Acronym of the Day: GAL

I thought I'd throw in some informational posts to keep me writing.  I do want to help others with what I know from being in the system awhile.  Plus, I think the more I get writing, the more I'll be prompted to get at the heart of what I need to get out.  And I know there are things I need to get out that I'm not writing.

Disclaimer: acronyms may be state-specific and your location may have another term or different way of doing things.  Feel free to share in the comments.

So, today, GAL!  Guardian ad litem.  This is the lawyer that represents the children in a case.  I have no idea how many cases they are assigned to, but it's a staggering number.  They have their own practices and may work with all sorts of cases, as I know one we worked with was recommended as a good divorce lawyer.  Where I live, they are required to see foster children quarterly, which means usually right before court.  Unlike home visits by caseworkers, these visits are usually five minutes or less.  I've had some standing in our doorway, and others at an agency before or after parenting time.  Once a GAL missed a visit and had to say so in court and said that he would visit that night (without having talked to us about this).  So, right at the end of court, he came over with a sheepish smile, and guess who stood in my doorway for five minutes that night.  I've learned to just schedule the visits myself.  I know when court is coming up and I call or e-mail with available dates and times.  Boom.  (I've started doing this with caseworkers most of the time, too.)  I was grateful that one GAL had known our foster child since before the child was born.  Older siblings were in care and he was assigned to that case.  He knows the full story better than caseworkers who have rotated over the years, though he doesn't devote as much time to the case as a caseworker.

So, why a GAL?  They are not representing the parents of the foster children nor usually communicating much with them to support them in their efforts to reunify with their children, like a caseworker or parent's lawyer.  They are solely representing the interests of the children.  They speak in court.  They can sometimes help foster parents when a foster child's needs are not being met by something in the system, but this can depend on the quality of the GAL.  I have only asked one or two questions of a GAL outside of the scheduled visits because any issues we've had have been resolved with a caseworker or caseworker's supervisor.  We're pretty fortunate.

Because GALs are so overbooked, some children also have a CASA (court-appointed special advocate) to advocate for the needs of the foster child.  CASAs are trained volunteers, not lawyers.  I have not yet had a child with a CASA, though I know they exist in our area.

I am usually not told initially who the GAL is for a case, so I have also learned to ask in the first week or two, "Who is the GAL and what is the contact information?"  Excellent information to have on hand as foster parents.

So there you go, GALs.  Another part of the system that, when it works well, can keep the system accountable to do right by kids.

Miss Carrie's Songs

I always wish I could know the inside of our kids' brains.  This is especially true with our foster children, who have memories we don't know, who are processing their experiences in ways we don't understand.

Crocodile thinks the case aides that supervise visits and have sometimes transported him to visits are very important people.  He often includes them in lists of family members, and when they were transporting, he would always talk about visits as "Miss Carrie coming to pick me up" or "Miss Beth driving me in her car."  We'll turn onto a street and he'll tell me that Miss Carrie drove that way to pick up his sisters.  Kid is three!

But my favorite part is when he says, "Miss Carrie played this song."  He says it most often for the Christian radio station, which we listen to maybe 30% of the time.  Sometimes it's for songs that I know she might have played, as I've asked and she did listen to the same station, but other times it's impossible.  She stopped driving him for visits five months ago, and these are new songs.  There must be something in the music.  He says this several times per week.  He never says it for other stations or music, with one exception.  I've become a huge Hamilton fan and listen to it often (careful to turn down the volume at key parts).  "History Has Its Eyes on You" started up and sure enough: "Miss Carrie played this song!"  Apparently this song, and this one alone, somehow sounds like the Christian radio station.

There will be a home

I say to people, when I explain that we're just fostering, that hopefully if he needs to be adopted, there will be a home for him and his sisters.  And if not, there are many homes for a young child like him with mild issues.

But part of my heart turns to ice.

Who are these people?  They don't know my Crocodile.  Do they know how he used to be scared of water but now he's not?  Do they know how he cowered in the corner that first night?  Do they know how he likes to talk about his mama and about five or six other people and how he is used to the response, "oh yes, she is so special to you."  Will they sense when he needs one-on-one attention, or he will lash out?  Do they know he just can't stop moving until he falls asleep, that's he's not really trying to be defiant?

It sounds like I think no one can be like us.  I know in my mind that is not true.  I know we are not great and wonderful.  I know there are wonderful parents out there.

It has been hard every time to picture them living a different life, away from us and all the things we know for that child.  We write notes, but it's not the same.  We know it won't be the same.

And we know it doesn't have to be.  But of the many things that make my mothering heart churn with the difficulties of foster care, this is one at the top of the list.

I pray and trust that there is so much more than I can imagine.  That God made my heart this way, but that doesn't mean my heart is always right.  He made it to love fiercely so that I could do all I do for these kids.

But His love is much more fierce, His plans much greater.

I have to breathe, bury down what feels wrong as a devoted mother.  This is what we do.  We love and we let go when we need to.

Family photo revelation

I've argued with myself on professional family photos now and then. 

I'm not a person who needs family photos to send at Christmas every year.  But I do like to have them every few years.  When we became foster parents, that became more complicated.  We could include foster children, but some stayed briefly and wouldn't be included.  It would feel strange to have Crocodile in a family photo session but not Cricket, or Pterodactyl but not Beetle.  While we've done an amateur family photo with each foster child, to do a full session with each placement would have been impractical. 

But at the same time, we've been fostering over three years.  I wanted some family photos during that time.  One session happened because we were out of town visiting family and Pterodactyl was in respite, so a family member did a session for us.  But even that was three years ago now.  And it does feel uncomfortable and wrong to have family photos that don't include children that we view as part of our family, and that our kids view as part of our family.  I figured we would do a photo session once Crocodile moved, but I felt half-hearted about it.  It doesn't feel right to wait for a child to leave so you can cut him out of the photos.

Then it hit me today.  The handprints.  We have each child make a handprint on a small canvas square painted in a solid color.  The first three are in this post.  We would have a picture of us holding the handprints.  We could line up, holding the canvasses in our hands, like we still hold on to these children as a part of our family.

Because we do.  Today at Bible study a woman prayed a prayer about the pain of separation from those we love.  Cricket popped into my mind and I was instantly in tears.

I love the idea of this photo, and I love that I'm looking forward to it.  We miss out a lot on the excitement of looking forward in foster care because of all the uncertainty.  But this, this I think we can manage.

Awkward Moments in Foster Care: Unclear Pronunciation of 3-year-olds

Thanks to therapy, we have people in our home more often, which I think leads to more awkward moments.  This week's:

Crocodile: Daddy give me spankin.
*silence*
Me: What did you say?
Crocodile: He give me spankin.
Me: I don't think... I don't think that's what he means...
Crocodile: He give me spankin.  *holds up play food piece of bacon*
Therapist and Me: He gives you BACON!

And yes, B did give Crocodile a small piece of his bacon this morning.  And now I'm doing my post-game analysis: did I clarify why I was horrified?  Because I wasn't horrified because we spank him but because after signing at least twelve forms that we swear we will not spank I know a looming investigation when I see one.  But I didn't SAY any of that...

Another home

I've had a hard time writing because looking ahead can be painful.  I know I should live in the moment and enjoy Crocodile for who he is, pour myself into providing love and security for him the best I can.  But most of the time I get stuck in the future and clinging to my trust in God to get me unstuck.  It's painful to think of the trial ahead, potentially terminating parental rights, tragically but necessarily.  As he moves to his adoptive home, it's painful to think of saying goodbye to Crocodile, after being Mommy to him for over a year.  It's painful to think of Dinosaur and Rhinoceros saying goodbye, Rhinoceros losing another treasured playmate, and Dinosaur losing the little guy he has adored since the moment he saw him, singing praises of his cuteness.  It's painful to think of the difficult future ahead for Crocodile and his sisters, even with lots of love, because of what they've been through.

Then our agency has been overwhelmed and is begging for foster parents to take on more.  We can't right now.  It has a note of encouragement, that our decision to continue "strictly fostering" for now is a good one, but it's mostly very sad.  Siblings are being separated.  Children are being sent to residential homes for the sole reason that there is not room for them.

Then I got an e-mail.  Someone I know getting back in touch with me to ask about becoming a foster parent.

Hallelujah.

There will be another home.  There need to be more, but it lifted a little of the burden, the guilt.  It set me onward with a purpose, something productive.  It helped that my occasional cries to Facebook about the need for foster parents was not in vain.  I was heard and I could help.  This is the second person I've helped to start a journey in becoming foster parents.

I typed these words: "The need is so great, and while it's challenging, it's something I'm so glad we're doing."  And I meant them.

Awkward Moments in Foster Care: Toys that need explaining

We're a few sessions into therapy for Crocodile.  He's in turbo gear when the therapist is at our house, kind of like he is when a caseworker comes by.  (When he's not asleep, he's usually just in high gear.)  So, he's running here and there and everywhere, playing with everything for two seconds, and he brings over something that makes circles on the microsuede couch.

Of course, that something is a shot glass he pulled from the dish drying rack.

Doesn't matter how moderately you drink or how understanding you think the professional is, that's worth at least a few nervous chuckles.