Arguing About Everything

The level at which Danielle is arguing about everything is starting to become more than exhausting.

This afternoon, FosterEema realized we were missing a key ingredient needed for dinner, so she headed out the door. On her way out, she asked Danielle to take out the kitchen trash.

Instead of just taking out the garbage, Danielle made an angry snorting noise and argued, " You were supposed to take it out when you cleaned the kitchen!"

"I did," FosterEema replied, "but it got full again."

"No you didnt!"

"Danielle!" I called somewhat sharply, "Why do you have to argue everything?"

"No I don't," she argued back. Then she realized she had just argued again and gave us an embarrassed smile. She had been caught.

"I will be happy to grill you a hamburger once you have taken out the trash," I added.

Danielle took out the trash.

But of course during dinner Danielle had to make herself more unpleasant. As I was pulling the burgers off our grill, Danielle felt it was her place to chastise me.

"FosterAbba," she demanded snottily, "why do you always put the hamburger on the wrong side of the bun?"

"Sorry," I apologized, "next time you can cook your own hamburger if you don't like the way I make them."

Next time, I will cook only two patties and she'll be on her own. Either that, or she can make herself a peanut butter sandwich.

Just as well, since the frozen hamburgers we usually buy come wrapped as pairs. Cooking a third patty for Danielle means we always have an odd patty left over.

Hose Hissy Fit

Our afternoon July 4th celebrations were pretty enjoyable, mostly because Danielle wasn't here for most of the afternoon and evening. Although she managed to pull things out of the ditch for part of the morning after pitching a fit, it wasn't long before she threw another, even more spectacular, one.

The second fit started after Danielle had been calm for a while. I had gone to the grocery store to pick up a few things for our BBQ. After bringing the groceries inside with Danielle's mostly cheerful help, I went out to the RV to clean up. My mother was expected at any minute, and I had realized, rather late, that the trailer was still dirty from the last time we had overnight visitors.

As I headed out the door, Danielle jumped out of her seat. "Can I help?" she asked, eyes beaming.

I really didn't want her to help, because I knew her good mood wasn't going to last, and I knew I could do a better job without her. Still, I kept my negative feelings to myself.

"Sure," I replied. "Thanks for the help." We headed out to the trailer. I gave Danielle the window cleaner and asked her to clean the mirrors and inside of the windows. I took the bathroom cleaner and headed for the bathroom.

While we were cleaning, my mother arrived. I'd finished most of the scrubbing, but we were still waiting for clean sheets to come out of the washer. FosterEema came out of the house, and pretty soon all four of us were in the RV, chatting amiably. I started cleaning the galley (kitchen) sink and counter top, and had to step out for something, and almost tripped on a garden hose that had been left lying on the driveway.

"Danielle," I called cheerfully, "can you do me a quick favor?"

"Sure," she called back, equally amiably. She jumped down the RV steps.

"Can you please take this garden hose and put it back on the hose rack? I'm worried grandma might trip on it."

As soon as the request came out of my mouth, the clouds rolled in. Danielle went from being cooperative and amiable to disrespectful and insulting in less than one second.

"Why do I have to do it?" she demanded.

"Can you please do it?" I asked again, "I would hate for grandma to trip and get hurt." My mother is 71, and I had visions of a broken hip dancing through my head.

Danielle angrily grabbed the end of the hose and marched towards the house. I went back into the RV to resume my cleaning, and we could hear her screaming. She suddenly "didn't know how" to put the hose back on the rack, and she said she would end up breaking the succulent plants that grow in front of the rack.

She screamed, she ranted, and she raved.

"I have every faith in you," I called from the trailer, "and I'm sure you can figure it out."

Before I knew what was happening, Danielle started screaming at FosterEema, who had gone back into the house. She was screaming something about how the succulent plants that live in the flower bed near the hose bib would get in the way, and she would break them and then she'd be in trouble for it. She didn't know how to roll up the hose anyway, and there was no way she was going to do the job.

I couldn't see what was happening, but I could hear every word.

FosterEema replied calmly, "well if the plants get broken, then they get broken, but FosterAbba asked you to put the hose away, so please do it."

I heard her go into the house and Danielle followed her in. FosterEema again reminded her to go outside and do the task she had been asked to do. Danielle went silent for a moment, and then I heard a terrible amount of pounding and screaming.

I was just about to stick my head outside to see what was happening, when the intercom on the cordless phone I'd brought out to the RV started beeping. FosterEema was paging.

"Hello?" I asked tentatively, wondering what the heck was going on.

"If you need to come back into the house, let me know and I'll open the door for you. I just latched the screen door because Danielle refused to coil up the hose and kept coming back inside the house."

Just as I started hanging up the phone, Danielle started kicking the bottom of the screen door. She was screaming that she wasn't going to put the hose away, and we could not make her. I didn't respond, and FosterEema remained in the house.

Eventually, the screaming and the pounding stopped. My mother and I just stared at each other in complete disbelief. Danielle had been screaming so loud I was sure the entire neighborhood heard the commotion.

After a few minutes, I paged FosterEema with the intercom, and she told me that it was safe to come in. Danielle, after all the fuss, had coiled up the hose and had gone inside. When we emerged from the trailer, I found a small piece (perhaps two or three leaves) of the succulent had been broken off and were dead center in the middle of the front step. It looked too deliberate to be accidental, but I said nothing.

When we came in, Danielle was huffing and puffing and slamming around the house.

Calmly, I asked her to sit on the love seat so we could talk.

She stomped in and threw herself into her seat.

"Now I understand the plan was that you were going to go watch the fireworks with Ms. Teacher and her niece. Is that correct?" I asked, calmly and quietly.

Danielle glared at me through her hair, which was covering her eyes. Her arms were crossed defiantly across her chest. "Yes," she surled.

"Do you want to go to the fireworks this evening with Ms. Teacher and her niece?"

"I don't know," she grumped. Then she added, almost haughtily, "I hadn't really thought about it."

"Okay," I continued softly, "let's look at this from my perspective. Can you honestly tell me that you have been behaving in a way that would make me want to let you go?"

"No," she sulked.

"So what do you think you need to do?" I asked.

"Behave better," she growled.

"Well I want to make something really clear: I don't care if you go or not. However, I am getting very tired of your abusive behavior. So, here's the deal -- if you don't pull this out of the ditch right now, I am going to decide for you. If I hear one more disrespectful word out of your mouth, if you refuse to do one more chore, or you even so much as roll your eyes or make ugly faces at me, then I will call Ms. Teacher and I will tell her that you can't go to the fireworks. Furthermore, I will tell her why you aren't going."

Danielle sat on the loveseat and positively glared at me.

I continued, "You have a choice here. If you want to go to the fireworks, then you will pull this out of the ditch. If you don't, that's fine, but you will spend the rest of the day in your room. When [the across-the-street neighbors] come for the BBQ, you will stay in your room, and you won't enjoy hamburgers with us. You won't watch the fireworks, and you won't go with Ms. Teacher. You get to decide, and I don't care which you choose, but I want to make it very clear that this is your choice. It's completely up to you, and the consequences of your actions are on you."

Danielle stared at me in disbelief, then went to her room and grabbed her art book. She calmed herself down and started drawing and writing poetry. She managed to hold it together long enough to be granted permission to go, which was a great relief to all of us.

Of course she had to be nasty when she came home. I dared to asked her to change her clothes because she'd been wearing the same two layered tank tops for at least two days. She was wearing them Friday when she came home, she slept in them Friday night, and she'd worn them all day Saturday. They looked dingy and enough was enough. She pitched a fit, but did change, and I took the clothes and threw them in my laundry basket.

While she was at the July 4th festivities, she got another invite to go shopping and get her hair cut with Ms. Teacher on Monday. I've reminded her several times this morning, that her behavior today will determine whether or not she'll be allowed to go.

Danielle, on her own initiative, has decided to spend most of today in her room so she won't be tempted to get into trouble.

Unpleasant Reunion

From Tuesday night until Friday evening, Danielle had been staying with Ms. Teacher's niece. It worked out that it was more convenient for the girl's mother to drop Danielle off at Ms. Teacher's house, so after we went out for fish and chips (which Danielle hates) we dropped by to pick her up.

We found Danielle, sitting at Ms. Teacher's kitchen table, munching on a hamburger. She didn't even look up when we arrived.

We visited with Ms. Teacher for a while, and during the visit, Danielle kept making scoffing sounds and rolling her eyes.

Eventually, after a few minutes of Danielle slowly and angrily munching her burger, she suddenly brightened. "Did you miss me?" she asked.

I refused to answer the question. I said nothing. Danielle had just treated us to a good 15 minutes of snottiness, and I didn't have very much nice to say.

"You are mean!" Danielle accused.

Finally, FosterEema asked her, "If we had been treating you the way you have been behaving the past few weeks, would you have missed us?"

"Well yeah," Danielle scoffed.

I said nothing. We continued our visit with Ms. Teacher, and Danielle continued to interject snotty remarks. We told Ms. Teacher about my niece's explosion and her justification for her behavior, but didn't explain what Danielle had done to be grounded. Ms. Teacher was shocked and told us how sorry she was.

In the meantime, Danielle kept trying to make rude little remarks, in between trying to get hugs from me and trying to sit in my lap. I have her a half-hug, and I did let her sit in my lap for a moment, but the chair I was using wasn't comfortable enough for the both of us, and Danielle finally gave up.

Danielle kept making snide remarks, so finally I told her, "I don't like it when you speak to me in this way. Would you like me to tell Ms. Teacher what you did to get in trouble?"

Danielle made a few more scoffing remarks, but shut up soon after.

Ms. Teacher looked very concerned.

"Trust me," I told her, "it was bad."

Ms. Teacher gave us a tour of her garden, and all the while Danielle kept mooching for hugs and asking if we missed her. I gave her half hugs, and tried my best not to completely push her away. She alternated between being sweet and telling us that she missed us and loved us, and being completely rude and snotty.

I did give her a hug and a kiss on top of her head, but when she said she loved me, I said nothing. I responded by giving her a kiss on top of her head. I was too annoyed to say anything else.

When Danielle asked for what was probably the tenth time if we missed her, FosterEema replied, "I missed the Danielle who is helpful, sweet and cooperative. I missed the Danielle who doesn't argue, or call us names. I didn't miss the Danielle who does all mean things you have been doing for the past few weeks."

Eventually, we headed home, and Danielle continued being a snot for most of the evening. She groused about having to go to bed and having to help out with the evening chores. It was a relief to go to bed just to be rid of her.

This morning, I woke her up just a little past 8:00 AM. I'd warned her last night that since we are planning a July 4th party, we were going to have to do some chores around the house. The list of all that needs to be done is quite long, but I gave her only three chores: 1) thoroughly clean her bathroom, 2) clean the bird cages, and 3) vacuum the living room, dining room and hall. I wrote the list on a sheet of paper, and handed it to her.

"This is what I expect you to do this morning, please." I said as I handed it to her.

Danielle began ranting and raving about how unfair it was that she had to help out, since it was our party, (people she likes are coming, too), that she'd just cleaned her bathroom (several days ago) and she wasn't going to do any of it.

"I can understand why you might feel that way," I told her, "but I won't let you go to the fireworks display with your friends if your chores aren't done."

Danielle continued to rant and rave. I did my best to ignore her and say as little as possible. When I said anything at all, I just repeated what I had said previously. "I can understand why you might feel that way, nevertheless, I won't let you go to the fireworks if your chores aren't finished."

Eventually, after at least a good 30 minutes of fussing, Danielle settled in and did her chores with no further complaint.

Although things are peaceful now, I wish we had somewhere else to send her.

Bye Bye Cell Phone, Bye Bye House Key

FosterEema and I have been spending considerable amount of time recently discussing Danielle's cell phone, house key and allowance. It's pretty clear that the arrangements we've set up for all three aren't working.

At the moment, Danielle's cell phone is in our lock box, and her house key is in the dish with the rest of the household keys. I think both will remain where they are, at least for the foreseeable future. Danielle has no legitimate need for the cell phone or the house key, and I think until we can see a substantial and consistent improvement in her behavior, I'm going to consider the cell phone to be off limits. I believe a cell phone should be a treasured bonus for exemplary behavior, not simply something she gets because she breathes.

As for Danielle's allowance, I'm still considering what to do about it. We had told her, previously, that if we had to confiscate her phone, she would have to pay us for the amount of time it was out of her possession. Our cellular phone bill just arrived, and during the 30 possible days she could have had the phone, it was locked up for a total of 24. If we are to remain consistent with our earlier statements, I would deduct $8 from her allowance check.

Although I haven't made up my mind about her allowance, I did go back into her room and remove the check from her desk. I put it in my tickler file with a due date of Monday. By the time she returns from her sleepover, it will be too late to go to the bank tonight, and she won't be able to deposit the check on Saturday on account of the July 4th holiday. This will give us the weekend to decide what's reasonable, as it will also give us a couple of days to review her behavior.

I expect she won't take the news regarding her cell phone very well, so this could be potentially an explosive weekend.

The good news is that my mother will be coming down on Saturday, so if things get too out of control at least we'll have a witness.

I am hoping that things will go smoothly. I am dreading that they will not, because Danielle has a long history of acting out after having too much fun.

The Fate of Cell Phone, House Key and Allowance

When we got Danielle a cell phone back in April, I was opposed to the idea. I felt, and I still feel, that Danielle really doesn't need a phone. I acquiesced because it was something Danielle wanted, and we thought that it might act as a form of currency to entice better behavior. It worked for a short time, but it didn't take long before threatening to take the phone actually resulted in an escalation of bad behaviors. It also didn't take long before I had to threaten to cut the phone off at the source, because Danielle wouldn't hand it over.

The biggest argument in favor of the phone was that we thought, once adopted, Danielle would be able to enjoy greater freedom. Once the odious foster care rules were lifted, we thought we would be able to let her visit safe places on her own, and we might leave her at home alone for short periods of time.

Unfortunately, Danielle has made it abundantly clear that she's not ready or mature enough to enjoy greater freedom or to stay home by herself. A kid who gets violent, threatens to call 911, and lies about burglars, should not be left unsupervised. It's clear that even though we are no longer required to constantly supervise Danielle, it is unwise not to do so.

So the need for Danielle's cell phone has vanished, since there is no possibility of her being left alone, without the company of an adult.

Since Danielle cannot be trusted to be in the house alone, it also removes the need for her to have a house key. When she goes out, she rarely remembers it, even when reminded. During one recent departure, I asked her if she had her key, and she assured me that she did, patting her pocket. Not two minutes after she left, I found her key in the living room, not in her pocket as she'd claimed. I took her key and put it in the dish with the other household keys, but now I question whether or not she really needs to have it back.

I am also thinking that our current system of paying her allowance isn't really working either. For nearly two years, we've been giving Danielle a small allowance that hasn't been tied to completion of chores or behavior. In the beginning, we paid it weekly, and Danielle expressed a considerable lack of gratitude concerning the arrangement. Later, we switched to a monthly payment, because it was easier to manage with our cash flow. We gave the allowance, regardless of behavior, because we wanted Danielle to develop money concepts and at least a small desire for stuff so that we might use it to motivate her.

It hasn't really worked out that way. Danielle still isn't particularly motivated by stuff, and seems to have a very poor understanding of money. Since the beginning of the year, she has blown through her entire savings account, and didn't seem all that distressed by the fact that she had no more money. Other than a few items of clothing, Danielle has spent nearly all her cash at the liquor store next to her school, buying chips, soda pop and candy.

I'm no longer sure that giving Danielle $20 per month, just for breathing, makes sense, especially when her behavior has been so difficult. I'm pondering tying her allowance to both chores and behavior, in the hopes that it might make a difference. Perhaps her behavior will improve if she sees that good behavior and completing chores affects her income in a positive way, while explosions and failing to do her assigned work affect it in a negative way.

But then again, it might not.

Given her behavior, I am considering the fate of her cell phone, house key and allowance, because I'm not sure any of them are necessary or helpful at this point in time.

Lunch with Mme. Attorney

We had lunch with Mme. Attorney today.

It was a very nice lunch, and it was nice to see Mme. Attorney again. She asked where Danielle was, and we told her she was off spending the night with friends. We also told her about all the troubles we've been having, including the assault, threats to call 911, and her lies about being pregnant and our house being burglarized.

Mme. Attorney just sat there with her mouth hanging open. She believed us, opined Danielle definitely needed counseling and told us how sorry she was.

"It's not your fault," I told her.

We also shared the news about the blow-up with my stepmother and niece, my niece's excuse, and the letter inviting Danielle to call CPS. Again, Mme. Attorney could scarcely believe what she was hearing, and again told us how sorry she was.

"It's hard to believe, isn't it?" I asked her. "If I wasn't living the tale, I'd have a hard time believing it myself."

Small Reprieves Around the Neighborhood

It seems there have been a number of small reprieves all around the neighborhood:

• Danielle is gone until Friday night.
• The slow-paying client for the big, bad project has assured us that our check will be mailed no later than tomorrow, which means we'll likely get it by Monday.
  
• FosterEema's client informed us that the bookkeeper will return sooner than expected, and they will pay our first invoice "as soon as possible."
• Our across-the-street neighbor, who was stressing over what they thought was an overdue bill, learned that the bill isn't due until the end of September.

Money Runaround and Allowance Docking

Collecting from clients has to be one of the worst aspects of being self-employed. It's not bad when times are good and money comes in at regular, or at least semi-predictable, intervals. When times are tough, it's simply nerve wracking.

Remember the big, bad project? That's the project where I averaged 50 hours per week on that job alone, in addition to the work I did for other clients. That's also the same project that, during the final week, I put in almost 70 hours of client-billable time.

I still haven't been paid for the job, even though the invoice was sent due on receipt. When I spoke to their A/P (accounts payable) clerk last week, he told me he was going to send the check out right away. I called yesterday and wasn't able to reach him, so I e-mailed the organization's president. She e-mailed a reply saying she'd get back to me, but when I didn't hear back this morning I decided to call again.

I called the A/P clerk this morning and was told the check hadn't been sent because the president hadn't given the okay to pay the invoice.

WTF?

I left two voice mails for the president (one at her office and one on her cell phone) explaining the problem. I reminded her that we had gone to considerable effort and expense to deliver a completed project on the substantially-shortened deadline, and that we'd really appreciate prompt attention to our invoice.

I wish that this were our only payment woe, but it seems that FosterEema's new contract is likely going to take the full 30 days to pay. When we signed the contract, the client said that they'd "try" to pay sooner, but that they wanted the extra wiggle room since they use a bookkeeper to pay all their bills, and she works part-time. We found out yesterday that the bookkeeper is on vacation, so nothing can be paid until she returns at the end of the month.

Likely our next check will come from our main client, who usually pays us around the middle of the month. So, unless we want to break our rule of credit card spending, or borrow from our savings account that contains our estimated tax payments, we'll have to figure out how to make due with $60 cash, plus my $61 leftover allowance, and the remaining $3.73 in our checking account.

Oh yeah, and we forgot we are supposed to host a July 4 party.

Danielle isn't here, and I'm tempted to take back the $20 allowance check I left on her desk. I'm tempted to use the excuse that since she's lost the use of her cell phone for several weeks, we should not have to pay for it. She lost her phone shortly before school let out because she had a meltdown, and didn't get it back on schedule because she punched me. She had it for only a few days before we confiscated it again in response to Father's Day, when she threatened to call 911 and report us for abusing her. Given her most recent explosion over being asked to clean her stinky room, there are currently no plans to give her the phone back any time in the foreseeable future.

So, we certainly have a valid argument for docking her allowance. We shouldn't have to pay for her phone when her behavior has been so bad she's not allowed to have it.

Danielle is a "Pleasure"

Just a few moments ago, FosterEema's cell phone rang. It was Danielle's friend's mother, who called to extend the sleepover invite until Friday.

"Danielle is being a pleasure," the woman said.

A pleasure?

Oh, this woman does not know this child.

I'm glad that Danielle is behaving nicely for her friend's mother, because it gives us another couple of nights of alone time.

But, it also makes me really angry. I am tired of dealing with escalating explosions, hitting, threats and lies, when Danielle is capable of so much better.

Counting our current therapist, Danielle has worked with a total of six mental health professionals or para-professionals. She has also undergone three psychological evaluations -- one done by the county, one done by an organization that assists developmentally-delayed children and adults, and the last done by the school. Not one of these professionals has ever felt that Danielle has any form of mental illness or attachment disorder, yet they cannot explain why Danielle explodes in the way that she does.

Our current therapist, who is actually a licensed therapist has had the most insight, but even what she says is sort of a great big duh.

"Danielle has suffered a lot of abuse and trauma," she's told us.

Well duh, we'd already figured that out. What we need is something that will bring Danielle's tantrums under control. They are, in many ways, getting worse and not better, and I no longer believe that the lull between storms is an indication of lasting change.

Although Danielle can behave as sweet as pie, she can also be violent, vicious and dangerous.

Yesterday afternoon, I got a surprise call from the Friendly Social Worker. I was surprised to hear from her, because she was here the night I had to leave, and I figured she wasn't too happy with me.

But, surprisingly, she called and asked if I could give her a ride to her auto dealer so she could pick up her car after it received an oil change. We talked about what was going on, and I told her that I was still considering leaving, because I wasn't prepared to be on the receiving end of threats and physical violence.

She agreed it wasn't appropriate for Danielle to be behaving in this way and that something needed to be done. What that mysterious something might be, she didn't know.

I said that I was considering boot camp, and she suggested that Danielle might need residential treatment. That might be the case, but I think it would a hard sell, given that Danielle isn't violent and explosive all the time. When she's nice, she's really nice. When she's not, she's really awful, but she does a pretty good job of letting nobody but us see her absolute worst.

The Friendly Social Worker asked if we were documenting everything. I said yes, and she opined that the next time Danielle exploded, even if it wasn't that bad, we might want to call the emergency mental health hotline or even the police.

"If you call," she said, "then you'll have even more documentation on your side."

Everybody is Feeling the Pain

In response to Fat A/R, Thin Wallet, Stacy wrote:

My husband got laid off this week and as of tomorrow after paying bills we have $400 to live off of for a month and that includes groceries, gas, meds, etc...I understand your pain...

It seems like everyone I know is suffering the pain of the lousy economy.

On Tuesday, the frozen food delivery guy stopped by the house. He complained that business was so far down that he's only had one week this quarter that he's made any commission from his sales. "If my job didn't have a base salary attached to it," he said, "I wouldn't have any money at all!"

Our neighbors across the street are struggling. We want to help them, but we really aren't sure how. We just don't have money to spare, so there's little we can do to help them find housing. Since they have no other options (and two dogs that FosterEema is highly allergic to) we are cleaning out our garage just in case they need a temporary place to stay.

The idea of someone staying in our garage sounds absolutely horrible, but I can honestly say that sleeping in a clean, warm garage is probably better than a homeless shelter or living on the street.

Better, but not by much.

Of course the neighbor did hear of another job lead, so perhaps he'll have work before garage living becomes necessary.

It's a scary time, and every day I am grateful that my truck and my travel trailer are paid for, free and clear. If we lose our jobs and we lose our home, we'll be able to stay in the trailer. It would be uncomfortable with three people and three birds, but it would certainly be better than having no housing at all.

I've lived through a lot of scary economic times, but this is the first time I can remember thinking, "if I lose my job, I might not be able to find another."

Just Like Summer Camp, Only Free

Just a few moments ago, FosterEema's cell phone rang. It was Danielle, calling from her friend's cell phone.

"Can I stay longer?" she asked.

FosterEema and I quickly agreed, so FosterEema replied, "If it's okay with [friend's mom], then it's okay with me, but please have [friend's mom] give us a call and let us know it's okay."

It sounded like Danielle wanted to stay a few more days, which is completely fine by us.

It's just like summer camp, only free.

Sometimes I Wish Our Kid Was White

This is a post that I originally wrote back in February 2007, but for some reason never posted. Although a number of things have changed since I wrote this, I still think it is worth posting just the same.

Atlasien, over at Upside-Down Adoption, frequently blogs about race. Recently, she posted links to an interesting video and article about trans-racial adoption, and it got me thinking about issues of race. I've blogged about the subject several times, but I'm finding that as time has passed, my opinion has changed.

Last May [2006], before we had our first placement, I blogged about Racism In Foster Care. In that post, I was none too happy with foster and adoptive parents who only want children whose race matches their own. I wrote:



As we went through our foster parent training classes, one of the things they taught us was that we should do our best to keep an open mind. They told us that there are kids of all races in the foster care system, and that homes are needed for all of the kids. With that in mind, I've been surprised to see quite a few people post on foster parent and adoption listservs that they aren't willing to take a kid that isn't of the same race.

My reaction is, "Excuse me?"

FosterEema and I have actually been hoping that we would end up with a kid that is not the same race, simply because we think it would be an opportunity to share a learning experience with our kids. We'd have the chance to learn about and experience our children's culture, and they would have an opportunity to learn about and experience ours. To us, it sounds like a wonderful opportunity to share, learn and grow.


Although I certainly haven't changed my mind about fostering kids outside our own race, and I still hold a certain amount of emotional outrage for foster and adoptive parents who aren't willing to cross racial boundaries, I have to admit that my enthusiasm for crossing racial lines has dimmed somewhat.

It's not because we've suddenly decided that having kids that don't "match" our skin color is a problem. It's not because we've had random people make snotty comments. We live in an area that's racially diverse, and it's not uncommon to see whites dating (or marrying) people of color.

I'll admit that the county's attempt to move "Danielle" made us reconsider future placements with children whose first language is not English, but that's a question of language not race.

I don't mind that "Danielle" is brown. In fact, I kind of like it because she reminds me of the time I spent in Tahiti when I was a child. Even though she's not Polynesian, she reminds me of the kids I played with there, and I think back to one of the more happy times in my life. But, even with those positive associations, I don't look at her skin and think "what a cute little brown girl." I look at her and I just see "Danielle."

Most of the time, I don't consider her race or the color of her skin. When I do, it's because we are going out in the sun and I'm slapping SPF 1-million sunscreen on my pale, burn-in-five-minutes skin. She probably could get away without sunscreen at all, but I oblige her with some SPF 15 when she asks so she doesn't feel different. She drinks vitamin D fortified milk, so I doubt the extra sun protection will hurt her.

Compared to all the other things I have to worry about, such as her progress in school, her behavior, her emotional challenges and her clinginess, her race is far, far down in my thought queue. Most of the time I don't think about it.

And yet, sometimes I find myself wishing she were white.

I don't wish this because I think there's a problem of her skin color, or that I wish she looked more like me. It's not because I'm worried about having to try and explain racism, and it's not because I really care what other people think. I sometimes wish she were white because if she were, I wouldn't have to worry as much about keeping her in touch with her culture and her primary language. Although that's the deal I signed up for, sometimes it's hard work.

What makes it hard is that there are many aspects to her culture that I don't like. Many people in our community live up (down?) to certain cultural and racial stereotypes, and that's not the life I want "Danielle" to see. She's witnessed plenty of abuse, poverty and bad environments already. We want her to see examples of successful people from her own cultural and ethnic background, but we are having a very hard time finding role models whom we like, and more importantly, trust.

Sometimes we tire of watching television programming in her language, especially when we don't understand it. We tire of letting her have a turn controlling the car radio, because we really don't enjoy her music. Most of the time, I'd rather eat sushi than her favorite ethnic food, let alone hang out in her favorite restaurant for hours and hours so she can chit chat in her first language. Sometimes, I just don't feel like it.

I realize, though, the importance of doing these things, and I do them, even when I'm not in the mood. I do them because they are good for "Danielle", and she needs them. I don't particularly enjoy feeling like the "outsider" every time we visit people from her cultural and ethnic group, but I also recognize that she might feel that way living with us. We are different; we are white.

I recognize that everybody needs a taste of home once in a while.

Now that I've had a taste of trying to maintain cultural ties for a child of a different race and culture, I've realized that it's not exactly on my top ten list of things I enjoy. When I signed up to become a foster parent, I thought I'd enjoy it more than I do, and I thought it would be a good opportunity to learn about other cultures and ways of living. Although I've learned a lot, I've also learned that I'm pretty set in my ways, and hanging out with "Danielle's" cultural group isn't very enjoyable, especially when I don't know the language. I thought that learning a new language would be a fun experience. Unfortunately, I've discovered that I'm must less interested in learning the language than I originally thought. I'm already bi-lingual (English/American Sign Language) and in school I loved studying foreign languages. As a working adult, trying to learn anything that sucks up much in the way of bandwidth isn't interesting.

Maybe it's just because I'm exhausted from trying to keep up with my work, get "Danielle's" behavior under control and catch her up in school. Maybe it's just because I can be somewhat shy, and trying to swim in a completely unfamiliar social mix is even harder than socializing with people I don't really know. Maybe it's just that I'm lazy.

As we fast-forward a bit more than two years from when the post was originally written, I've discovered that Danielle has gradually expressed less and less interest in keeping in touch with her culture or her first language. Two years ago, Danielle was pretty enthusiastic about socializing with others who speak her first language. As time has passed, she's become more and more reluctant. Although she still wants to go to her favorite ethnic restaurant, she doesn't nag us incessantly until we relent, and usually wants to leave as soon as we are done eating, instead of chatting with the owner for hours and hours.

These days, when we offer to watch a movie dubbed in her first language while we watch the subtitles, she always refuses, claiming that the dubbed version "sounds stupid," or in the case of a comedy, "isn't as funny" as the English. I'm content not to force the issue, and I'm not particularly worried about her losing her language abilities. I learned American Sign Language in my teens, as a second language, and then drifted away as an adult for a number of years. When I came back to it, I was rusty, but I came back to my original level of fluency very quickly. My mother learned to speak French as a child, then drifted away, and came back. It didn't take long for her fluency to return, either.

So I'm content to let Danielle take the lead with regards to her cultural involvement (or lack of it) because, first and foremost, she is a U.S. Citizen. As time has gone by, we've realized that she didn't have a great deal of cultural literacy anyway, so the importance of keeping her in touch with something she didn't know in the first place seemed rather silly.

Now that we aren't suffering through cultural displays that none of us (including Danielle) really enjoyed, I no longer find myself wishing she were of a different race. Most of the time, I don't consider it at all, except when I hear someone making a disparaging remark about racial stereotypes.

Although I can't say that I'm completely colorblind, because I am a product of my racially-divided upbringing, I can say that I spend a lot less time thinking about this issue, and I guess that's probably a positive thing.

Fat A/R, Thin Wallet

As if we didn't already have enough stress on our plates, we've now got a new thing to stress about:

slow-paying clients

Our A/R (accounts receivable) looks fabulous. If all our clients were to pay us today, we would have enough money to pay our taxes, and our personal and business expenses for the next four to six weeks.

Remember the big, bad project? That client hasn't paid yet, even though our invoice was marked "due on receipt."

Our main client usually pays about Net 15, so we won't see a check from him until probably the middle of the month.

We've invoiced our new client for the work FosterEema has done so far, but that payment likely won't arrive until the end of the month. Although the client was very eager to hire FosterEema, they insisted on longer payment terms, and will pay Net 30.

So there it is, six weeks of living expenses out there, untouchable, until the checks come in.

It would feel very comforting, except for the fact that, as of today, our personal checkbook has a balance of only $3.73. The good news is that this is after I paid the mortgage, insurance, credit card, Danielle's allowance, and other bills due during the first half of July. The bad news is that this is before we bought groceries or paid our share of cost for FosterEema's two trips to the ER for her cut finger and bladder infection.

Now we could just live off credit cards until the checks arrive, but as part of our reconciliation agreement in the wake of FosterEema's financial infidelity, we no longer spend money with a credit card unless we have the cash in hand to immediately pay it off. We've set up a system where whenever we make a credit card charge, we transfer that amount of money to an interest-bearing account, and when the credit card bill comes due, we pay it in full. Since we don't have money in our checking account, it means the credit cards are off limits.

We won't starve. We have food in the freezer and I have another $60 cash in my wallet. I also have another $61 of own money, saved from previous months' allowance, hidden away.

Still, it's a bad feeling to have a fat A/R and a very thin wallet.

Kitty Bake

An almost-bad thing happened today.

Our next-door neighbor to the North owns a kitty. Said kitty is actually a fairly nice tiger-striped specimen with a pair of white socks. She's actually a pretty friendly beast, and for whatever reason, she's picked our yard as her preferred hang out.

Now I don't really mind kitty hanging out in my yard. She doesn't seem to do anything particularly naughty, and other than get underfoot when we are outside, she doesn't bother anyone. Every so often, she'll meow at our door asking to be let in, but we always refuse her, since FosterEema is deathly (as in have an asthma attack and go to the hospital) allergic to cats.

So last night, when I heard kitty meowing, I didn't think anything about it. I didn't bother to investigate, because I figured she was meowing to be let in the house.

Fast forward to this afternoon, when our neighbor-to-the-North's daughter stopped by asking if we'd seen their cat. She explained that they had been on vacation and hadn't seen kitty since the weekend. They had already searched the neighborhood and checked at the local pound.

"That's odd you haven't seen her," I said. I explained that kitty had been hanging out in our yard, and she frequently lounged on our lawn. I invited the neighbor's daughter into the yard, and we quickly searched, only to find kitty wasn't there.

I ran through my mental list of when I'd last seen the cat. "I know I heard her meowing last night," I told the waiting teen, "so she must be around. I saw her yesterday, and I saw her on Sunday when our friends were over. On Sunday, our friend's dog chased her out of our yard."

I continued to ponder the problem. Then I remembered that we'd left the garage door open for a period of time on Sunday and Monday. Perhaps the cat was locked inside our detached garage.

I unlocked and opened the door. Sure enough, kitty was in the garage, and she was more than happy to be released, unharmed, from our garage prison.

"Well the good news is she hasn't been in here for very long," I explained. "I'm glad I thought to look!"

The neighbor's teen daughter collected the cat and departed.

I'm glad the girl came looking for her cat when she did. We don't go out into the garage very often, and it's likely we might not have opened the door for several more days. It's been rather warm of late, and we might have opened the garage to a rather unpleasant find.

The Money Lesson Arriveth

During the brief hour Danielle was here between the time we picked her up from the therapist's office and the time her friend's grandmother picked her up for a sleepover, she raised the subject of her bank account balance.

"Gee, I am going to need to save some money!" she exclaimed.

"Oh?" I asked, knowing perfectly well what was up.

"I went to the bank when I was spending the night with 'Maxine,' and I didn't have any money!" she exclaimed.

"Oh, I guess you'll have to save some money, then." I didn't say anything further. Inside, I was dancing with glee, because the anticipated chickens finally came home to roost.

A few minutes later, I signed into our bank's Web site. Sure enough, Danielle had completely drained her savings account, save the last $5 that the bank requires to keep the account open. It sounds like the month of July will definitely bring Danielle a new lesson in budgeting, because FosterEema and I have agreed in advance that she's not going to get any money beyond her $20 allowance this month.

It's a hard lesson, but it looks like Danielle will finally learn the pain of running out of money before running out of month. Given that it's a particularly lean month for our household finances, as we have to pay for FosterEema's two trips to the Emergency Room (cut finger, and bladder infection) we aren't in a position to be able to give her more, anyway.

Although running out of money before the end of the month is a difficult lesson, I'm glad that Danielle will have the opportunity to learn this lesson now, while the stakes are relatively low. Our across-the-street neighbor's son is going through a similar experience, only he is a young adult, living on his own. He's been calling home asking for money, but his parents aren't in a position to help, so his lesson comes at a much higher price.

I hope the lesson sticks for Danielle, as it's much easier to suffer through the pain of not being able to afford the movies or a trip to the municipal pool than it is to face eviction or the utilities being shut off.

Not the Only One

When I read Sheri's post today about being judgmental, I was very glad to see that I am not the only one who feels this way:

So here's where the judgemental [sic] portion of this fictional story may come into play. One family could be driving a 6 year old minivan that needs repaired, you know the one family who doesn't qualify for government assistance because they "make too much" (ha!), and the other family could be driving a new Lincoln Navigator.

We live just a few blocks away from the local food pantry, and more often than not we see people who drive in with cars that are way nicer and newer than anything we could dream of affording, even if we took on a seven-year loan.

I realize that everyone is suffering from bad times, and that the middle class is being pretty hard hit, so people who at one time could afford toys are now having to stand in line for the dole. However, doesn't it seem reasonable that if you are driving a $40,000 SUV, that you ought to be asked to sell it before you get government aid?

And why is it that a guy who held down a middle-class job, worked very hard for years, can't get unemployment because he moved across state lines to take a job, only to be laid off shortly after arriving? And why is it that he and his chronically-ill wife are having so much trouble getting covered under the state-sponsored medical insurance program when their income is practically nil? And why is it that social workers have to demean and insult this poor couple as they grovel for a paltry $300 in food stamps, which will be cut because the man found a part-time job that won't even pay enough for them to rent a one-bedroom apartment?

Middle class poverty sucks.

Two Day Reprieve

While Danielle has been off for the past few days with Maxine and her mother, one of her other friends called probably a dozen times wanting to know if Danielle could come and spend the night. We kept telling her that we'd let Danielle know that she called, and get back to her.

Almost as soon as Danielle walked in the door from her appointment with the therapist, her friend called again. Within a few minutes, Danielle had yet another sleepover invite, and we were told that the friend and her grandmother would be coming to pick her up within the hour.

Danielle is gone again and won't return until Thursday, which means we get an additional two-day reprieve.

Home Again, Home Again, Jiggety, Jig

At 8:30 this morning, FosterEema and I jumped in the car to pick up Danielle from her friend's house. She's been staying there since Thursday night. Originally, we'd planned to have her gone because this weekend was our anniversary, and we planned to be out of town for a few days.

Our plans to be out of town were canceled because of a lack of money, but we decided to send Danielle to the friend's house anyway, simply because we needed to be away from her terrible, escalating behaviors.

When we went to pick Danielle up, I sat in the car while FosterEema went to the door. Danielle emerged, looking sleepy and grumpy, and climbed into the car without so much as a word. She refused to make eye contact, and just slid into her seat, head down. Her hair covered her face, so I couldn't see her expression.

We had an appointment with our therapist this morning, so we headed straight over after picking Danielle up. When we we got out of the car, Danielle lagged behind. She said nothing, her head down, hair covering her face, feet dragging. We decided to ignore her behavior, figuring that we didn't want to provoke another explosion. We just left her alone. She eventually made it into the waiting room, where she threw herself into a chair and slumped forward, her hair still covering her face.

We sat down in the waiting room, opposite Danielle's seat, and she refused to make eye contact.

We met with the therapist for a few minutes to show her my niece's letter. She agreed it was undermining and highly destructive, and that we should not give it to her. After meeting for about 15 minutes, we left, and Danielle went into the office.

"Your turn, kid," I said as we finished. Danielle slumped down the hall, dragging her feet, and that was the last I saw of her.

We left the therapist's office to run errands and return home. FosterEema will be heading out in a few minutes to retrieve Danielle from the therapist's office, while I get started on work.

So far, I've dodged the question I didn't want to answer, and for that I'm very glad.

Honesty is the Best Policy

When Danielle comes home tomorrow, I plan to do my level best to avoid the question, "did you miss me?"

If Danielle presses, I plan to answer her question with the following question:

"If I had spent the last few weeks hitting you, screaming at you, lying and having temper tantrums, would you miss me?"