In approximately twenty-four hours my foster daughters will be returned to their mother. They are both still sleeping, so I don’t feel terribly guilty about blogging. For the first time in eleven months, the girls spent three, very long days with Bio-Mom and beastly brother. I cannot say that I didn’t enjoy the peace and freedom over the weekend and I do admit that yesterday was really lovely, but all those little endorphins were squashed when I picked up the wee girls last night.
The Z-Monster is dreadfully, dreadfully sick. Okay, it’s just a cold, but you know it’s bad when not only her nose, but her eyes are running. Both she and The Destroyer have huge, dark circles under their eyes. This, I believe is caused by the fact that Bio-Mom will not make them take a nap. Bio-Mom phoned me yesterday, I finally gave her my cell number, and told me that Z was sick and when she’d given her Tylenol.
During the conversation I could hear Z screaming at the top of her lungs. It was her, “I’m completely out of control” scream. I know that scream well. She would scream like that when she first moved here. I learned how to defuse the situation before it began. But there were times when the only thing to be done was to let her scream it out.
Let the chaos begin
The drive home was the usual debriefing of how their time went with Bio-Mom. Brother hit them. “He mean”. Auntie V was there along with her kids (does she live there in that one bedroom apartment too?). They went to McDonalds. Mom told them to go back to bed (ok, secret, sneaky, not-so-nice smirk here…the wee girls, esp. The Destroyer wakes up every morning, no later than 7 am. Bio-Mom doesn’t strike me as an early morning kinda girl).
When we arrived home they both announced they were hungry. This isn’t unusual since they are usually hungry when they get home, but I wasn’t prepared for what happened next. I sliced up an apple and Z requested a piece of brownie, both of which I gave her. She sat there, eating two fisted, not talking.
The Z-Monster talks, a lot. She talks from the second she gets up until she finally falls asleep. She talks during meals, in the potty, during a movie. Z is a talker. She’ll talk even if no one is listening. I asked her once if she was talking so she could hear the sound of her own voice and she said, “Yes”. Enough said.
So, when she sat there last night, stuffing her face, not saying a word, I was shocked. I looked at beloved and spelled out, SAD. He just shook his head. Z asked if she could have more to eat. More. I made her a slice of toast and watched as she inhaled it.
As a mommy I am disgusted by the lack of supervision the children receive at Bio-Moms. I am sick over the thought that the girls will be hungry (flash back to when they first arrived and Z-Monster would ask as I tucked her into bed if she could eat when she got up in the morning). Filth, chaos, violence, all this and more await these two babies.
It just makes me want to cry
I told Teri, the children’s aunt, previous foster mom, and my bestest pal, that I shouldn’t have become a foster parent because I am too emotionally involved. I then quipped, “So much for being like my mother!” She replied, “You are nothing like your mother.” True.
Being a foster parent has brought out the good, the bad, and sad to say, the ugly in my personality. It has also redefined my faith in God. I cannot save these children. He can. I cannot remove them from that home and place them in a loving home where they will be cherished and cared for. He can. I am cursed with inaction. He is the King of action.
So, if you think about these two sweet babies, won’t you say a prayer for them? They need all the help they can get. Maybe you could throw in a prayer for their mom too. God is, after all, the God who changes lives. Maybe He could change hers and in so doing, make a brighter future for this lost family.
The Z-Monster at the Aquarium
The Destroyer also at the Aquarium