Normally, when you have been a parent for twelve days, you have a twelve-day-old. I have two angry preteens who want to know why I think it's justifiable to monitor cell phone use.
Sunday, September 29, 2019
Saturday, September 28, 2019
I've been meaning to tell you ...
... this story for a bit.
The first night I was a foster mom, nine o'clock found her barricaded in her bedroom after a polite decline of dinner, and I was in the living room, frantically googling "appropriate bedtime for a 12-year-old." I don't know what time she slept, because her door never opened again that night.
I'll tell you who didn't go to sleep at an appropriate bedtime, and that's "Who Thought I Was Qualified to Be a Mama" right here. No, I kept leaping awake from dreams of losing the child to jot down another note for tomorrow:
The first night I was a foster mom, nine o'clock found her barricaded in her bedroom after a polite decline of dinner, and I was in the living room, frantically googling "appropriate bedtime for a 12-year-old." I don't know what time she slept, because her door never opened again that night.
I'll tell you who didn't go to sleep at an appropriate bedtime, and that's "Who Thought I Was Qualified to Be a Mama" right here. No, I kept leaping awake from dreams of losing the child to jot down another note for tomorrow:
-buy paper towels
-more snacks
-Can she ride in the front seat?
-Train cats not to scratch on bedroom door (as Oggie fervently attempted to tunnel his way to his new friend, who had bonded with him over the laser pointer before disappearing into her room)
-more snacks
-Can she ride in the front seat?
-Train cats not to scratch on bedroom door (as Oggie fervently attempted to tunnel his way to his new friend, who had bonded with him over the laser pointer before disappearing into her room)
I finally fell asleep around 6, and woke at 8:07, having promised the child I'd wake her at 8 to get ready for her sibling visit. Great. Morning one as a kind-of parent and I was already teaching her my tardy ways.
Between the third and fourth times I woke her, I made pancakes. Mine, I ate with peanut butter and whipped cream, just like I'd eaten half the snacks I bought her upon getting the call for respite. Hers grew cold on the counter while she sat on the carpet with my cats.
I can't begin to imagine the chain of events that led to somebody's precious baby being placed in the care of someone who never thought to google bedtimes until it was past bedtime. And as scared as I felt, I can't imagine how scared the child was feeling, deposited at a stranger's home for the weekend, sleeping on top of the covers on Friday, waking up to take on a Saturday of siblings and social workers, armed only with a laser pointer and half a cold pancake.
The phone has been ringing nearly every day since then, but none have been a placement I felt comfortable taking. What I know, though, is that since my weekend visitor left -- after I put away her art supplies and rescued the dirty dishes from the closet and washed the bedding even though she only ever slept on top of it -- my house has been quiet and my heart has been waiting.
Tuesday, September 17, 2019
My foster certification ...
... is active! Is anyone ever really ready to be a mom? But I hear I'll need patience and wine and I've got both. Lola's ready to be a sister, and two cats are ready to increase their available lap acreage. The third cat doesn't know what we're talking about, but she wants you to know she had a tuna treat a minute ago, so life is pretty good.
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