No Follow-up (udate, twice)

Friday evening Frankie expressed a strong desire to write to his father (with my help) and telephone his mother. I agreed to both of these, but so far neither of us has mentioned it again. I think I am making the right choice by not mentioning it, but I am not completely certain.

One thing I have noticed with kids who have been neglected is that they don't tend to ask for things more than once -- unless like Evan they don't stop asking for them at all. They have experienced so much disappointment that they protect themselves, usually by not letting themselves care too much. They tell you that they need a new coat but then don't say anything. Where the bioboys would remind me if they figure I've forgotten, the other boys will do without, not risking repeating the disappointment.

So I try to remember to follow up on commitments I've made to them. I do sometimes forget, but I try. Sometimes I tell them to please remind me the next time we are in The City that they need shoes, or school supplies, or whatever it is they have told me they need.

So there is part of me that thinks I should say, "Frankie, if you want to write a letter to your dad right now we can" or "Frankie, I'm programming your mother's phone number into your cell phone. You can call her whenever you like."

I am leaning towards doing the second (programming the phone), but not the first. But I am not certain.

Frankie's initial response to thinking about his dad is to want to contact him. But thinking about him also upsets him. I want to support Frankie in doing what he wants to do. But it is unclear to me what he really wants to do and what he feels that his is supposed to do and would rather not do.

He's a complicated kid. If he were developmentally closer to 15 I would feel more confident that I should just leave it in his hands. He seems like a much younger kid though so I am torn between feeling like I should facilitate what might be good for him and protecting him from what might be bad for him. Of course to do that, I first have to decide what is good and bad for him.

Anyone hearing the word "co-dependent" here?

I am sad, though not surprised or angry, that his mother has not called. It makes perfect sense to me that she would demand to know our number, and then not call us. Not knowing where her kid was was distressing. She was outraged that the people of the system would HIDE him from her. She needed to know where he is.

Now that she knows, the control and responsibility is in her hand. And even her lawyer, I am told, is telling her to relinquish her rights because she won't get them anyway. So she has a phone number for a son she has barely seen for more than five years. She has no relationship with him. She doesn't know what to say.

So I don't think she has decided not to call. I think she just can't make herself do it now. And it is possible that that won't change.

So I don't really know what to do. I suppose just being ready to help Frankie if he asks is best.

I suppose.

I wish I had taken more photos before he shaved his head.

Update One: I put his mother's number into his cell phone. He wanted me to label it "Mom2," which I did. He's now wandering around complaining about being bored.

Update Two: Following Process's recommendation I told him when he did not appear to have anything to do that if it was a good time for him, I could help him write a letter to his dad. He said it wasn't a good time and picked up the WoW manual. I'll try again another time.

Conversations with Frankie

My reference to the state social worker as a "turnip" has been objected to by turnip-lovers. Bacchus has suggested "Simple Simon" instead. I agree.

So I told Frankie that I had emailed Simon and had some information for him.

I told him that I had his mom's phone number and address and he could call if he wanted. "I'll do that tomorrow."

I told him that I learned that if he wanted to send a letter or anything to his dad he could, but that we would have to send it to Simon. His dad could also send things to Simon and Simon would send them to us. "Simon will look at your letters, but the only thing he cares about is being certain you don't say anything that will let him figure out where you are."

"My dad wouldn't do anything to hurt me!"

"I understand, but this isn't a decision I get to make."

"Can he write to me?"

"Yes, but he has to send the letters to Simon. You can tell him about that when you write to him."

"Okay, can we do that with an email? Will you type and I will tell you want to say? Can we do it in the morning?"

"Sure."

"Good."

Long silent moment.

"Frankie, I also found out some things about your mom. You know that even though your dad's parental rights were terminated, he is still your dad, right?"

"Yeah! But they won't let me see him!"

"I know. Well there is a hearing in December about your mother's parental rights. The judge might decide to terminate hers too. I talked to Simon. He thinks that is what will happen, but you will still be able to talk to her on the phone if you want. All it would really mean was that the judge decided that she couldn't ask for you to live with her anymore. It would mean that the judge decided she had enough chances. You would stay here until you were ready to take care of yourself, when you were 18 or older."

"Could I still visit her?"

"That's not my decision, but I think so."

"Will I be there?"

"At the hearing?"

"Yes."

"I think you can be if you want to be."

"I want to! My father said that it was my right as an American citizen to be at the hearing with him. They wouldn't let me though. They denied me my rights! My father said I had the right to be there. This is my family and I should be there."

"Okay. I think Simon will understand."

"What if the judge says I have to go back?"

"Well, Simon doesn't think he will, but if the judge says you will, then you will."

Frankie looks thoughtful. "I will have to give up my WoW account."

"Yes."

"I could do that."

"I know."

"It would be okay. I would give up my WoW account to live with my family again. That is what I should do."

"But it could go either way. Simon thinks the judge will say you should live here."

Frankie grins, "Maybe I'll just be a momma's boy!"

"Do you mean that if you go live with your mother you will never leave?"

"Yeah, but if I stay here with you and Hubby maybe I will be like that guy in Forty-Year-Old Virgin and never leave you guys!"

Hubby, "We usually like kids to move out a little earlier than that, but we would want you to stay until you were ready."

Simon, "I like the Draenei, but Brian says they are not attracting."

Hubby says, "What?" As I say, "I understand that lots of teenagers think the Draenei are attractive."

"The women are hot! I could marry one. How do you know about them?"

"A friend told me about them. She lives far away though."

"She emailed you?"

"Yes."

"Does she play? What Realm is she on? What is her name? Do you think she would help me?"

"Her name is Maggie*, but I don't know the rest."

Hubby says, "What are you two talking about?"

Me, "WoW, of course."

Frankie, "Wait! I will go get pictures!"

--
Cut to this morning.

"Did you talk to your friend Moira? Can she help me?"

"Her name is Maggie, and I don't talk to her that much Frankie. I don't know if she will want to play WoW with you or not."

"Okay. I'm going to go back to one of my other characters anyway. I can't wait until there aren't so many people in the house. You know, that's the only reason I haven't been dressing up so much. Brian's friends are always here."

"Well, we certainly can make sure you know about times when they won't be so that you can dress however you want."

"Okay!" He grins. "Are you going with us to the Scottish festival?"

"No. That's just you, Hubby and Brian, but I will see you at lunch with Andrew and Evan."

"That's right. It's Evan's birthday.
"Hey Brian! Can you help me find the training place for my ____?"

"You changed characters again???!!!"

"No, I went back to my highest level character!"

And then they left for the festival.

___
I said "Maggie" but it is Maerlowe who plays isn't it? Sorry about that. Maerlowe, if you want to meet Frankie on WoW, feel free to leave the necessary info! You know, or not.

Conversations about a Turnip

I had more email exchanges with the state worker that resulted in me sending an email to several people from the local agency in which I said, "What the hell?" (Or "What the Hot Place?" if we are still speaking Dootleese.)

I got a call back from the family developer, who was the only one I emailed who was in the office and I got to rant away for a bit. Anyway, I have my sense of humor back.

I got to tell the developer how upset I was that I found out about the TPR the day that Frankie moved in and that it was upsetting to me to have learned then because I like him and want him to stay (initially I think she was worried that the placement was shaky).

The family developer is pretty horrified at the state's worker cavalier attitude to Frankie being in court at the TPR hearing. Kids testifying against their parents is a BIG FRICATIVE DEAL, and not to be taken lightly. If it were to be necessary they would expect a great deal of preparation to be given to Frankie in advance. The state worker saying that is consistent with other things that this worker had said to them. She (developer) is not very impressed with this particular turnip.

The developer agrees that whatever happens at the TPR hearing will NOT be "great!" Either Frankie is made a legal orphan and stays with me, or he is reunited with his mom and I have to say goodbye. No matter what happens, someone will be sad.

She also does not know what The Turnip was thinking since these things don't always get settled on the date and time that they are initially scheduled. It could be complicated, and it could take multiple court dates.

The thing The Turnip said that made me lose it was to tell me that he was just now working on Frankie's alternative care plan and were Hubby and I interested in taking legal guardianship of Frankie, or even adopting him?

I imploded because being in my agency IS the "alternative care plan" or is supposed to be.

I was right about that, or at least I was right that the agency went into this with the same expectations. I did learn, by the by, that the agency is planning on moving in the direction of working with families who do permanent foster care, legal guardianship and even adoption of difficult teens. In the future I may be asked if I am interested in guardianship or adoption. It won't be thrown at me in a casual way though.

That it was the family developer who talked to me was probably a very good thing. She had not realized how complex the question would be for us families. She hadn't (yet) thought that one of my concerns would be, "Will Carl, David and Evan think that I don't love them as much if enter into a legal relationship with Frankie and not them?"

Oh well.

I got to vent with the developer and now I feel much better.

And I'm not going to email The Turnip any more if I don't have to.

TPR

I got back the information I asked the state worker for.

I'm trying to process it. According to the state worker "Emily's" lawyer is telling her to relinquish her rights as the TPR will happen no matter what.

And the state worker thinks that the idea of Frankie coming to the hearing "would be great!"

Great?

It sounds horribly stressful and sad to me. In which version is it great? In the version where she agrees to give up her rights to her son or the one in which she isn't and he is asked to testify that she has almost never contacted him and based in part on that, she looses her rights to him?

I'm feeling a bit nausous, and I don't think it is just the veritgo.

I'm not drunk, I just have rocks in my head

...In my inner ear, to be precise. Did you know that one of the ways your brain can tell which way is up is by the pressure of little calcium carbonate "rocks" in the labyrinth of your inner ear? And that when you get older those little rocks can break, or move and confuse your brain?

I try to only discuss foster care issues here, but I'm taking a break to whine, Doolittle style.

My fricative vertigo is back! Brown Word! It is not just that when I lie down the world spins, or that when I stand up the floor tilts. Or that bending over to tie my shoe can cause me to fall on my cursed hind quarters.

No. It is if I don't walk like a fricative run-way model I look like a Deity-condemned, lice-infested person who has consumed too much beverage of the alcoholic variety. Actually, walking carefully like a frictiave run-way model can in itself resemble the walk of the inebriated.

Twice in class I had to steady myself against cursed wall. The entire world has turned into frictive teeter-totter.

Fortunately I explained to the students at the beginning of class that it was just that I had loose rocks rattling around in my head.

What can I say.

Life's a dogmatriarch.

Note about the blog roll

I've added another foster care alumni to the blog roll. I wanted to mention that on the list there are a couple of people whose blogs focus on foster care. A couple of them rarely or never talk about it.

I have them on the blog roll in part so that we can hear what they have to say about the foster care system, but also just because it is good for us to know who diverse a group they are.

If you know anyone else who should be on that or other lists, let me know

Frankie's Hair

He said he wanted to grow it out, but it is very curly and sort of grew UP.

So he wanted a hair cut.

And then he asked them to shave it off.

except for a two inch rat tail.

Deciding to Act

I have been periodically ruminating over whether to talk to Frankie about the TPR hearing in December.

I don't know if he has been told, but if he has, I don't think it stuck. I tried to get a sense about a few days ago. He asked me if I was sure that his mother had his phone number. I said yes, but only for a few days. I asked him how much contact he would like to have with her. He said, "Just regular, you know, like the natural amount."

I did not tell him that I had no idea how much that was, but I let it go.

I asked him if he would like to live with her again sometime. He said maybe, "I think when I am seventeen. I want to give her enough time to get straightened out."

I reminded him that the program he was in took kids on the assumption that they would stay until they were at least 18 and ready to take care of themselves. He said, "That's okay."

From the beginning we could tell that he missed his dad. He did not talk about his dad a lot, but when he did there was no doubt that there was sadness. He is much more matter-of-fact about his mother, although he does wonder why she hasn't called yet. I don't think that he is matter-of-fact about his mother. Whatever feelings he does have are not ones he is feeling, or at least expressing, strongly at the moment.

But I keep thinking about the outrage in his voice when he told me that the state had cut off all of his rights to his father. He nodded when I said that technically they cut off his father's rights to HIM, but the distinction did not matter. The state had cut the cord between him and his dad. He was angry.

And so I wonder how he will react to the idea of the state doing the same thing to him and his mother. What will he feel about being made a legal orphan? Will he be as upset?

I emailed the agency social worker saying that I had not tried to really talk with him about it because I thought he would ask questions I really could not answer. She said that she felt basically the same way. So I emailed the state worker (and copied her). I asked the state worker to tell me everything he could, including who Frankie could call to ask questions of and who he can talk to to make certain his feelings are taken into consideration.

When he moved in the agency worker gave him a little booklet explaining his rights. One of them was, "To know why you came into care and why you continue to be in care." I'm pretty sure another one of the was to be fully informed regarding any decisions regarding the status in their status -- I forget how that was worded.

Of course having the right to information does not mean being forced to deal with it if you don't want to. Frankie is at that developmental age when he could easily just not notice information he doesn't want to hear. I mentioned a couple of weeks ago that his mother still had parental rights although that could change. He did not seem to absorb that.

Still, I don't know if anyone tried to tell him, and I decided that unless they forbid me to, I will. I am going to try to get a little more information for him first though.

Grateful to insightful commentor!

The post "How odd he is" generated more than my usual number of comments. Since I love comments I want to thank you all.

Many of you have had interesting thoughts. I'm definitely following up on your suggestions that Frankie be assessed for OT/PT (and speech therapy) services. Thank you for mentioning; I can't think why it didn't occur to me. It should have.

I particularly want to thank Elise said something I think is very insightful:

But unlike real life, no matter how bad he is at the game, he continually gets
to start fresh with a new character. Until he develops awareness that his
behavior needs to change in order the get a different outcome the result will
always be the same. I bet if he had to play the same character every time he
would lose interest very quickly.

And I think this might be exactly right. One of the things that he might like best about the game is that he gets to continually start over as a new person.

How seldom do we get that chance in real life! When I went away to college someone pointed that out to me. I was going far away, where no one knew me. I could change my style of clothing, change anything about me that I wanted and everybody would just accept it as who I was. I don't think I made any huge changes in anything, but the idea of a total fresh start was very appealing.

And Frankie gets to do that over and over. Whatever happens when he plays his ninety minutes* of game time, he gets to sit down with the manual and plan out who he will be next. Will he be a tall and graceful spell-casting woman from the Alliance? Or a strong, burly troll warrior woman from the Horde? I heard him telling the boys last night that he though next time he might be a boy -- so that he could join them.

They responded of course they way they always do. If he sticks with a character until it gets to level 10 they will help him.

But I don't know if he will.

The seduction of starting over, of being someone new anytime you want to be, even I can see the attraction in that.

___
*I told his babysitter recently that he got 90 minutes of play time and he responded with outrage. "Uh huh! I get an hour and a half!"

How odd he is

Exhibit A:
Frankie is still obsessed with W*rld of W*rcraft. When he isn't playing it he is talking about it or reading about it. I mean really. If you start a conversation about something else he will talk about that, at least for a while. If you pause though he will probably say something like, "I want to get my character new armour. What do you call those things that over the bottom of your leg, but not the top?"

Now being 15 or 10 and obsessed with a video game is not outside the normal range of behavior.
But the combination of being obsessed with it, being really bad at it and not getting better even though he keeps playing is mystifying to me. I have trouble understanding how the obsession continues when he does poorly.

This is what happens: he creates a character who has strengths in the areas that he previous character did not.* He then goes out on his own, perceiving that none of the other characters like him, and hunts down beasties. He spends his money recklessly, takes on beasties he is not strong enough to defeat, and ends up with a character who is low on health and has no money. This character having failed him, he deletes it and creates a new one.

And makes the same sort of mistakes again.

And again.

This is called "perseverating," right?

It's just odd, especially since he doesn't seem to be having a great deal of fun, at least while he is playing. When he is playing he seems mostly frustrated. When he is not he is very excited about whatever he plans on doing next time.

Exhibit B:
His motor skills are horrible. He could trip over air. He holds implements in what my mother used to call the "shovel grip." It means of course that he has to use his whole arm to get food from his plate to his mouth, but it isn't something that I have been concerned to correct.

But yesterday I made soup for dinner. Frankie was very excited about the "homemade noodles" (direct from the local grocery store freezer). He cupped his bowl in his left hand, scooped soup with the ladle with his right, and then poured hot soup all over the bowl and his hand. The ladle probably holds about a cup, and only a few tablespoons landed in the bowl.

Fortunately the soup had been off the burner for a while, so it was not scalding hot. It did hurt though. He yelled, "ouch."

And then he did it again.

He did not seem to take a moment to think about it. If he changed his grip or speed or anything about how he did it, I could not see it. He got the same results. On the third scoop, after cheerfully refusing my assistance, he managed to get mostly noodles and very little broth into the ladle and most of those landed in the bowl. Pleased with his success he carried the bowl off and ate his noodles.

He's just such an odd duck. So lacking in the abilities that he needs and so cheerful.

Most of the time.

Is this FASD? Low IQ? ADD?

And I know in some ways it just doesn't matter, because whatever the cause, it is Frankie.

But I can't help wondering.

___
*For those who don't play WoW or live with those who do, you get to choose what race (human, elf, troll, etc.) you want to be and what occupation (mage, warrior, etc) you want. Each sort of character has different strengths and weakness. You can be good at healing yourself or others, good at casting spells, good at fighting, but no character is good at everything. I'm sure Maerlowe can explain it better and more completely!

Understanding to Respond

Dawn so often makes me think. She wrote today about Madison crying at pre-school and how understanding adoption issues helps her to deal with it. I left a comment about parallels in children who foster, but there are already comments there about why she has to think about adoption in order to deal with Madison crying. I mean, lots of kids cry at pre-school right? Does it matter why? Don't you just deal with it?

Those comments have got me thinking -- how much does understanding the cause of our children's behaviors matter when we have to deal with those behaviors?

For me, understanding helps a good deal.

It helps because I am such an imperfect parent. See, I have this tendency to think that behaviors are somehow about me, or are at the very least behaviors that I should be able to fix easily.

If I had a kid, like Madison who was cheerful, friendly, and confident who cried whenever I dropped her off at preschool I might be inclined to think that the child just didn't want to be there and was trying to manipulate me. Or when Frankie just won't stop talking, I might think he was trying to annoy me, pushing my buttons, seeing how long I could hold out before I screamed. When Ann would absolutely refuse to follow a direct command, even one as simple as "Put on your seatbelt" I would see it merely as a power struggle -- a rebellion against ME.

And if I feel personally insulted, my emotions come into it and ... well ... it goes badly. But if I understand that it is not about me, if I take the way it makes me feel out of the equation (not easy) and understand it from the child's perspective, it is easier. At least a little.

So let's take Ann becoming defiant at anything expressed as a command. First I know that children, like other human beings, tend not to respond well to direct orders, but her reaction is excessive. I did not bark "Put on your seatbelt." I just noticed that it wasn't on.

If I did not understand her, I think I would have just gotten angry. I would have seen only a child who refused to do even the simplest of things. I might think, "I am the parent and I will not let her get away with this." So I would order her to do it. She, of course, would become more defiant. And we are off to the races.

But I "get" Ann and on that evening at least I was on top of my game. I knew how little control Ann had had over her life in general and in that moment in particular. On that particular drive I had picked her up from visiting the place she had lived for seven years, the place she wanted to go back to. I was driving her to my house where I knew she felt guilty for, in some ways, being happier. Her life was unstable; adults she didn't even know were in the process of deciding where she would live, and she was barely holding it together. She needed to feel like she had some control in her life.

So knowing that, I knew it wasn't about me. So I did not feel hurt and angry.

I also knew it was not safe or legal for me to drive with her unbuckled -- and I knew she knew it too. So I pulled over to the side of the road and said, "I'll wait." She sat with her arms crossed staring out front. I waited. She said, "Are you really just going to sit here and do nothing!" "Yes. I can't drive unless you are buckled up."

She glared. I waited.

She said, "This is so stupid!" I said, "I quite agree." She said, "I HATE it when you say that." I said, "I know" and I turned on the radio, put my hands in my lap and waited.

After another minute or so she put it on and I drove off. I made a "conversation start" about something. I don't know what. Probably not "Read any good books lately?" but it was something unrelated to seatbelts.

Now did I need to understand her to handle this fairly well? Technically no. Psychologically yes.

If I had seen the behavior as being (just) a challenge to my authority, it would have been much more difficult for me to stay calm. Seeing it as the understandable attempt of a girl to excerise just a little control over her environment made it easier to be sympathetic and patient while I waited for her to realize that this particular thing was also not something she could control.

Understanding is not a magic bullet, it doesn't always "work."

Even though I know that Frankie isn't talking non-stop to annoy me, I get annoyed. Even if I understand that controlling that behavior is difficult for him, I still get frustrated when I am tired and he Just. Doesn't. Stop.

And there were times when I did turn to Ann with fire in my eyes and said loudly, or with quiet rage, "You will NOT talk to me like that young lady." That never worked as well as saying, "Come find me when you are feeling better and we will talk", but I did it.

And there were behaviors that no amount of understanding allowed me to deal with. I could understand her need to establish a pecking order with the kids. I believe that, given how she had lived for so long, establishing and re-establish her dominance was what she needed to feel safe. I also saw what it was doing to Andrew and Brian and I finally had to call the social worker and say that this was not going to work out.

So there is no magic here, but still I find that understanding where my children's behavior comes from helps.

At least some of the time

"Don't you wish?"

Yesterday, after the bus trip, a couple of silling little things went wrong. And as Maggie knows, sometimes the big things are easy. It's tripping over the pieces of metal the kid drug in from the rubish heap and left in the dining room that throw you over the edge.

Anyway, after muttering very bad words, taking the pieces of metal outside, tossing them into the rubish heap, and, unknown to me, scaring Frankie who was at the other edge of the heap behind the garage still digging for treasure, I took a break. Later I wandered back into the kitchen and complained about the inability of my family to put dishes in the dishwasher. Frankie was there and said, "I put all my dishes in the dishwasher."

Now he may or may not have put ALL his dishes in the dishwasher, but I am confident he remembered putting something in so I said, "You're a good boy" in a voice that sounded quite sincere, if I do say so myself.

Frankie grinned and said, "Don't you wish I were your real, natural-born son?" I gave him a quick hug, forgetting he doesn't like hugs and said, "I'm just glad your mine, however you got here!"

His grin got even bigger.

Adventures on the Bus?

So I recently found out that the public bus goes by the charter school and within blocks of my house. So, today one of the other parents drove me to the school so I could ride the bus with the kids and show them how easy it would be.

Now, the bus only comes once an hour, and it is a wave 'em down system. There should be actual bus stops later, but for now you gotta watch and wave.

Fortunately, one of the kids was home sick (you will see why that was fortunate later). I collected the kids, we got across the busy four lane road and stood under the sign for the big city high school. We accidentally waved at a couple of charter busses and one RV, but that was no big deal.

The big deal was when the bus we needed came barreling down the road, in the inside lane, and did not even see us waving away.

So I'm trying to be cheerful. I call the mom who dropped me off, who is on the freeway half way home. School's been out for 25 minutes, the next bus doesn't come for an hour, and we are currently stuck.

I called the bus company and told them what happened.

They sent a car for us. I hadn't actually told them that it wasn't me, and it was a small car, but we managed to squeeze all three boys into the back seat. See why it was good that there weren't more of us?

Anyway, it turned out that the woman in the car was the dispatch supervisor. She assured us we were standing in a good place, in fact they pick up kids at the high school right there all the time. It was a new driver though who was picking up for a bus that had broken down and he was thinking that his route started five blocks from where we were (where the bus route turns to come back the other way). She said it should never happen again.

It took her a while, zipping around town, onto the freeway and back down to the boulevard, but she finally caught up with our bus and we sat on it for the last 10 minutes of what was supposed to be a 50 minute ride.

Wow.

I promised the kids I would ride with them again before making them do it alone.

We did get the ride free though.

I am really hoping that the kids don't whine too much to their parents about it -- you know, so they parents will all agree to this system for getting them home. I've picked out a spot where I can park to meet the bus as it comes into town. They can all get out and right into the van and I will drive them to their homes.

I think the next time I will ride the bus from here and meet them there. That way I can make sure the bus stops!

Identity versus orientation

One person emailed and asked for some help on this issue. On one hand a straight woman is probably not the right person to write this post. I can't really tell you what it is like to be trans. On the other hand, I have had to think about it and figure it out, so maybe I am the right person. In either case, I think a blog post on the topic is needed and I am going to give it a try. I hope my queer readers correct and complete what I say in the comments.

The short answer is that sexual orientation is about who you are attracted to (in all senses of that word), and identity is who you are.

I ask you to take a moment and think about each of those separately. For me it is easier to go back to my childhood thoughts. When you were eight what did you think about the other children of your gender, and what did you think about the opposite gender?

Here are the things in my experience I refer to help me understand.

When I was in elementary school I remember watching the "giggly girls." I thought they were a different breed of girl. I was not like them. Sometimes I joined their games, but I was never certain what they were laughing about. They seemed to have learned some rules about giggling, whispering, and squealing that I never learned. I had a strong sense of being different from them.

But it never occurred to me that I might be a boy. It was clear to me that I was a different sort of girl. I was not one of those loud, raucous, competitive boys. I was a quiet, bookish, shy girl.

I had my first crush on a boy when I was in kindergarten. I don't remember what I felt, except that I was pleased that that boy was my boyfriend. The real stirrings of passion happened, as it did for all of us, in puberty. There were boys that I thought were cute, but one in particular that I wanted to be my boyfriend. I imagined kissing him, but mostly I imagined holding hands.

Being heterosexual did not mean just that when I had sexual fantasies I fantasized about boys. It meant that I imagined dancing and going on walks in the woods with boys. I wanted a boy to like me "like that." Long before I was ready for sex, I wanted a boyfriend. After I was ready for sex I wanted one too. But it was never just about sex. I never wanted to be with Hubby merely because I was sexually attracted to him. Being heterosexual meant that the people I am inclined to fall in love with are male.

That's sexual orientation.

I have a fairly good imagination and I can make up stories in my head in which I am different from who I am. I can imagine myself as Queen of the World, loved and obeyed by all. I can imagine myself as Buffy fighting... well, I can imagine myself as Willow casting a supportive spell.

I can also imagine falling in love with a woman. I can form a picture of who I would be if I were a lesbian.

However, if you ask me to imagine myself as a hawk, what I imagine is me in a hawk's body. I imagine what it would be like to soar on air. I don't know that I can imagine myself being a hawk. Once I am imagining sitting on a branch, springing into flight when a mouse appears, grabbing it in my talons and ... okay, done now. The point is that the more I think about being a real hawk, the less it feels like I am imagining ME at all.

With me so far?

So on a scale of 1 to 10, my ability to imagine myself as Queen of All I Survey is about a 10. My ability to imagine myself as a hawk in any meaningful way is about a 1. My ability to imagine myself being a man -- well -- it's about a 3 or 4. Just like imagining being a hawk, it is difficult to figure out what it would be for me to be me and a man at the same time. What I tend to imagine is me stuck in a man's body.

Now I have one more thought experiment for you. It is not one that any of my trans friends have found helpful, but it is the thing that made it "click" for me.

My husband gave me a DVD copy of Trick for Mother's Day (yeah, I know). He gave it to me because I love it. It is a sweet story of two young men falling in love, and one of those men is hot. I watch the movie and every time I sigh when they finally kiss. It is sweet and romantic. And if I imagine myself taking the place of one of those men in that kiss -- I'm a woman every time.

Responding to comment

An anonymous commentor says:

Maybe some of Frankie's conviction that he wanted to present as a girl was a
form of rebellion, (unconsciously) calculated to enrage his previous caregivers?
Or something that he only wanted as long as it wastruly unattainable? It sounds
like now that he has the opportunity to explore this option in safety, he's just
not that interested with the reality of it. Although, of course, I suppose this
could change in a heartbeat! :-)

My gut tells me that desire to be a girl wasn't to upset caregivers. It could be, but I don't think so.

I still think his desire to be a girl is one of several things:
1. He is transexual.
2. He is something between a boy or a girl, or part boy and girl.
3. He is a gay boy who has reasoned that if he were a girl then he would be straight.
4. Fantasizing about being a girl has been something that has somehow kept him safe. Like imagining that you are really a superhero, or that you are really the child of a very rich family who is looking for you and will come and take you away.

Normally I would not suspect 3 or 4. But Frankie is a special case and ... well ... either of them seem quite possible to me. One of the reasons that I stitched up the falsies is to see whether it renews his interest in presenting as a girl.

By the way, I tend to assume y'all understand the difference between being gay and being trans. I know from inviting speakers to my classes that most of my students don't. Does anyone want me to try to write a post about how I understanding it? Or maybe even try to get a guest trans poster? The later option would probably be anonymous.

Stitched the you know what...

I finally got around to stitching shut Frankie's sock falsies that he has had for so long. They are made out of socks, some sort of grain, and were tied shut with a knot. Now they are stitched neatly across.

I gave them to him and he decided to practice juggling with them.

There's just something wrong about that.

Foster Children: Guilt Response

I said that Frankie was very calm yesterday, but I thought I would write a separate post about why I am grateful, surprised, and watchful.

Frankie would tell you that this house is the best place he has lived. It is the first place where he can present as a girl (which by the way he does far less than I expected -- maybe it is the icky falsies). It is the first place in a long time (maybe the only place ever?) where there was consistently plenty of food and an open-door policy to the kitchen. Frankie still adores that he can make himself a sandwich or get a bowl of cereal any time he wants.

And there is a "TV dad, like on the Brady's." Now Hubby is not really all that much like Mr. Brady, but he kinda is to Frankie. Hubby gives himself breaks, but when he interacts with Frankie he turns on that Mister Rogers thing. Yesterday Hubby came home excited that he found a full-size basketball hoop and stand outside a thrift store for $20! Hubby is not a big sports player, but he would be very willing to go out and play basketball with boys who are even less good at it than he is. I think Frankie likes him more than he does the open kitchen.

And Frankie feels deeply guilty for "abandoning" his father. His father is not an evil person. Like David's mother, he is one of the millions of people in this world who do not have the skills to take care of themselves. In a more ideal world, they would live with their children in supportive environments where they were all cared for. In a more ideal world, David and Frankie would have never been separated from their parents, and no one would have expected those parents to be able to provide food or structure. Our social services doesn't (can't?) distinguish between parents who are loving but genuinely incapable of coping with the world, and people who under any circumstances would be bad for their children.

Where David hated his mother for failing him, Frankie currently hates himself for failing his father. I think he took on a fair amount of the adult responsibilities. I imagine that his father did try harder to keep a job and keep them fed when Frankie was around. Frankie imagines that after he left for good that his dad spiralled downward. He may be right about that part.

So the story that Frankie is telling himself is that he was selfish and unwilling to fulfill his responsibilities. He wanted things he should not have wanted. He called in the state, abandoned his dad, and now he has all the things he wanted and did not deserve.

So what will happen next?

If I were the naive parent I was seven years ago I might have just expected that Frankie would be grateful and happy for all the good things I am providing.

Now I know that he could go the other way. He could respond by punishing himself and everyone who dared to give him the things he doesn't think he deserves. He might inflict pain on himself or damage to property. So I find myself looking around and thinking, "Is there anything out here that it would break your heart if he destroyed? Better baton down the hatches; there could be one heck of a storm on the horizon."

What I hope though is that Frankie will be able to deal with is feelings in counseling, by talking and crying with us, and by beating up wufs in WoW. If it works out that way I will be grateful and happy.

A Day Like Any Other

Yesterday Frankie was calm and happy. He spent the first couple hours he was awake playing WoW and just about the entire rest of the day looking through a manual trying to decide which new character would be the least expensive since all his characters run out of money.

I am told by the boys that he runs out of money because he spends it impulsively; attacks "wufs" and other things without strategy or help;' and uses very expensive shorter means for self-rescue. I don't know if it is a lack of attention span thing, or a difficulty understanding that actions have consequences thing.

I was leaning heavily towards the consequences part, but he seems to get that in real life.

Anyway, he did not bring up his father and I let it go too. I did bring up his mom -- whom he has not lived with since he was 9 (when he first went to live with his dad). He was pretty calm about her. He wonders why she hasn't called when she has his number and said she would, but it doesn't seem to bother him much.

While it seems like he would give anything to back in time and do things differently with his father, he has no desire to live with his mom, at least now. Maybe when he is 17 she will have her life together enough that he will want to live her now.

I pointed out that the program he was in was for kids to stay in until they were ready to live alone. He said, "Yeah. I know." At that point he seemed bored or irritated with the topic, so I let it go.

I'm glad he has a really good counselor and that he is going to be seeing said counselor twice a week for a while. A whole lot is bubbling to the surface and though I hope it continues to come out in language and not action, well... it would be unusual.

Guilty Confessions of a Foster Child

One of the things I want the blog to do is help people understand something of what it means to care for traumatized children, and sometimes this goal is hampered by my very important duty to protect Frankie's privacy. I try to share my journey in taking care of him, and that often means talking about what he is like and what he is doing, but his past, that I try to keep private.

I shared here that I wondered at Frankie's attitude towards his own past -- the lack of expression of trauma. One of you said that it was probably going to be like the gender identity stuff - no hint and then BAM! Was it Cathy? I think so...or was it Innocent Observer? Whoever you are -- leave a comment and take credit for being right!

Over the past few weeks Frankie would mention something about his past in ways that were surreal. Like talking about how much fun he had during the time he and his dad were homeless.

Yesterday he mentioned something else. It was all in a stream of ADD-generated conversation. Here is the extremely edited version, "I have this feature, because this happened." "How did that happen Frankie?" "Well, xxxx, and xxxxx, but I don't do that anymore. So now I still have this feature, but it isn't as bad as acne. Do you know how to get rid of black heads? I can't make them go away and I really hate them."

And in my brain I am screaming "WTF????" What he is casually sharing is, as far as I know, not in his file. I am not sure that he even understands that it should not have happened. Is this information bubbling to the surface because he feels relaxed with us? Is he testing to see if we can hear this without freaking out? Could it be that this information for him is not more significant that that he likes pizza and hates his blackheads?

Later, after everyone else had gone to bed, and Frankie was more tired than he should have been for this conversation, I asked him if he wanted to tell me more about what he had said earlier. He did, and seemed to notice right away that though I was quiet, I disapproved of his father's part in it all. I wanted to figure out a way to say, "Frankie. That was wrong. Good parents don't do that." And I know on the scale of things that might have happened to him, this is one of the lesser ones. And Frankie wants to convince me that I am wrong.

It sounds bad, but I don't understand. It's like parents who take their children rock climbing. You might think they are exposing their children to danger, but they know what they are doing and they are safe. (Frankie did not use that example, but it works). I see his passionate defense of his father and I cannot argue with him. I cannot tell him his father is was an irresponsible parent.

"You love him very much." I say.

He nods and then the flood pours out. He wants to tell his dad how sorry he is. Everything is his fault. He just wanted attention. He wanted a TV dad, like Hubby, and a cell phone, and things. He just wanted things. So he lied and he manipulated and he got the state's attention. And his father was a good father who was poor, and who had never hurt him. He had hit him, but never hard. Frankie had bruised himself. Frankie had lied about being hungry. He did it because he thought living in a foster home would be better, but it wasn't.

And when they took him away, his father fell apart. He couldn't cope anymore without his son.

There was no end to the guilt that Frankie expressed. His stories about how he manipulated everyone, made everything up, created evidence to back up his story were too fantastical to be believed. Did he ever exaggerate? Probably. Could he have manufactured everything we read in that file? No.

And Frankie, in his innocence, did not realize that the new picture he was painting of his father, a "gentle fool" who needed his son to cope with reality and who was so easily manipulated was not one which would have made the state decide to let him stay.

We did try to convince him that the state did not make their decisions based upon his word alone. We tried to convince him that it is not a child's job to take care of his father. It all kept coming back to the same thing though. If he had never made that first complaint to his teacher. If he hadn't said he couldn't sit down because of bruises he now says he gave himself, he would never have attracted that state's attention. They would have been poor, but they would have been okay.

But he, Frankie, destroyed it all. He manipulated people -- because he wanted a TV dad and a cell phone.

At some point we realized that nothing we were going to say, and no amount of listening, was going to get him off this track. We finally suggested he go to bed. He went.

This morning he is calm -- spending his Saturday budget on WoW before the doing anything else, as usual.

Clearly Frankie is feeling safe enough to start talking. It seems equally obvious that he is bonding deeply to Hubby and feeling very guilty about it. In the beginning of the conversation, before Hubby joined us, Frankie said that Hubby was the sort of dad he had wanted. The kind that helps you with your homework and does things with you.

I wrote his counselor and social worker. Hopefully he can talk about this with the counselor. He has a lot to work out.

And I am amazed with him. I am amazed that living here could trigger this much guilt and he could respond by crying and talking about it. I would expect him to feel he didn't deserve it and act out violently or destructively in order to loose it.

He's a pretty incredible kid.

Comments about Frankie

I have had more than one person tell me that, as endearing as Frankie seems to be, there is no way they could live with them.

And I absolutely must reply to them because I cannot take the credit that is being offered to me. It all goes to Hubby.

He is a special education teacher, and I gotta say, he's a good one.

He spends more time with Frankie than I do. This is a marked change from the previous kids. Every now and then I felt like foster care was considered, by him, to be my hobby in which he fully supported me. That was never true, but when I was tired and overwhelmed it felt true.

Now though it is different. He and Frankie have really bonded. Hubby has this "Mister Rogers"* voice that I didn't really know he had. Frankie comes bounding in, talking loudly and not stopping, and Hubby says in a gentle, slow, quiet voice. "That's interesting. Where did you learn that?" (Or something else appropriate). After about two responses from Hubby, Frankie is sitting down, actually listening to Hubby and having a conversation.

Late in the evening when I know my husband is getting tired -- and I am just plain checking out -- he will turn on a recorded comedy routine. Frankie will laugh and ask questions. Hubby will pause it and say things like, "Nobody can understand that character. That is what makes the sketch funny. The funny thing is seeing how everybody else tries to figure out what to do."

I don't want any of you to think that I am not interacting with Frankie. I am, just not nearly as much as Hubby is.

And Hubby isn't a saint either. Wednesday evening he went spent four hours with all three boys, getting two of them to meetings, getting fast food dinner, and buying us a new microwave. When he got back he mouthed, "I need a break." So I gave him one.

With kids like Frankie, you need a team.

__
Before Mister Rogers died I heard an interview with him on NPR. Mister Rogers said, enunciating every word perfectly, "People say that I speak slowly. I don't think that I do. Does it seem to you that I speak slowly?" The interviewer just laughed, as I was doing.

Frankie's Mom

Email from me to social worker: "Do you know if Frankie's mom was given our phone number? It is still okay with me, although maybe (with Frankie's permission) we should give her his cell phone number."

Email from social worker to me 30 minutes later: "I just gave 'Emily' both of Frankie's numbers. How is he doing in school?"

--

And so why do I feel like crying? It occurs to me that I might be angry that the social worker gave Frankie's cell phone number without asking his permission, but I know that he would have agreed without hesitation. I cannot work up anger over that.

I know that I wish I had said that I would rather she had not given the house number, if it wasn't too late. I'm afraid. Not that she will do something mean or dangerous. I am just afraid of dealing with her. I had fantasy that she would only have Frankie's number. She would only talk to him and she would never be quite real for me. If she upset him, I could change Frankie's cell number. I would have the power of drawing a curtain around us.

But I have been assured, and I do believe the assurance, that she is no danger to him or to us. The worst things she may do is promise to visit or call and then not show up. I don't want to measure how bad that would be to Frankie, but it is clear that it is not something that is dangerous to me.

I read Dawn's article about meeting Jessica, and like Baggage today, I am jealous of their relationship. I want to be chosen by my children's mothers.

Sometimes I think it is ethically easier for those of use who care for children from foster care. We can tell ourselves that the children are better off. The children we love were once physically abused, neglected, abandoned. They were traumatized. Now they are safe and nurtured. Surely we foster parents are angels of mercy.

But talk to Frankie and ask him what was the worst day of his life, and he will tell you it was the day when the police, the people from the government he had been taught to fear, came and bodily took him from his father. He will tell you about how he struggled and fought, about how many people it took to carry him off, about how his father cursed and cried and struggled with even more police officers.

And if you ask him if he wasn't better off afterwards, he will look at you like you are crazy. He went to live with people he did not know. People who told him he was safe and then told him he was a pervert when he shared that he really wanted to be a girl. He was forbidden to be alone with other children. He was forced to attend school. He was sent to a high-security group home.

He was angry and afraid and with every expression of that anger he went some place with tighter security.

If you ask, he will say that he likes our house. He likes that he can eat when he wants, that we purchase rye bread that no one likes but him. He likes that we accept that he wants to be a girl. And he is increasingly frustrated and confused by all the people who say they support him and then tell him that he can't see a doctor to get hormonal treatment.

And if you ask about his parents, he will tell you about all the marvelous things his father taught him. He will smile about how frustrating it can be to live with someone who, it must be confessed, was crazy, but it was a whole lot more fun than the places the governtment put him. Yes, his father hit him sometimes, but he was not as mean and controlling as the people at the institution.

And his mother? He is proud of his mother. He will tell you of her accomplishments, though he will acknowledge that it was difficult to move around so much. And do you want to see pictures of his sisters? He doesn't have recent ones, not good ones, but do you want to see them? He misses his sisters.

And me? I am not the heroine of his story. I'm the best thing to happen to him since he was kidnapped.

No, there is no ethical high ground in foster care. Whether it was the first family or the state or both who traumatized these children, we are privileged to parent these kids only because someone else hurt them.

But for me it was easier with the others. The decisions that resulted in Carl, David, and Evan being separated from their mothers had been made, and not by me. Perhaps they were unjust. Perhaps they were the best decisions that could be made given the injustices of the world. But in any case they were in the past. I was presented with a child who had no home to go to. Would I open mine?

But things with Frankie are so much more difficult.

And I did not sign up for this. I never tell anyone, including myself, that they should not talk about how difficult it is because "after all, they signed up for it." Signing up for it doesn't mean ... well it doesn't mean much of anything.

But not signing up for it ... I find myself thinking it. Wanting to tell people.

I did not sign up for this!

I did not ask for a child who might be taken away and given to his real, natural, true mother. I can believe with my whole heart that if his mother can parent him then she should. I can believe that it is best for him.

But I cannot want it.

I cannot love this child and hope he leaves.

I cannot.

I am afraid of his mother. I am afraid of how she will speak to me. Is there any chance that she will see me as a benevolent figure who offered security to her child while she fought to get him back? Or will she see me as part of the forces who work to separate her from the child she gave birth to, sang to sleep at night, whose accomplishments she celebrated and over whose agonies she wept?

I believe that if she is able to parent, she should. I believe that Frankie will be better off reunited with a mother who never stopped loving him, who fought the state to get him back. I can believe that the right thing was for me to have just a few months to show him possibilities that are waiting for him.

I believe Emily should know where her son is. She should be able to call him on the phone.

And I gave permission for her to have our phone number.

And now she has it.

And I want to cry.

Straight Mom, Queer Kids

Yesterday I read a post about seeking diversity at Peter's Cross Station. I left a comment there saying I was going to write my own post about it, but it got all jumbled up with how I feel about being a foster parent and about the feelings I am having particularly about Frankie's mom. But I want to try again, because sometimes when I read something written by a white parent of a non-white child I think, "Wow. Change a few of the nouns, and I could have written that."

Anyway, I gave up on it yesterday, because I could not keep focused. I'm going to try to write about what it means, to me, to be a heterosexual married woman rearing queer kids, about having chosen to parent queer kids, and that seems carries meaning and obligation.

It means educating myself about what it means to be gay or trans in this world, and yet holding back and knowing that I cannot figure out what it means to be Carl, or David, or Evan or Frankie in this world. But it is not just that. I cannot sit at home and read books and try to understand. It is not intellectual work, or not only.

Initially I thought it meant striving to form friendships with people in the GLBT community for the sake of my kids. I thought I needed to have these relationships so that I could get advice I needed and so that my children would have positive role models. So I put myself in places where I could meet people who could give me that advice and become those role models. For the most part it worked, and I have never sensed that the people I approached honestly resented that motivation.

But something happened along the way. First, some of the people I made attempts to get to know became friends. People that I simply enjoyed being with.

And the more fully I thought of myself as a mother to Carl, David, Evan, and now Frankie, the more my sense of my relationship to the GLBT community changed. In some ways it is just that I feel relaxed where once I would have felt awkward. And usually I have felt accepted. Not always of course. There have been times when I assumed that I would be welcomed and found myself wanting to justify my right to sit at the table.

But it is more than that. Where once I would have been an advocate for gay rights, now I am passionate on behalf of my children. Once I might have said that civil unions were not an adequate substitute for marriage, but perhaps was a compromise that should be accepted. Now I hear myself saying, "If it quacks like a duck and walks like a duck and turns into an egg when you cross state lines, it isn't a duck. It is a decoy to confuse and pacify us."

And I mean us. We are talking about my children, their potential spouses, and my hoped-for grandchildren.

Parenting children from a community other than my own has meant for me not that I need to diversify my world, so that my children will feel safer here. It has meant for me that I have to claim a space in their world. I have to walk where I do not fully belong. I have to learn to say, with Abigail Garner, "We are not allies. We're family."

As I said in the beginning, this post did not become what I expect it to become.

You see, it is something of a motivational speech for myself.

It is not enough to buy Frankie dresses and let him present as a girl at home. It is not enough to have a transwoman friend to invite into my home to answer his questions.

Committing to parenting him means more than that. It means taking a deep breath and walking with him into the Transexual Support Group meeting.

Because he wants me to.

Warning: Venting of a Crazy Woman

So I have been tired and cranky and feeling over-whelmed. I started work less well prepared than usual. I was just far enough along that if I worked like a crazy woman I could get everything done.

I did, and I turned into a crazy woman, but it was a gradual process.

Last evening, Brian said that he could not do his math homework because he wrote down the problems but not the page number. Hubby lectured him about how this was just like last year and Brian needed to be more responsible. I got his math book and asked him to show me the last assignment he was sure he did. With a voice that exuded patience and positive parenting skills I said, "Do you need to do these problems?" "No. We did all those!" "Okay...the next two assignments don't have problems 31-50, they stop around 30.... Now this is a new chapter on Real Numbers." "I remember that! We talked about real numbers today!" "Okay...this assignment goes to 54 is this..." "Yeah! That's the one we started in class!"

He did his homework and then told me that he had to have a coat for tomorrow morning (today) and that none of his coats fit him. I went to the mud room and found the freaking coat I bought him last spring.

Last night I wanted to talk to Hubby about something. I forget what, but I know it was very important. Frankie came in with these new cards he has (I think they have something to do with WoW. Everything has something to do with WoW) and wanted Hubby to read the interesting factoids on them. Frankie knows I'm not into that sort of thing. They read one set together. There were things like, "To kill a person is bad; to kill an idea is a travesty." Frankie asked Hubby to confirm that they were profound and Hubby agreed the were.

Throughout he gave me kind glances that basically said, "I know you have no patience with this, but see, I'm doing it."

Then Frankie left and I started talking to Hubby again. Did I remember to tell you that it was very important, and that I don't remember what it was? Anyway, Frankie came right back with more cards and Hubby said, "Just read me your favorite one." So Frankie did, and then said very quickly "This one will be YOUR favorite it says...." Then he stood up took two steps and said, "This might be my favorite, it says...." And then he got as far as the door and said, "OH! This one is good! It says..."

I was quiet and did a lot of deep breathing.

Later, I went into the kitchen and saw what a terrible job Brian and Frankie had done cleaning up (Andrew had cooked us a gourmet meal of grilled cheese and canned soup) and muttered something angry. Frankie, who is not yet used to me being angry, jumped up and came running in and asked how he could help. I have him a job and then called in Brian to finish it. "Just me? Why aren't you making Frankie help?" I said something irritated, but not mean.

They worked on it. It was still a mess and I finished it and went to be early.

I woke up still angry. Do you ever do that? Wake up wanting to fight with someone?

I didn't wake Brian up gently after he slept through his alarm. He always sleeps through his alarm. I filled up on the light and said "Get up!"

Hubby asked me what times the boys appointments are this evening, and I stared daggers at him while I told him again, for the like the 10th time. Hubby left to shower and I asked Andrew if he had packed a lunch for his band thing.

"It was cancelled?"
"WHAT???"
"I told Dad like four days ago."
"Do you know that we hired someone to watch Frankie?"
"I did tell Dad four days ago."
"When, in your entire life, has telling Dad something like that kept you out of trouble with me??"
Andrew watched me silently, knowing there is NO right answer to that inappropriate question.
"Well, I want you to know that when you get home there will be a highly qualified, highly paid babysitter in the house and you have to do whatever she says."

If I had known that Andrew was going to be there I might have hired the sitter anyway, although I would have told her both that Andrew was going to be home and that she did not have to worry about him.

THEN I got to work. Now I have told my students since last week to make sure they can get onto the course web page. I have told them to talk to IT if they are having trouble. I told them that if they talk to me in advance about issues, I will be accommodating.

I had an email sent last night at 8:00pm. I read it this morning and it said, "I just realized that I cannot get onto the web page and so I cannot do the assignment due today. What are my options at this point?"

I fortunately deleted the email that said, "None. You're screwed" and wrote another, more professional email that basically said the same thing.

I dare any of my students to whine to me today. I JUST DARE them.

On the up side, Hubby is taking Andrew and Frankie to their appointments this evening in The City and it will be just me and Brian home for at least four hours.

Going slowly at a run

I just had the most interesting conversation with the supervisor of social workers at the agency.

The first part of the conversation was expressing her concern that Frankie not go too quickly down this path.

I don't think that I let one bit of the impatience I am feeling with that come through in my voice. (Not because I disagreed, but because I am committed to it and EVERYone feels the need to tell me to go slow.) I assured her that we all agreed. That his counselor kept telling him this was time for research and "homework." There would be time for doing later. I didn't get around to telling her that Frankie agreed without hesitation to only dress in girls' clothes at home, and then only with the family. The second part was entirely his decision.

She told me that they were trying to think about what exactly to tell the state. They needed to be careful. They have a reputation for being a liberal agency and this is a conservative state -- and Frankie came from an especially conservative part of the state. I told her that the state worker had asked for me to copy him on emails and that, since Frankie had made his announcement, I had only copied him on one in which I said something like, "Frankie had a really hard day first day at school. He actually came home crying. He cheered up when his bras and panties arrived in the mail. We wrote a long note to the school about Frankie's concerns and complaints. We are waiting for them to respond." She laughed and said that it was quite likely that that comment just slid right by him.

The email was intentionally quite long and the note about the bras was buried in the middle. I didn't want to be accused of hiding anything, but I didn't really want to make a deal of it either.

Anyway, after first telling me that it was important not to let Frankie get carried away, she said that she and the director were talking about finding some expert in a Big City and sending Frankie there to be assessed.

I told her that I thought that the only physical treatment that might be appropriate for Frankie right now would be testosterone inhibitors. They would stop him from growing a beard and it would be completely reversible. If he stops taking them, puberty would start back up. (His voice has already changed, so it is too late for that).

Her response? She speculated as to whether stopping puberty might help him grow a little more.

Good thing she called to make sure I was encouraging Frankie to take it slow, huh?

I don't know what will happen next. The agency people feel they need to talk to the state people. And who knows what will go into the file, what his mother and her lawyer will think about it when/if they find out, and what will happen as a result of that.

Will Frankie be removed from my corrupting influence? Will he be allowed to explore his gender identity in therapy and in the privacy of his (our) home? Will he be sent off to the Big City and put on testosterone inhibitors to "help him grow"?

Stay tuned kids ... same bat time, same bat channel.*

___
*I know I sound glib, but I'm not really. It is just easier to pretend.

Supervision of Foster Children

Frankie's babysitter youth companion came over to meet him today.

She was a foster parent for 25 years, and a classroom aide for my husband. Now she is retired and volunteers at the school. She completely understands that Frankie does not need to be taken care of and yet probably should not be left home alone.

Wednesday Frankie gets out of school early and everyone else is either in school or has to be somewhere. So she will spend the afternoon here. She said she would bring a book. She should also be available for any of those other pesky teacher work days when the kids are off and Hubby is not. Who knows, maybe Hubby and I will even go out on a date sometime.

Rules regarding supervision of foster children vary widely. Where I am children cannot spend the night anywhere unless there is an adult who has had a criminal background check. They cannot spend more than 48 hours somewhere unless there is a licensed foster parent or social worker on duty. (It isn't too difficult to get an exception for school, church, youth group trips).

During the day time though, there are no particular rules, at least in my agency and with teenagers. I am expected to use a prudent parent standard. So, if Hubby and I want to walk the dogs for 15 minutes and all the kids are engaged in something, we take our cell phones and go. The kids regularly get home from school at 3:30 while I am usually in my office just 10 blocks away. Hubby is at his school several miles away, cleaning up from the day and getting ready for the next. One or the other of us is home by 4:00.

So we are not required to have a babysitter for Frankie on Wednesday afternoon, much less one who has foster parent experience and has had a background check. We are required to follow a prudent parent standard.

And my prudent parent o'meter tells me it is not wise to leave Frankie alone for 3 hours.

"You're going to blog this, aren't you?"

Evan: "You're going to blog this, aren't you?"

Me: "I wasn't planning on it, but I could."

Evan: "No. That's okay."

Me: "You sure? I often get 200 visitors a day. People all over the world are waiting for the next installment regarding the intimate details of your..."

Evan: "No, really, it's okay. You don't have to tell them."

Me: "Okay, I won't."

But maybe it's okay to tell that he called? Maybe it's okay to share that it makes me happy that he still needs me, even if he is nearly 20.

But that's all, because I said I wouldn't blog it.

Diagnosis Smorgasbord

I spoke with Frankie's counselor about all the diagnoses that Frankie has had over the years. We agreed that with the exception of ADHD none of them seem particularly accurate and that it is clear that ADHD does not explain all of Frankie's ... well, just Frankie.

I suggested that FASD (not full-blown) would explain everything, but maybe that was because it is poorly understood and the list of characteristics is so long.

His response was incredibly sensible. He said that we could get any diagnosis we suspected confirmed depending upon which physician we decided to send him to, and right now the diagnosis doesn't matter. Frankie is getting the treatment and care he needs. And there is no way of knowing yet what about him is the result of trauma and will go away when that is addressed.

I like this counselor. I really, really like that someone is resistant to the very idea of slapping a diagnosis on a child who has not been fully treated for trauma.

There is so much about Frankie that is puzzling. I hope I don't sound anxious and worried, because I am not. It is just a puzzle.

He does not seem to be repressing pain and anger over his past, it just doesn't seem to be there. There is an odd lack of attachment anxiety in our relationship with him. Is this connected to his childlikeness? Is there some organic reason that he seems like a child and is that causing the living-in-the-moment-ness about him? Or is he trying to avoid dealing with negative emotions and is doing that by being a child?

And what about this thing where he is so very, very boyish and yet wants to be a girl? Is that just the strange and wonderful way that he is? Will he grow up to be a woman who collects swords? Or is there something else going on?

I don't know, but I think it is going to be very interesting to watch this kid grow up.

Job, Granny, and Talking to Frankie

Well, I survived my first few days of school. I learned that the other two members of my department are going to be retiring sooner than I would like. I like them. And they do some things well that I frankly suck at, and I am not certain exactly how to write "must have the ability to deal with departmental political stuff so Yondalla still doesn't have to" into the job descriptions. Oh, I've been department chair for ages, and will continue to do so. I make sure things run properly and tell them what to do. When someone needs to deal with the dean or the president, one of them goes and has the pissing contest for us.

Yeah, I know, I even teach feminism.

But I survived the first few days.

Yesterday I spoke to Ann on the phone for the first time in a while. I called while Frankie was in an appointment. I had to cut off early because hubby kept calling every five minutes (and I don't know how to take a call without losing the first one, assuming it is possible). I finally said goodbye to Ann to talk to Hubby who just wanted to know if I made it in on time and why wasn't I answering my phone??

Ann sounded much better than she had before. She misses the girls, but she is no longer overwhelmed with sadness. She did not say this, but I think she is beginning to let herself feel the appropriate level of anger regarding it all. But she seems to be doing well. Being able to just take care of herself and Ray is right for her now.

Ann would never say anything negative about her girls on her blog, and I do hope she doesn't mind me saying this...but there is a big part of me that wants to sit one of those girls down and say, "You see how your little stunt worked out? You did not get what you wanted, did you? You are not with your grandmother, you are not where you thought you could make people put you, and if you don't stop being such a pill, you are going to get separated from your sisters. So shape up! The places they put kids who behave this way are not fun."

But I imagine her case worker and other people are telling her that and she is not listening to them. Why would she listen to a foster mother in another state? Perhaps she could have a nice long conversation with Frankie about treatment centers and other programs for behaviorally-challenged kids.

Ah well...Ann if you want me to remove that, I will.

But speaking of Frankie, in his appointment yesterday he again asked when he could start hormonal treatment. I was honest with him and told him he probably wouldn't start until he was 18. I told him that his mother still had parental rights and that the state would not want to even ask her about this, and that if her legal position did change there was still every reason to believe that the state would not give him permission.

I think it sort of went in one ear and out the other. Or all he heard was "Yondalla doesn't know."

I don't know that he got the part about his mom.

There's a post that I want to write about my complicated feelings about his apparent absence of complicated feelings about his parents and being in care -- but I don't think I can compose it yet.

And as a final note, Frankie today is sporting a lovely spaghetti strap summer top. It means his bra straps show, but they are pretty straps, so I think that is okay. Thus dressed, he is sitting at the computer yelling "Woo Hoo... I killed 50 people today! Oh Yeah!"

Better day

Frankie and Brian both had better days today, though neither is singing with joy either.

I think they both will be fine.

I am swamped with work at the moment, although I hope it will let up soon...maybe in a week or two.

At the moment, Brian is doing his homework, Hubby is watching a movie, and Frankie has joined him -- wearing a semi-formal black gown.

Just another ordinary evening.

Added: Because Clover-Elf wants to know -- Frankie loves his new bras. Very much.

The Rest of the Sides

Brian's principal called me this morning to tell me that Brian was crying and wanted to come home and did not want to go to the charter school anymore.

Ugg.

I told her that though Brian had remembered his meds this morning, we had just realized that he didn't take them the past two days. I spoke to Brian on the phone and reminded him of what I told him when he decided to go to this school, 20 minutes away. "I am not able to come and get you if you are having a bad day." I reminded him that he was probably feeling this way because he had missed some medication, and he had to figure out a way to cope.

He did. He came home emotionally exhausted and said that he had just been feeling bad. He was going to stay at the charter school. He said that he might even stay there through high school.

So there are more bright sides. This was the first time that Brian had an emotional break down and simply had to go on. Depression and anxiety are real. I know he does not make up how he is feeling. However, he has learned that he can go on. He can deal with it. I did not push him to tell me about his day, but I think he found the other students there more kind when he was falling apart. I don't think he is afraid that tomorrow he will be seen as the crazy kid who started crying.

I think that I will put the fact that Hubby and I did not have to tell him that he was staying at the charter school, whether he wanted to or not, in the "bright side" column too.

Frankie, from what I can tell, did okay at TLC for the first few hours, but broke down and cried at the end. Because he was un-enrolled at the the high school, TLC had to start him without having done all the educational assessments. They did not have work for him to do at his level, so he didn't learn a thing. All he experienced was being bullied to sit straight, hold his pencil in an unusual and uncomfortable way ("and they said to use my best penmanship, but I can't do that if I can't hold the pencil the way that I'm used to!")

When I picked him up he was crying. I took him home and Hubby and I listened. Hubby reassured him that he would get appropriate work and he would graduate from high school. He is not sure we are correct, but his mood brightened considerably when...

...his bras and panties arrived in the mail.

He told me that I was correct that the panties will not fit his current body, but the bras fit perfectly. He was very pleased.

He did not put on any of his new clothes however since he has counseling tonight.

Looking on the Bright Side

Andrew made it all the way through school without crying.

That's one out of three.

Where's my chocolate?

Three Kids -- Five Registrations

Yep. We are having a time here.

Today was my fifth registration experience for the year. We signed the intake paper work for The Learning Center (TLC). Hubby and I had to sign papers saying that we understood what all the rules were and that if Frankie was having a really hard day we would have to come and pick him up. It was explained also that getting into the program was difficult and that you were not allowed to decide to go back to the regular school. They decided. Since Frankie is fifteen he will probably graduate from the alternative high school (AHS) that shares the same building. Initially all of his time will be in TLC, but he gradually spend more time at AHS. Possibly he will be there full time eventually.

They had a list of goals or intentions, or whatever they were called. Things like "respect, clear thinking, anger management." Frankie was initially a bit miffed because he got certificates indicating he had completed programs in many of those areas already. I said that he would just progress on those goals. "For instance with respect, you are already very respectfu..."
"That's what I mean!"
"So maybe instead of just respect you could work on not interrupting."
He grinned.

Since he missed the first week he will have to come after school to complete orientation. Possibly as many as six times. Usually the new kids complete the orientation time and THEN start attending except...drum roll please...

The high school un-enrolled him as soon as they heard he was going to be transfered to TLC. He got to school this morning only to find out that he wasn't a student there anymore. They let him spend the day though. I think he just hung out in study skills all day.

Sound familiar to anyone?

Anyway, TLC will let him come start tomorrow as long as we transport him. Getting him on the TLC bus route will take a day or so.

And things got better

Today is the official "Oh my G-d I can't believe it's the last day to get ready for classes" day. It started with the one hour car pool run, shall be interrupted by a mid-day department meeting, and by a mid-afternoon intake meeting at The Learning Center where hopefully Frankie will be safe and learn much.

So there is not much time for blog writing or reading.

But I thought I would give you a quick summary of the events of last night.

Frankie, with lots of bravado, tried to convince Brian of the romance of living homeless --primary advantages seem to be not having to go to school and getting to eat whatever you want (i.e. whatever you find). This was followed by a dramatic telling of being taken away by the police from a yelling and screaming father, an exaggerated (as though the previous was not already exaggerated) account of his angry and violent response to being kidnapped by the government, an extremely exaggerated account of life in the treatment center (okay, not extremely, but I know they don't put bad kids in shackles and make them spend the days in quarries).

In short, Frankie was having fun telling Brian the adventure story of his life. I came in the middle of all this and pointed out to Frankie that he was frightening Brian. Frankie then ran to find all of his certificates for good behavior and other evidence of his reformed nature.

Brian's first thought was that we didn't tell him because it was all too horrible. We finally convinced him that we did not tell him because we were stupid, it wasn't as bad as Frankie was making it sound, and because we really and truly believed that Frankie was not a threat to his safety.

If Frankie were not so good at dramatic story telling -- voices, sound effects, vivid descriptions -- it would not have been so tough.

In the end though Brian seemed reassured and forgave us for our omission. Hubby pointed out the difficulty between protecting one kid's privacy and responding to another kid's right to know. Hubby also wanted to tell him that most of the kids we had had for respite had violent behaviors in their pasts, but I wasn't so sure that would make Brian feel more forgiving of us.

Anyway, all seems once again settled.

And if you are considering doing care and all ready have kids at home -- be forewarned.

All kids enjoy impressing and scaring other kids; and some kids have really excellent material to work with.

What to tell Biokids about Foster Kids

I've talked to prospective foster parents before and I have given them the following advice: tell them everything. If you aren't ready to tell them everything, don't do care. If you leave something out, either the foster kids will fill in the details or their imaginations will, and either is worse than the truth.

So why the hell don't I listen to myself?

Why do I agree to take a child into my house who I know has had a violent past without talking to Brian about it?

Okay, so I and everyone else who knew about it agree that there is every reason to think that Frankie's violent past is behind him. There are reasons, not justifications but explanations, for why he behaved the way he did. Of course anyone could become violent, but there is every reason to think that Frankie is no more likely than anyone else.

So I am not particularly worried.

So why didn't I tell Brian? Was it because everything happened so quickly? We felt like we had to make a decision during his visit. We didn't have time after the visit to sit and talk about everything that we learned so quickly and make a family decision.

Brian was part of the decision of course, but we just asked him if he thought he could live with Frankie. We did not sit down and tell him everything.

And that was fine...right up until tonight when Frankie decided to tell Brian.

Damn.

The whole, "I used to be a danger to society, but I'm much better now" story did not go over well.

Damn.

I know better.

Can't or Won't

If you have a child with any number of different disabilities or trauma, you will find yourself being asked that question, and asking it yourself.

Most of us come to understand that the question is based upon a false dilemma. It is not that the child simply can't do it or willfully won't do it, but that the task the child, or adult, is being asked to do is difficult and reasonable expectations have to be made. Forming those expectations in a way that is realistic and encourages the child to develop, can be difficult. You have to get to know the child.

I'm going to use myself as an example. I have a problem where I switch words, especially names, without realizing it. I have a conversation like the following with one of my kids almost every day:

Me to Andrew: "Go tell Andrew and Frankie to come to dinner."
Andrew to me: "You mean tell Brian and Frankie."
Me: "Yeah. What did I say?"
Andrew: "Andrew and Frankie"
Me, sighing, "Okay...well... please go get them."

Most of the time I could swear I said what I meant to say. I don't notice. Less commonly I will do it with nouns other than names. Sometimes I will search for a word I know well. Sometimes my brain will just substitute another word. In an extreme form this is called "aphasia." I once, in a discussion about attendance policies, said to a colleague, "Well, what aphasia policy have you used in the past?"

When I teach, I know times when this is likely to happen, and they are extremely inconvenient times. The worst is when I am comparing and contrasting two things. I mean, if I am trying to explain the subtle differences between the positions of Jones and Smith and I start mixing up their names without noticing, I am going to confuse the students. So I control it.

I write the names of each example on the board. If I don't have a board, I write on a piece of paper in front of me. I make myself speak at half-speed. I look at the written names, and write short notes under each name as I go. I listen very, very carefully to what I am saying.

I can do it, and it takes effort. I tell my family that when I make this mistake at home to point it out to me so that I can work on it, but I also tell them that if I am tired, or driving, or engaged in any other activity that takes concentration to please just go with it and only ask me about it if they didn't know what I meant.

I think you can construct any example for yourself. Can you sit and walk with better posture than you do? Can you do it all day? If you stop doing it at some point is it because you are being willful and noncompliant?

What about your last failed New Year's resolution? Could you have done if you had tried?

I can't do long division in my head, could I learn if I really wanted to? Probably, but it isn't going to happen.

My mother in law has trouble with vertigo. Could she learn to skateboard if she really, really wanted? Almost certainly not.

We are slowly figuring things out with Frankie. His tendency to talk constantly is not something he is doing to be rude. It is part of the ADD. He can control it, but he has to put effort into it, and that takes concentration. When he forgets it is not because he is being defiant.

So we are being selective about how much we ask him to try. We know that at school he is asked to do it all day. Whenever he acts impulsively, someone redirects him. When he gets home on school days he is allowed 90 minutes of video time. We have decided that that is his "down time" and we make an effort to let him talk and not correct him. He narrates away, encouraging his new pet to take down the critters, cheering whenever he kills something, complaining when he doesn't have enough money to buy what he wants. In short, he talks non-stop. Hubby is often in the same room, working at his computer while wearing his noise cancelling headphones. I sometimes decide that is a good time to walk the dogs and am considering a pair of those headphones for myself.

We are working on interrupting though. When he interrupts one of us holds up a hand. When I do it I keep my hand up as a reminder that it is still not okay to speak, and as a hint to whoever I am talking to that I need to take a break from our conversation. I try to remember that though it is appropriate for me to correct and re-direct him, getting angry is not helpful.

And I am thinking about this because I did not do so well today. Oh I've been much, much worse. I was signing off from my computer after reading an email from another mom about why she couldn't do the car pool shift she had offered to do yesterday, and getting ready to go to my office to work (and apparently to write a blog post). I said, "Carpooling is a nightmare!" And turned to Hubby to talk about the afternoon, "I want to get as much work done as I can, but if you..."

"What's car pooling?"

"Not now Frankie! Hubby do you need me to..."

"I just want to know what carpooling is!"

I took a deep breath and held it and looked at Hubby. He said in that patient teacher's voice, "Carpooling is when people take turns driving."

"Why is it a nightmare?"

"I'll explain in a minute. Let's listen to Yondalla now."

Me, irritable and fast, "Whendoyouneedmetocomeback?"

"Take your time, I don't..."

"But why is it a nightmare?"

I believe I may have given Frankie a dirty look as I slammed my last book in my backpack and said, "I'm leaving!"

Behind me I heard, "Why is she mad?"

Not the best day

Brian and his friends went to a movie. They did not specifically invite Frankie, who told us later that he didn't go because he was not wanted. "The boys would not want an annoying little kid along talking all the time."

This I thought was an interesting thing to say since on one hand he is right that the boys would not want someone along who was annoying and could not be quiet. He seemed to be able to predict this behavior and predict that he would not be able to control it. It is not the first time, by the way, that he has identified himself as "little" compared to Brian. He is shorter, but he is also two years older. Of course he seems younger to me too, but I don't think any of us have said anything to that affect within Frankie's hearing.

Of course if he had simply said he wanted to go, he would have been welcomed (well, at least accepted).

But Frankie stayed home, and since he seems to have casted himself in (or resigned himself to) the roll of the annoying little brother, he called Brian on Brian's cell phone in the middle of the movie. Brian turned off his phone when it rang and Frankie left a message...something to the effect of, "I'm watchin you....you can't see me, but I'm watchin you."

He spent some of the time at which the other kids were at the movie drawing a picture on the computer of someone hanging from gallows.

When Brian got back he yelled at Frankie for the message.

Frankie is now downstairs watching Brian and his friends playing video games. There doesn't seem to be any tension at the moment. Everyone understands that it is best if Frankie just watches. Though the other boys would be reasonably patient if Frankie did not play as well as they do and had a sense of humor about it, Frankie would get frustrated and upset.

Frankie was playing some sort of game on the cell phone but it wouldn't work right and was stupid so he deleted it from his phone.

If anyone is wondering what I did about all this, the answer is: I ignored it. Well, mostly. Hubby gave Frankie feedback regarding the whole movie thing, and I let Brian vent in my direction regarding the annoying phone call and message. Otherwise, we let them deal with it. It will be Hubby's turn to take Frankie to the counselor on Wednesday and he will bring the whole movie incident so the counselor can talk with him about it -- if Frankie wants to.

Frankie's phone allows him to make short voice recordings and he has made several to be personalized rings on his phone. If I call him his cell phone will sing, in Frankie's gravely and off-tune voice, "My mom is calling. She's better than your mom, because she calls me. Does your mom call you this much? I have a mo-om, and she is calling me."

Evan's blog

I know there are some mommies who send everyone over every time their children post, but I'm not like that. However, Evan today has written a post that will be particularly interesting to many of you.

He doesn't talk about it as deeply as I would want...I'm itching to ask him questions and get him to talk about it more.

How many faces do you present to the world? Do you feel that you present your real self to people when you first meet them? Those of you who are foster alum, and I know there are a couple of you out there, is it more difficult for you to present your real self?

And do you know who your real self is or do you sometimes feel like a collection of facades to be presented?

Thank you, and I'll take my response off the air --- I mean I'll read your comments at Evan's blog.

Frankie's New Toy

Frankie's new toy is... a cell phone.

About a year and a half ago we couldn't find Andrew when we had to go to The City. We ended up leaving without him. He called us after we had been on the road for 15 minutes and I had to tell him that he could ask if he could stay at his friend's house, across the street from the high school, or he could walk home (about a mile). Still it was frustrating, as we had missed each other by minutes -- each time I went to the school. I hated driving away without knowing where he was; and without him knowing were we were.

That evening we added cell phones for the boys to the family plan. Brian often forgets to carry his, but I find them wonderful aids to parenting. They are very good at not using too many minutes, and I can always get in touch with them.

And it is only fair to get one for Frankie too. Arguably he does not need one as he doesn't go anywhere but school, but that will probably change.

So I picked out one of the least expensive phones. It has no camera and no ability to hook to the web. It is not enabled for the purchasing of games, wallpaper, or ringtones. I even blocked texting.

So it is a phone. It can make and receive calls.

And apparently it has a function in it where you can create ringtones. I'm not exactly sure how it works, but it works. He is keeping himself quite entertained with it.

And so far it is not make me crazy.

I wonder if I can plug headphones into his cell phone...