot him when he comes through it, but then you'd lose me too while I spent the rest of my life in prison... do you understand"? I knew if I said just do it, she would. I nodded. I understood. She loved me enough that she was willing to do it and loved me enough not to.

Life became even more awkward between my mother and me. She wanted me to testify against him. She said I had to protect other little girls by doing this. I only wanted to please her. I didn't know what a courtroom or a judge was. We only watched rated G programming as the Church mandated. No crime shows or anything that could corrupt. (Which is a little ironic). I knew that even though she said the right things, there was an emptiness in her eyes. Her heart was full of blame and conflict. I overheard her tell a friend that I was a seductive child. I became frozen inside knowing that people knew I had "been" with my "father" and that I seduced him. My body still lived in fear even though he was gone. I knew he wouldn't be back. The fear was not of him. I didn't know where I stood. I didn't know who knew or how I was being perceived. Over and over I told my story. The police, a lawyer, a social worker, a therapist, a doctor.I was taken to the courthouse and sat in a hall and waited with my mother. I was taken into the room that was nothing as I had imagined and saw him at the table. On the stand I could not look up. I shook all over. I couldn't speak. He could see and hear me and would know everything I had to say. I could feel his eyes on me. There were a thousand eyes on me. Someone had mercy. I identified who he was and was told I could go into a room with my mom. Later the man in a suit came to get me and explained that I could tell the story without him being in the room. There would be the "jury" and a camera. Finally I told my story in a room with a long table with 12 people sitting at the table. A man asked very personal questions which I answered. I only looked up once at the people sitting at the table. An old man with a ball cap. A white haired woman with red lipstick and pearls. Her lips were wrinkly and her lipstick ran in little lines like rivers of red around her lips. I didn't look at each person. Just the people closest to my seat. I looked down the rest of my time in the room and talked about the intimate details of the last five years. I am nine years old. I have to say the word penis in front of a LOT of people and a camera. God was probably going to smite me for saying penis.

It was the first conviction of child sexual abuse in PoDunk County. A county where the good ol' boy system was well in place and every one was related to everyone else in some way. After court my grandma took me to the Five and Dime across from the court house. We bought some candies and then went to the only place in the town you could get a hamburger, Jim's Bar and Grill. My hamburger and fries sat untouched. I refused food often during my childhood and hunger evaded me especially today. My stomach churned and my head hurt. I asked Grandma what was happening. Everything was so hush hush. She finally said we're waiting for a "verdict" It only took a few hours. Sentencing would be another day. My mother said I was a "brave" girl. I felt sick and shaky. I knew I wasn't brave. I was obedient.

Pregnant Third Grader

2010-01-15T21:37:00.007-06:00

I was in the third grade when we began sex ed. I had the sweetest teacher in third grade, Ms. Gail. She had a way of making all of her students feel very special and smart. She never picked her nose like my second grade teacher who was the principal's wife. The principal, Mr. Gilley, and his wife were as old as the hills and smelled of moth balls. But Ms. Gail was the kind of teacher that you wished she were your mom. She read stories and gave smiley faces back on your worksheets. Anyway, as I said, we had our first - boys go to the gym and girls stay here - sex education class in the third grade. During recess as my mind was racing from what I'd learned about getting pregnant and, of course, I convinced myself I must be pregnant. I didn't feel particularly close to any of the other kids, but did confide in June and Heather that I thought maybe my step-dad made me pregnant. We all just sat there in shock. I thought that was the end of it and imagined what my mom would say when I had a baby.

The next day, Heather said that she had told her mom and that if I didn't tell someone, her mom was going to tell. I was scared, but relieved. I was so ready for it all to be over. I agreed and asked Ms. Gail if I could stay in at recess and talk to her. I don't remember her response, only that I felt nervous to open a can of worms that could never be closed. I know that she asked if I had told my mother and I said no. She worked very hard to give me the courage to tell my mother or grandmother and I would have to tell that day or she would have to tell someone herself.

As I rode the bus home I tried to prepare myself mentally for what was about to happen. My stomach and head hurt and nausea washed over me. I tried to imagine what would happen. My mother was sitting in Grandma's kitchen. I wouldn't have had the courage to tell her any other way. "How was school"? My sister had already run off to play and the question sounded so routine and normal. I stood there and shook as words spilled quickly from my mouth. I could almost see them spilling from my mouth in typed form like a waterfall. I wouldn't take a breath until I'd said it all. "We had sex ed and I told Heather that he does stuff to me and I thought I was going to have a baby and her mom said I have to tell so Ms. Gail said I'm not pregnant, but said that I have to tell you that he does stuff to me" all in one long run on sentence. No one said who... no one said anything. They knew who "he" was. Four eyes looked on me in shock and we all were very still while time slowed and the clock ticked. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick.

I watched their faces which was my well-honed gift. I could read anyone's face and almost always knew what was coming. I watched as agony was overtaken by an explosion of silent fury swept my grandmother's face. A quick sweep of my mother's face told me that this was already about HER. Her face quickly changed again as she realized she had to "say the right things".

She started off telling me that I was safe and no one would ever be touching me again. She came over and tried to hug my stiff body. I looked over her shoulder into my grandmother's eyes and tears began to fill my heart... not for myself, but for what I saw. I was more afraid of what Asshole would do when he learned I'd told. I'd seen his violence and knew his well-hidden secrets better than anyone. I'd seen my mother's temper, but knew he could hurt her and he could hurt all of us. What had I done? Would he kill us one at a time? Would I be watching my family die today?

Bartering

2010-01-10T19:03:00.004-06:00

The farm was thirty acres. The mailbox was at the main road and the Auntie was building a concrete block house on the left hand side of the gravel drive between the main road and Grandma's house which was on the right hand side just past some woods and then a cornfield. You could not see anyone else's house through the thickets and trees, but a path through the woods was created from the well-house to the Auntie's house.

Mom and the Auntie had made up since the refrigerator incident. It was early spring and I could climb the trees on the path and read books from the library. I could climb fairly high and be very quiet. I watched as my sister and cousin played on the path. The house had concrete floors and running water. There was no hot water though and they also heated by a wood-burning stove. There was only three ways to make my mother like me, be sick, be smart, and clean.

I hated math(as most social workers do) and had begun long division in school. One day I asked my cousin if he would do my math because I hated it, but I knew better than to leave it undone or to get a bad grade. He agreed if I would do something for him. I said sure and we went into the woods together. I would kiss his dong and he would do my math. I shook as I knelt down and quickly weighed the pros and cons of what I was going to do. What would God say? I thought about how small his was compared to the asshole and thought about how badly I didn't want to do my math homework. What did it matter? I did it for the asshole, why couldn't I do it to get my math done? I began and did it for a few minutes and changed my mind. God was going to smite me. What if my Grandma found out?

Grandma didn't like the other kids the way she liked me. I saw her lock my cousin in the closet the week before because he was getting on her nerves. The closet was in her room and went into the attic. The boards were made of barn wood and it was dark and dusty inside. I knew he had to be scared in the closet, but I made no attempts to let him out or talk to him about it. I'd been through a lot of things, but had never been locked in the closet. I didn't want to go in the closet either. I told him I'd do my own math and pretended to be insulted that he was bartering what he knew I could do.

I had become a fairly mean to the other children over the past several months and would throw walnuts at my cousin as he walked by. I hoped I could crack his head. He could climb trees, but not as well as me and could never catch me. His chores were harder than mine and his mother's bark was even worse than my own mother's bark. Even though I was a quiet child, I had hate growing in my heart. I hated whoever was easiest to hate. Some days it was my sister, and some days it was my cousin. But mostly I hated myself.

A new game

2010-01-10T18:17:00.006-06:00

We hauled water from the well in five gallon buckets. I pulled two empty five gallon buckets to the electric well pump and filled them with water. My red wagon had seen better days, but was my daily companion. As I filled the buckets and walked slowly back the mobile home tucked about two acres from grandmas house I wondered if the fire would be hot enough to heat the water for baths. You couldn't see Grandma's house from the trailer, but the well was in her front yard so getting water meant going to see her.

I didn't dilly-dally because I knew I was to go and come straight back. I took the time to smell the red roses growing just to the right of the well-house. Grandma came out the screen door and waved with her knowing smile. My small frame began slowly tugging the wagon over the gravel road to the trailer. It was easier where the gravel stopped and the dirt path started. I made my way slowly so I wouldn't slosh water out. That was the only bath water available and I didn't want to make two trips. The avocado green bathtub was small so 10 gallons of hot water plus a little bit of cold water would cover my legs.

I told my sister to get in the tub and undressed. Being naked meant being vulnerable in our house. Tomorrow night I would ask grandma if we could take a bath there. I'd ask in secret and she would casually suggest it over dinner. We had dinner every weekend at Grandmas. The next night I cuddled with Grandma while my mother went to the grocery. I whispered and asked if we could get our bath at her house. We never used bubble bath in the tub because I kept a lot of "infections" and bubble bath was the "cause". My sister and I could fill the tub up to our chests at her house and I was happy to submerge myself in the deep warm water. We got into the tub while the adults had their after dinner talk and the dishes were done. My sister was being loud and I didn't want anyone to come in. I stuck my finger in her face and hissed for her to shut up. She continued to splash water and be loud and I again became very angry and shoved my finger in her face. SHUT UP dammmmi... before I could finish she grabbed my finger between her teeth. She bit like a snapping turtle and wasn't going to let go. I screamed out in pain and she still hung on.

I started to push her head backwards and was trying to pull my finger out as the door slammed open with my mother red faced and angry. I looked at her crying in agony and watched in fear as she jerked my sister out of the tub. Blood filled the water as my sister got her bare naked wet butt spanked. I'd never seen my sister punished and a mixture of guilt and pleasure crept in. I smirked in the tub behind my tears and when I saw my mother looking down at me, turned that smirk into a grimace to cover my tracks. A quick towel dry and band-aid and we recieved our orders to get our pajama's on. We were going home.

Once we were home we climbed into our bunkbeds. She on the bottom and I was on the top. She pressed her feet into the bottom of my mattress and I hung my head over to look at her. "You should have shut up huh"?... Her eyes were filled with anger as she stubbornly said, "You should have kept your finger out of my face, huh?" That night would mark the beginning of a new game. I laid on the top bunk and hatched my plan. I would make her know how much she needed me and how she would miss me. She would pay. I couldn't control anything else in my life, but I could definitely control her.

Over the next year, every time I would call my step-father to me when I saw him approaching her, I would call her out to the yard to play. Every single time I was molested on her behalf, I would wait until she brushed up against me or hit me and then would fall over and hold my breath until she thought I was dead. Until real tears fell from her eyes. I was always at her beck and call because if she got upset... the grownups blamed me. If I carried her on my back from the bus to Grandma's house so she didn't have to walk, I'd later wait for the perfect moment and then would pretend I'd died until she was scared. If she ripped a necklace off my neck, I'd again pretend she killed me. I tortured her for almost a year with the game giggling at how gullible she was to fall for it time and time again.

From a friend.

2009-12-29T20:58:00.003-06:00

"We should not think of our past as definitely settled, for we are not a stone or a tree," wrote poet Czeslaw Milosz. "My past changes every minute according to the meaning given it now, in this moment.”

How fitting.

I had lunch with another good friend today. Two good days in a row at the office too. And my hubbie is making a no-bake cheesecake and had homemade chicken and dumplings on the stove when I got home from a late night at work. Who could ask for more?!

Master of Ignoring

2009-12-29T09:41:00.004-06:00

I've become the master of ignoring my history. I think about how I present myself today and how I close myself off to what was. I wonder what people think of me and know that as much as I pretend I don't care what anyone else thinks of me... I really do care. Of course, I won't let that feeling of caring overwhelm me. I'm the master of ignoring. I'm the master of keeping my mind busy to crowd everything else out. I'm the master of sarcasm and laughter. I know I take the sarcasm too far and come off as a bitch sometimes (Okay most of the time, but not when it really matters), but if the worse you think about me is that I'm a bitch, then that's fine. It's better that way than if people could really see inside. I'd rather be a bitch than be exposed.

I got a phone call from one of my foster kids on my case load last night. I smiled as I listened to her ask me if I had a good Christmas. "I've been good this week Mrs. Babs. You'd be proud of me"! I can remember a time this child hated me. It was the best of Christmas presents! I really am proud of her. I know how easy it is to throw those shields up. I know what kind of work it takes to try something else. Good for her!

Uncomfortable

2009-12-28T17:45:00.004-06:00

Okay so I spent all day yesterday blogging my story and got up to about eight years old. We all have a story and I always say "mine's not a secret, I just don't broadcast it". Why is that? Because it makes people uncomfortable. Hell, it makes me uncomfortable. I would rather people know me for who I am today, but where I came from made me who I am today. Anyway, I think I over immersed myself yesterday so I'll just blog about mundane things until I'm ready to continue. Nothing special going on. Froze my ass off doing some home visits, returned phone calls, checked emails... yada yada. Had lunch with my bestie. It was a good day :P

The Farm

2009-12-27T17:11:00.001-06:00

The Asshole left during my nap and I couldn't have been more content. My mom wasn't going to be a bitch around my Grandma and he was GONE. WOO. I played with Grandpa and cuddled with Grandma. The farm was about 30 acres and Grandma set about teaching me some country living.

The house had a front porch that was closed in with a concrete floor where Grandma kept all of the canning she'd done in small shelves lined along the walls on the left side of the door. The washer and dryer were on right side of the door. The next room was the kitchen. To the left was a round table with a vinyl table cloth, directly ahead was a wood burning stove and to the right was the cooking stove, the refrigerator and the sink and Cabinets. Passing through the table and woodstove was a living room and a bathroom and a set of stairs up to the attic bedrooms. One side of the living room had grandpa's hospital bed and the other side a couch. Grandpa wasn't sick, but he couldn't sleep with Grandma because of his "walking legs". Grandma slept upstairs and her room had the only air conditioner in the house.

I spent a wonderful summer with my Grandparents and often slept in the room that was Grandma's in a pallet on the floor. She would read her Agatha Christie books and I would listen to her breathe and the lull of the air conditioner. On Saturday nights we would run up to my mom and sister's room and watch The Love Boat and Fantasy Island. Their window was kept open because of the heat and I'd go to sleep listening to crickets and whippoorwills. We collected eggs from the chickens and traded them for milk at a nearby farm. Grandma taught me to shuck corn and make feed for the chickens and how to snap green beans. Every evening she would take me for a walk and showed me elderberries, beechnut trees and all the wonders of the farm. I did dishes every night after supper which would make my grandma mad. I was eight. Why was I doing dishes? I didn't care. I always did what would make mom happy and it was expected. Over the summer my mom bought a two bedroom trailer and moved it onto the farm. It was old as dirt and the cost of running electricity to the trailer tapped her out. We heated with coal and hauled water from the electric well in five gallon buckets in a wagon. My grandma would fuss when I came to fetch water saying I was too small to be hauling water. She'd make milkshakes and put raw eggs in them to try to fatten me up.

As wonderful as the summer was. It wouldn't last. Once we moved into the trailer, my mom was free to be herself and moved the Asshole right back in. As fall approached I started second grade. I made a few friends and was still pretty quiet unless I was with my grandparents. We spent days in an empty cornfield near the woods cutting trees for firewood. The Asshole was in full form and took every opportunity he had to punish me. This time he was braver than before because he had more opportunity. He was touching me everywhere and making me kiss his nastiness. My mom was often at the farmhouse with Grandma and left us girls with his grossness. One particular night he went out to "get more firewood" while I was playing with my sister who was three. He jumped up at the end of the trailer and mushed his ugly fucking face against the window roaring. He intended to terrify me and he did. I screamed at the monster in the window and began to bawl. He ran in the house saying how sorry he was laughing at his success. What an asshole. Since he had more opportunity, he began messing with my little sister. She was about the age I was when he started with me. What was I going to do? I didn't know.

A blow up or two.

2009-12-27T16:17:00.002-06:00

We got a new used refrigerator. The old one got drug out onto the front porch. My mom had recently been bitten by a recluse spider and had been very sick. Spiders were everywhere in Missouri. I especially hated the big black tunnel spiders that covered the front yard. They didn't give a shit who you were, if you walked by their tunnel, they'd jump out at you. Mom said recluse spiders are very small. A hole was rotting out in her back and she needed IV antibiotics so she'd be staying in the hospital a few days. I prayed to go to the Auntie's because I didn't want to be left alone with the Asshole. I spent part of my time with both. My momma had a slow recovery. Her happiness began to slip and fade. I worried about her and about her moods.

One day it finally happened. Auntie and Momma had a bad mood on the same day. My cousin had been over when my Auntie came to get him. I don't know what the blow out was about, but I knew it was over us kids. Both of them were screaming what lousy mother's the other one was. My mom ordered my Aunt out of the house. As mom followed her out the door screaming and cussing, she decided that she'd just push that refrigerator off the porch over on top of Auntie. I drug my sister into my bedroom and closed the door. I watched out the window of my room as my cousin screamed. The refrigerator missed and rolled down the steep hill about half way. I though my Auntie was going to kill my mom. Asshole intervened and it wasn't long before his police buddies arrived. I didn't see Auntie or my cousin for a long time after that. We moved to a duplex across town and I started a new school. I was in the first grade, but I'd done two years of Kindergarten due to being a retarded dyslexic. I wasn't retarded. I was left handed. The bitches at that last school wouldn't let me use my left hand. I was probably a little dyslexic too, but I had come to the conclusion that all adults except my grandma were assholes and bitches.

The new duplex had a garage on each side of it and Asshole worked on cars in his garage. This would be his new place to punish my butt and even though I was used to it, I really couldn't take it when my mom was off the deep end because punishments were more frequent and more painful. My mom had allowed us to get a dog we named Honey. She was a golden retriever. I really liked her. I told her lots of secrets. She always listened. I can't express how important it is to have that kind of trust. It doesn't matter that it's an animal. It's a safe haven and She lived long enough for me to bond with her before getting hit by a car.

My mom decided to let me get a cat after that because I cried after that dog all the time. I named her Josephine. She was a grey and black striped tabby that loved to cuddle. She was even sweeter than Honey. Mom stayed in a bad mood now and things were not going well. She cleaned with bleach until her hands were cracked and I spent a lot of time in the garage. When I wasn't required to be in the garage, I played in my room. The duplex had very dry heat and I often picked my nose until it bled. My mother had a fit and taped socks over my hands day after day if she caught me picking my nose. The socks were embarrassing because the neighbors would see them. Mom would come up with new reasons to be mad at me. The toys weren't put away right or the bed wasn't made just so. She would often come into my room and dump out every belonging I had and scream at me to "start over". If mom got mad, Asshole got mad. The cycle was never ending and one day he got sick of hearing her scream and picked Josephine up and threw her across the room into the wall. She had a seizure and died. I hated him. He was evil and She was miserable. I knew what to do to get mom to be nice to me so I was excited when I fell off the bus and sprained my elbow. Asshole berated me for not tying my shoes, but you know my mom was just as sweet about it as maple syrup. It hurt like hell, but was so worth it.

There were some nice older girls on the bus and I wanted to be just like them. I was beginning to recognize that not all people are "mean". I think those girls were probably nice when no one was looking which was not how things were with people in my family. Mom liked it when I was smart so I worked extra hard in school to learn to read and write. I could add numbers too. She really liked that and said I was so smart. It was one of the few ways I could please her. Momma got me another cat that looked similar to the first one and I named her Josephine II. I just pretended she was the first one and knew my mom would kill the Asshole if he even looked cross-eyed at this one. Everyone was afraid of my mom's wrath that really knew her. My mom said we were going to be moving to Kentucky to her mom's farm and that Grandma had moved there too. I was so happy I was going to be with my grandma again I didn't know what to do with myself.

We all piled into an old truck. My sister had to be in a carseat so I laid in the floorboard between my mom's feet with Josephine as we made the move. Of course, I got carsick and as usual, my mom was as loving as she could be. When we finally got to the farm I rushed into an old farm house with roof shingles for the siding and found my grandma making fried chicken. She was still fat and happy and smiling with her white hair and pink lipstick. She was wearing a moo-moo and smelled of talcum powder. I knew I was going to be okay now and her love and warmth washed over me. I told her I had been baptized recently on my eight birthday and she squeezed me tight and said that was wonderful. Grandma fed us and then the Asshole took me took me into the attic were two bedrooms were so I could take a nap. He said he wasn't staying on the farm with my mom and my sister and me and that he wanted me to know he was sorry for all the things he had done to me and that he'd never do it again. I just shook my head in acknowledgment and let tears roll down my face. I was relieved. Life was going to be okay.

Disney and the Garden of Eden

2009-12-27T15:12:00.001-06:00

I slept on the top bunk. I wasn't allowed to sleep on the bottom bunk because Asshole couldn't reach me. It was very close to the ceiling and as summer wore on, it would be hotter and hotter up there. One night my mom came in and told me I could just sleep in my panties if I wanted because it was so hot. She must have been out of her fucking mind. Right... I wasn't taking my clothes off in that house without getting in the tub. I refused and wondered why she couldn't figure it out. By now I knew what was going on was wrong, but she was no refuge for me and I didn't know I could do anything about it.

Sometimes I played in the backyard. The neighbor had a dog who lived on a chain. We became friends and the dog jumped around excitedly when I would go out back to talk to him. The dog tripped me with his chain as he wound around my legs and I fell and hit a rock busting my chin. I ran into the house crying and my mom took me to get stitches. I didn't care. My mom was being nice and I'd happily cut my chin, my toe, or anything else to see that side of her. I thought my mom and I were making friends until she announced a few days later that she and Asshole were going to Disney World and I was going to stay with the Auntie. WTF. Why the fuck is she going to Disney without me. For the first time, I started to hate her. I was just nothing to her and I knew it. She said she'd bring me some Mickey Mouse ears, but really? Who gives a fuck about your Mickey Mouse ears.

I spent the week with Auntie who was also clearly pissed my mom didn't take me with her. She was nice enough to me. I was disappointed, but whatever. I played with my cousin and sister and knew no one was going to punish my butt that week.

When they came back I threw the Mickey Mouse ears in my closet and never EVER gave her the pleasure of seeing me wear them. I loved Mickey Mouse and Disney though and would secretly put them on in my closet and sing MIC-KEY M-O-U-S-E. I still love Disney and I'm certain one day I'll get off my ass and take myself there.

Mom decided that she was going to make it up to me and take me to the Garden of Eden. Mormon's believe that Adam and Eve came to existence in Missouri. Yep, I said Missouri. Really who gave a shit? If there was a God, maybe I'll meet him in the Garden. We traveled there with two young missionary boys who were very nice and proper. Everything was proper when other people were around. When we got to the "Garden", the adults went on and on about Adam and Eve and all that bullshit. From what I could see, we were just standing in the woods. I waited for the "spirit" to tell me it was true and that I was standing on "Holy Ground". I pulled a tick off my arm and just rolled my eyes. God wasn't here and neither was Mickey Mouse. Fuck this place.

Getting to know the Aunt

2009-12-27T13:25:00.002-06:00

The next morning, my grandma told me I would be safe and that my mom and step-dad and sister would be moving to Missouri too. While they were moving, I'd stay with my Aunt and her family. Grandma had to go back to take care of grandpa. I would be without her. What was I going to do? She was my everything and now we wouldn't even be living in the same state. She would write to me and gave a jewelry box that played music. I recognized it off of her dresser and had rummaged through it so many times. An old friend to keep her letters in. There was an old strand of fake pearls and a broach still in the box. I would be brave because I trusted her. Trust wasn't easy to get from me.

The aunt spoke in a loud voice and she had a husband who drove a truck. Just as well. I didn't like husbands. She also drove a truck and we were going to ride in the truck to go clean the cab and go to the stockyard. While we were at the stockyard, I found a little baby goat that kept nibbling at my shirt. An old leathery man handed my a bottle and I began to feed the goat. My auntie asked if I liked that goat and I shook my head with enthusiasm. So she bought it for me. I could keep it in her back yard like a dog she said. Shut up. She really just bought me a goat?!!? We rented movies and went back to her home where we unloaded the goat into the back yard. I was still a little tentative. The goat would stay at her house when my parents came to get me, but it was still "my" goat. The auntie must like me.

When I was with my grandma, I chatted up a storm, but with other people I often stuttered so I kept pretty quiet. The auntie made a pallet in the living room floor. This was familiar to me. My new cousin and I waited while she put the movie and and soon she brought an enormous bowl of popcorn into us. I smiled and was in awe that we could eat in the living room. She left the room and we ate until we were sick. The movie was over and there was a LOT of popcorn left. My cousin started throwing his popcorn at me and bouncing all over the room. I hestitated, but quickly jumped in the excitement. I jumped up and down on the couch and he hopped from the couch to the chair to the floor. We threw popcorn at each other in a free for all and laughed and shouted. I was startled when I heared in a loud shrill voice "You kids quite that shit! Get the damn shop vac and clean this crap up. What the fuck are you doing"?!! My cousin scrambled just out of arms reach and I made myself as small as possible. I knew immediately she had her mean side and I wasn't going to get on it again. I knew what happened. I knew the drill.

For the rest of the week, I walked the line and kept quiet. I knew my cousin had his secrets too. I wondered what he did when the husband came home. He had a step-dad too and we all know what step-dads do to you when you're bad. I didn't ask him if he got stuff put in his butt, but I bet he didn't stay still like I did. My cousin was all over the place. I watched his face for signs that he wanted to talk about it, but he never did so I never did. I thought all children lived like I did. And while he went on to experience his mother's abuse, broken arms, etc. it would take me a few more years to realize that every child isn't punished in the butt.

It was only about a week before my mom came to get me. She drove me to the new house which was pink. I could see it as we drove up a big hill. We parked and walked up a gazillion steps to the front porch. The front door was old and heavy looking. It was painted brown. I walked in and looked at the old hardwood floors. Old painted shut windows. Off the living room was an old kitchen with an old white sink, a refridgerator and stove. To the left was my parents bedroom and to the right another bedroom and bathroom. I went into my room where there was a bunk bed. My sister would sleep in my parents room. I would finish up kindergarten in a new school. Every Sunday we went to the big Mormon Church. We sang "I am a Child of God" and learned about Joseph Smith and Jesus.

My sister was beginning to walk in a walker and was so cute. My Mom gave her a lot of attention and our new life was beginning. The school was not very far from my house. I went there for several months. I don't remember having friends there or the teachers. I only remember the playground. At recess I would get on the merry-go-round with the other kids and just spin my recess away. A watch came in the mail from my dad's parents. I was surprised my mom gave it to me, but she did. I wore the watch every day. One grey day I fell off of the merry-go-round and was on the inside on the ground where all the children's feet where. I was screaming and crying for them to stop, but foot after foot kicked my fore-arm until it bled. I had a big nasty wound that was bleeding from being kicked over and over. The teacher came out to get me and my watch was broken. No one cared about that watch or me. I knew no one really cared.

Day to day life went on. I would try to get my mom to like me by offering to entertain the baby or by pushing a chair up to the sink to wash up dishes. I liked washing the dishes and all of the soapy bubbles were fun to play in. I spent a lot of time in my room. I tried to stay out of the way. Winter turned into spring and then summer. I sat in my room one night and took my hand and pushed all the dirt and dust in the floor to the center of the room. My room was uncluttered with the minimal of things to do. When I finished I ran out to get my mom and show her what I'd done. "Look Momma!! Come see". My mother was very impressed and thanked me for being so helpful without being asked. I got my second hug and kiss that day. I finally knew how to make my mom like me. I was seven now and I had figured it out. Mom seemed happier and we continued to go to church.

My step-dad got a job as a police officer and became a deacon at our church. I was glad because he used to be a mechanic and always stunk of oil and grease. My mom spent a lot of time with her sister and one day she left to go shopping with her. She'd been gone quite a long time when my step-dad called me to come to him. I went over and laid across his lap. We were sitting in the floor. I wimpered as I knew what was coming. This time he repeatedly stuck a safety pin in my butt cheeks over and over. This was a new game. My mom walked in and caught him. I was crying and didn't even move to pull my pants up. She asked him what the fuck he was doing. He said that I had been scooting across the floor and had gotten a splinter. I went to my room and hid. She believed him and never even asked me if that was true. I probably would have lied to her anyway, so it really doesn't even matter. I stayed in my room and hoped I'd get a letter soon from my grandma. She sent them, but they didn't come often enough. I could never write her anything of meaning, but I tried to send mental vibes to her that I needed her really bad. I'd whisper in my mind over and over to her to come and get me. I'd whisper every night.

Road Trip

2009-12-27T12:42:00.002-06:00

One day my grandma came to get me. I loved spending time with her. Everything with her was easy. And an adventure. She said we were taking a road trip. The back seat was going to be my kingdom. I had a pillow and an afghan she had crocheted in the back. There was a jar of peanut butter in the back window and Ritz crackers. I had little bottles of juice. There were cards, coloring books and crayons for entertainment. I knew we were about to have a good time. I smiled and climbed into my kingdom and off we went. It was snowing and I loved the snow. It danced on the windows of my Grandma's big old green car. The seats had plastic bubble stuff on them to protect the seats that were aged and stained brown from Grandma's cigarette smoke. I spread the blanket up and cocooned with my pillow while Grandma told me the story of the princess and the pea. I was a princess and that's why I could feel those bubbles. I pressed some of the bubbles in and watched them fill back up with air. I watched snow hit the back window and drifted off to sleep.

When I woke up I was hungry and started making peanut butter crackers with my little plastic butter knife. The peanut butter was soft from the heater and spread so easily across the crackers. I'd make grandma a cracker and pass it up to her listening for her thank you at every cracker. Then I'd spread gobs of peanut butter on another one and gobble it up. You would have thought I was eating caviar. The snow was coming down heavily and Grandma was driving very slowly down the interstate. She said we were going to stay in a hotel and it would be great fun! The roads were too bad to continue our trip. I happily took her hand and looked at my new found world as we checked into a super 8. I was sooooo excited. The hotel room was large and had two big beds in it. There was a bathroom and a desk. I explored everything in the room quickly and felt very grown up on my trip with Grandma. We ate across the street at a Shoney's and then came back to the room. Walking carefully across the ice, I asked Grandma where we were going. As we got into the room, Grandma looked tired as she smiled and answered me. Grandma never lied to me and that was very important between us. She explained that my other grandmother was trying to take me away from my mom so we we're leaving so I'd be safe. I could tell my grandma didn't like my dad's mom, but to her credit, she never said a bad word about them. We were leaving the state and going to Missouri where my mom's sister lived.

The next evening we arrived at my mom's sister's house. She had a son who was six months younger than me. We became fast friends and I slept in a fold out bed in his room that night. I was nervous because I didn't really know my Aunt or her family. As usual when I was uncomfortable, I stuck close to grandma's side until it was time to sleep. That night I dreamed I was in my kindergarden class and the classroom had a bathroom in it. All of the children were lined up to use the bathroom one at a time and would come out and wash their hands in the crafts sink and go back to their seat. Just my luck to be at the end of the line. I had to go really bad and couldn't hold it. When there were only about three kids left I dreamed I peed my pants. I was soooo humiliated. I woke up to discover I had peed in the bed. I never wet the bed and cold fear shot up my spine. I panicked and wondered what I was going to do. I laid in the pee until it turned cold and then I laid there some more. When my new friend/cousin woke up I shared my secret with him. He said it was no big deal and busted out of the bedroom door to announce my shame. My Aunt came into the room followed by my grandma. Grandma swooped me up and put me in the tub and put clean clothes on me while my Auntie changed the bed. I never smelled bleach. No one said anything. No one yelled. No one hit me. No one pulled my pants off. Okay, so what's going on here?

The baby

2009-12-27T11:51:00.002-06:00

When I was five years and one month old, my mom and step-dad dropped me off at my grandmother's. The baby was coming!! I was there the entire weekend. While I was having fun at Grandma's, I was anxious to see the baby. I was very excited when they came to get me. June 25th, 1975 would change my life. I now had a purpose. I had a little sister!!! She was very cute. As she got a little older, I would put socks on my hands to hold her cold bottle for her... looking back, if she wasn't old enough to hold her own bottle, it should have been warmed milk, but I didn't know that at the time so whatever. I was a big sister and I was important!

My mom became more and more involved with the church and soon we moved to a one bedroom run-down house. We all slept in the same room. There was an attic bedroom, but I was afraid to go upstairs. Babies are expensive and moving was fine with me. I didn't want to be around Della anymore anyway. Besides, we had to hide from my dad's parents who knew my mother was a complete psycho bitch. Then again, they had high standards and how things "looked" was very important to them. I never thought of my mom as crazy, I felt I had to be on her side. I couldn't betray her. She was my mom. If you didn't make her mad, she would ignore you. I don't really know what was worse... being ignored when I so desperately wanted her to be proud of me or being hit and screamed at.

My sister was a very sick baby and my mom was always nice to sick people. I began staying with my mom's parents more and more while my sister spent a lot of time in the hospital. She had "Aunt Flacktic Shock". This was serious and my sister was in and out of the hospital all the time. She was allergic to everything coming and going. The bleach would get stronger and stronger in the house to prevent any further episodes of the anti-phylactic shock. I would try to make my sister smile when I was with her because my mom was more and more stressed out. Stressed out was never good for me. If mom got stressed out, that was one thing, but if she pissed Mr. Asshole off, that was another.

I was glad we slept in the same room because it was less opportunity for him to touch me. But I lived in fear all of the time. One night I slid my hand between my bed and the wall. The wall was cool to my touch and I was very hot from the kerosine heater. My mom constantly bitched that kerosine wasn't good for the baby. Asshole asked my mom what that noise was and I listened as they began arguing over it. My mom knew it was me and said so, but he said it wasn't. I was afraid to speak up because one of them was going to "punish" me. I finally said it was me and waited for some smart remark to come. Nothing else was said, but I lay there wondering if he would find an opportunity to punish me when mom went to the grocery or something. It was very hard for him to find times alone with me in that house, but it was also a hard house to hide in. I learned to watch their faces for signs of what was to come and prayed several times a day. God was important in our house now. We were Mormons. Mormons with a few secrets.

Changes

2009-12-27T10:48:00.002-06:00

I began spending more time with my mother after the police incident. I was happy to be with her, but always cautious. I loved to paint in those paint by water books. I was in her small, clean apartment and asked for a glass of water to paint with. She snapped that she wasn't getting up to get me any water and told me to get the fuck out of her face. A few hours later, she brought me a cup of water. I'd already forgotten I wanted to paint and said thank you and drank the water. I hadn't had anything to drink or eat and was so thirsty. My mom then said let me know that was water to paint with and now I wouldn't get to paint because I drank the water. I knew she could give me more water if she wanted to, but that was her game. She was only 15 when she had me and I was nothing but pain in her ass.

By now my mom was probably 18 or 19 years old. She started dating someone new which was fine with me. My mom was much nicer when other people were around than when we were alone. I never held any delusions that my mom and dad would get back together and never really knew my dad. One thing I had learned with my mom though was that if you got hurt or sick she had a soft side. I was running through her apartment one day and got scraped just under my little boobie by a staple sticking out of the back of the recliner. I still have the scar now as a reminder that my mom could be nice on occasion. She cleaned the cut up and put a band-aid on it. Then she gave me a kiss and a banana. That was probably the first time I remember being kissed by my un-affectionate mother.

Anyway, as I said, my mother started dating a man who would become my sister's father. He seemed okay. He made my mom laugh and I knew as long as she was laughing she wasn't hitting. We soon moved to an apartment complex with him. My mom and he married and she got pregnant. During this time my mom started babysitting a little girl who lived in a nearby apartment. We'll call her Della. My mom started taking lessons from the Mormon Missionaries and they were nice enough when they came over. Our house was always spotless and smelled of bleach. Bleach fumed our house daily and burned my nose. It made my head hurt really badly. Della's mom worked at night so she would stay over at our house and slept in my bed with me. I really loved playing with Della, but Della peed in the bed which would horrify my mother.

No one wanted my mother to be on the war path and her new husband was no exception. After Della left one morning, my mother began bleaching down my bedroom. She was cussing and ranting and I just wanted to hide. Her husband took me into the bathroom and sat on the toilet fully clothed. He told me to bend over his lap and I asked why. He said he was going to punish me for wetting the bed. I told him I didn't wet the bed. He said that I was going to be punished worse now for lying. I laid myself over his lap to get my spanking. He pulled my pants down and I knew I was going to get a bare spanking .... or so I thought. I was tense and scared. But I didn't get a spanking that day. Mr. I-like-to-fuck-kids stuck a bar of soap up my ass. I had never felt pain like that and his other sweaty hand was over my mouth. "SSHHHH. Don't let your mother hear you". It seemed to go on forever, but in reality was only a few minutes. I never saw it coming, but KNEW I'd better never tell or he'd do it again. I also knew I'd better sleep in the floor when Della stayed over so I wouldn't get in trouble again. I knew this was a secret. Things were going to get dark. I wished I could go to my grandma's house, but I also knew better than to ask. I now blamed Della for my problems and began to hate her guts. This was her fault.

Dad's parents

2009-12-27T10:20:00.007-06:00

Things were a little different at my dad's parents house. More formal. They had money. You didn't rummage through their things and you definitely didn't run in their house. They lived in a three-story home with collections everywhere. My favorite was the coo-coo clocks, which my grandpa would wind every night. I knew my dad's parents hated my mom. I can remember sneaking to try to call her when I was with them. I often stayed several days with them at a time on the weekends or during the summer. I rarely saw my dad, but every now and then he would come over to say hi. I was either in Pre-K or K at this time. I'd spend a lot of time during the week with my mom's parents and the weekends with my dad's parents. I don't remember spending a lot of time with my mom or dad, but I wanted to be with my mom very badly.

My dad's parents had a finished basement with two sides. In one room there were walls and walls of unpainted ceramics that my grandparents would paint while I played on the other side. I had a small record player there and an old school desk. I would play records as much as I could while I was there and learned to love to sing while I was with them. I would sing to their little Yorkie every night before supper. I really liked my grandpa, but knew my grandmother was a judgmental person. I can remember singing old George Jones songs with grandpa in the car after church. My father's side was Catholic and very devout. You never ate ravioli's at their house, but they did make the best buttermilk dressing. I was dressed in the best while I was with them and taught to be still and behave. I remember the police coming to their house during dinner one evening. My mother was with them and saying that my grandparents wouldn't let her have me. Apparently my grandmother was trying to get custody of me. She had a detective following my mother who "was the kind of dirty soap wouldn't wash off". I really loved my mom. That was the beginning of the end of my relationship with my father's family. Things were about to get ugly.

Mom's parents

2009-12-27T09:54:00.003-06:00

I loved going to my grandma's house. Especially when I was sick. My grandma adored me. I always felt safe at her house. I loved that she would make Chef Boyardee ravioli anytime I wanted it, even for breakfast. If I was sick, she'd make a special pallet on the floor and make sure there were Kleenex and Sprite within reach. I always felt and knew her love. She never yelled. She never hit. My grandpa was also very doting. I loved to bang on the piano while he played his harmonica. I got off and on the school bus from their house for preschool. My mom would pick me up after school. Sometimes she'd find me rummaging through Grandma's old jewelry or playing in the flower garden in the back yard. I hated leaving their house, but every chance with my mom was a chance to get her to like me. I just needed to stay quiet when I was with her. When I was with my grandparents, I could be loud, run, laugh, and be myself.

This is my sister banging on the piano...

I would never bother my mom with growing pains because it was just an opportunity for her to tell me how I deserved it. I didn't define it that way then, I just knew I couldn't share things with my mom. I can remember getting off the bus one day when some neighborhood children started chanting "You drink pee! You eat poop!" at me. I was really devestated. I didn't understand why they were being mean, but I ran into grandma's house crying that day. I told her those kids were being mean to me. Grandma cuddled me and said, "Do you drink pee and eat poop"? "No", I blubbered. "Your family is all that matters. Don't ever forget that", she said. This would only be the beginning of me running to grandma crying and her giving me tidbits of advice. I just want to say that it only takes one person to love a child unconditionally in order for them to "make it" ... just one.

Sarcasm

2009-12-27T09:28:00.005-06:00

Okay, so I've decided to write this story being as real as possible. I'm not doing this for other people, but I think I just need to do it. That being said, this story probably isn't going to be for everyone (kids) etc. I don't really want to self-edit... I self -edit enough at work. This isn't going to be from my "professional standpoint", but there are plenty of blogs like that out there if that's what you're looking for.

Anyway, I learned what a bitch my mom was from a very early age. I really loved my mom as a child. She meant everything to me and I always wanted to please her. I hated to ever see her cry or be pissed off. I received my first lesson in sarcasm when my dad left my mom. I was watching an old black and white Cheerios commercial the night my dad left. I know that's not significant, but I still can't watch Cheerios commercials to this day. I heard the door slam and listened to my mom screaming what a fucking bastard he was. She was crying so hard. I waited for her to calm down a little bit. We lived in a small, but clean basement apartment and I could see my dad's feet as they walked down the sidewalk. I instinctively knew he wouldn't be back. After my mom calmed down a little bit, I found her in the living room and asked her why she was crying. She looked at me and sneered "Sometimes grown-ups cry when they are really happy". I couldn't have been more than three and a half years old, but this is one of my first memories. I learned to that my mom would lie to me that day. For the first time I felt nervous to be around her. She was off the deep end. I made myself scarce for the rest of the day.

Two weeks old...

Kids having kids.

Gotta love the 70's!!

Introduction

2009-12-27T01:54:00.001-06:00

Wow! I can't believe I finally created a blog. I've been thinking about it for quite some time :) I couldn't decide if this would be an anonymous blog or not, but for now I've decided to ease into this slowly and keep my identifying information low key. We'll see how it goes :)

I am a CPS Social Worker. I mainly work with children and families who have children in foster care. I've lived a blessed adulthood and have two beautiful children and a loving husband of 20 years. This blog will be a mix of the journey that led me to social work and daily life as a CPS social worker. I don't know what I hope to get out of blogging, but maybe sharing will ease the daily stress of social work and hopefully we'll have some laughs along the way. I'd also like to chronicle my journey to becoming a social worker which isn't pretty, but is what it is. Feedback is welcomed and appreciated!