News at Six: Clean, Safe Housing Not Sufficient for Foster Children

I'm too nice for my own good. You can put your coffee back in your nose; I'm serious. I know I'm a judgmental bitch on this blog, but that's just to get all the bullshit out of my head in order to function in the real world. Most of the time, okay 65% of the time (that's more often than not), I'm a pretty rational, compassionate, genuinely nice person. I may show that side of me to you sometime, but if you need a Mrs. Nice Hyde fix right now, go here.

A couple weeks ago, Bruce of Dreamodeling! wrote a post about finding the right remodeler. His post brought up some very bad memories for me about home improvement jobs gone horribly wrong. This is a rare glimpse of Mrs. Hyde being taken advantage of and being powerless to change it. You might want to print this one out.



Initially this was going to be one post, but it became too long as I tend to ramble. Who wants to read a long ass post on one blog when they've got 60 other blogs that they follow? So, I've divided it into two separate posts, one that you get today, and another that you'll get tomorrow. I'm a very considerate bitch.

A few years ago before we adopted the [teenage] girl, hubby and I jumped through hoops to get certified as foster parents. We had to get our cat licensed, take six weeks of parenting classes, get background checks and fingerprinted, get our home inspected by both the fire and health inspectors. All understandable, of course; health and safety issues and all. We had to have a separate bedroom for her. Okay...what the fuck? This was a child that was coming from a group home. There she shared a room with four other girls, but in my house, she had to have her own room. Whatever, ass clowns.

Our whole house had to be rearranged. The six-year-old girl had to move in with the seven-year-old boy, the twelve-year-old boy moved into the basement, and hubby had to give up the mancave. The state didn't care where my kids slept as long as the girl was comfortable and safe. I didn't think that was fair to anybody because that would have her moving into a home where all the kids (and one adult) already resented her for having to give up their rooms. I damn near killed myself with the fumes of some off-brand WD-40 trying to clean crayon marks off the wall in her new room. We also had to get rid of the bunk beds that our younger kids slept in. Are you kidding me? The girl was 13, a big 13. Not only was she big enough to refrain from falling off a bunk, but she wasn't going to be sleeping in it. She wasn't even going to be in the same room with it.

I hope they don't think I did that shit. Fuck no. I just closed the door when the social worker came to inspect. She asked, pointing at the closed bedroom door that I stood blocking, "Is that where your kids sleep?" I smiled and said, "Yes." Then I gave her my don't-even-think-about-it look. She didn't even think about it. That bitch might have had severe gingivitis, but she wasn't stupid.

Anyway, the health inspector came out and ripped our house to shreds. It just wasn't good enough for their precious foster child. Did these people forget that this child was technically homeless? And they're saying that my clean, safe, warm home was not good enough for her? In our kitchen, some of the tiles had fallen off the wall. We live in an old house with almost all of the original fixtures, so that style/brand of tile is not even manufactured anymore. Even so, with all the money we had to pay for inspections and such (yes, we had to pay for all that shit), we just didn't have the money to have it repaired.

He failed us because of the kitchen tiles. To this day, I still don't see how that is a health issue. When he came back months later, he approved the kitchen wall, but was about to fail us again for the screen door in the back of the house. He said he must have missed it the last time. It was pretty banged up, but damn. That mother fucker was starting to piss me off! I asked him if I just removed the screen door, would that be sufficient enough to pass his ridiculous inspection. His reply, "Yeah, I guess." I took it off while he stood his dumb ass there and watched.

There are hundreds, maybe even thousands, of foster children waiting to be placed in safe, loving homes. Meanwhile good people who would give those children what they need are being subjected to bullshit. I understand that there are some people who are mean to these children and who only do it for the money. But it was clear to anyone with half a brain that we weren't those people. The hubs is a cop, as I've mentioned before and I am a stay-at-home mom. We have three (now four) children who are thriving and healthy and happy. They know this because they interviewed our children and scrutinized their school and medical records. Not only that, but we weren't trying to foster multiple children, just this child. So no, we weren't in it for the money. Besides, if they think that little monthly stipend is enough to raise a child, they are sorely mistaken. And just plain dumb as fuck.

This experience has succeeded in achieving one major thing: we will never do foster care again. It's sad that they are pushing good people away because there are so many children that still need homes. But that's it for me. I've saved one child, which is more than lots of other people can say.

She'll be 18 in five months, but she still has two years of high school to go. She was moved around in foster care so much because of her anger issues, that she fell behind in school. It's a shame because that girl is smart as a whip.

I was so looking forward to my kids moving the hell outta my house once they had turned 18.

Damn.

I just depressed myself.

I'll be back with part two, Handyman Sucks Donkey Balls, tomorrow. In the meantime, I'm going to replenish my vodka stash and cry about how half my life is gone and I have yet to do anything with it.

It's five o'clock somewhere, right?