Goin' to the Dentist

Anyone involved in foster care knows that there are multiple required appointments that often times make no sense.  My personal favorite is the mandatory dental visits for all children over 6 months of age.  "Yes, Dr. Dentist, I realize my baby has no teeth and eats nothing but formula and rice and will flat out refuse to open his mouth for you, but CPS requires that I bring him to your office to pretend to have his bi-annual check-up regardless."  Because let's be honest...  That dentist most likely isn't going to get a decent look into your infant's mouth during that first visit.

My kiddos' reactions to the dentist have been all over the place.  We started with 16-year-old Angel who I don't think had ever been to the dentist before.  Poor girl was terrified, but after a bit of "happy juice," some laughing gas, and much bribing on my part, she finally made it into the chair for her x-rays.  Yep.  That was just for the x-rays!  She eventually became an old pro after lots of fillings and a root canal.  Not fun (to say the least), but she got some healthier teeth out of the deal, and finally started showing her teeth when she smiled.  I think it was well worth it.  Or course, she might not see it that way.  ;-)

Twelve-month-old Little Miss never even made it past the lobby.  We were the first appointment of the day and the only patient there at the time.  The "dentist" (and I use that term loosely) walked into the reception area, sat in a chair across from me in the waiting room, asked me if I brush her teeth (to which I replied, "of course"), told her she was pretty, and then left...  Never to be seen again.  Your tax money at work...  Don't you feel all warm and fuzzy now?

Booger Bear was a riot at the dentist.  That kid loved to brush his teeth, and he was so excited about his second bi-annual exam.  At 16 months old, Booger walked into the dentist office, marched straight up to the receptionist desk, and said, "Teeth, peace."  (Translation, "I'm here for you to brush my teeth, please." :-)  When the dental assistant called his name, he completely left his gimpy Mimi behind (I was still hobbling around in a fracture boot after having broken my leg) and ran off with her!  I slowly made my way to the back to find my toddler flirting with not one, but three dental assistants.  The dentist came and he smiled big and showed her his teeth.  He was all smiles and happy...  until she put the toothbrush in his mouth and began brushing with what was apparently the wrong kind of toothpaste.  The moment was ruined, and Booger Bear was simply a bear until we got home and I let him brush his teeth with the "right" toothpaste.

All of this rambling was actually to build up to the week before Monkey went to live with his daddy, and I took him for his first dental visit.  I felt the need to document it because, well, HO-LEE MO-LEE!!!  While it will probably come back to haunt me in my nightmares, I figured I might as well get it down in writing to allow others to experience the craziness of that one hour visit as well.  Misery loves company.  You are welcome.  :-)

It began innocently enough...  Monkey was thrilled silly that I picked him up from daycare early, and chattered away the whole way to the dentist office.  I pulled out the umbrella stroller, strapped him in, and headed inside.  I should have known it wasn't going to go well.  The second Monkey spotted a woman in scrubs, he lost it.  Trying to escape the stroller, huge tears welling up in his eyes, sobbing...  We had just had a few traumatizing visits at the doctor, so he was in the "people in those clothes hurt you" mode.  I was able to coax him out of the stroller to play in the waiting room long enough to fill out all of the paperwork (You know the forms.  The ones that ask you all about the pregnancy, birth questions, etc. that you have to answer with "Great question!  I have no idea."), and the "Scary Scrub Ladies" intentionally stayed out of sight hoping Monkey would forget they were there.  :-)

Then the dental assistant came for us, and the tears started again.  I decided to hold Monkey while we went into a windowed screening room for our "teeth cleaning lesson."  After so many little ones, I've been through that same lesson many times before.  It makes me laugh every time.  "Brush in a circular motion..."  Blah, blah, blah.  Sweetie, I know you're just doing your job by telling me this, but have you ever actually been able to "brush in a circular motion" on a teething toddler's teeth?  Trust me, I'm doing good to get the toothbrush in the mouth before he clamps down on it and I have to wiggle it back and forth, side to side in order to get it out.  That's as good as it's gonna get!

At this point, Monkey was beginning to do really well.  Scary Scrub Lady was sitting on the opposite side of the desk, and made no move to touch him.  He seemed to be making friends with the receptionist on the other side of the window as he blew her kisses, smiled, and waved.  That's when he overheard Scary Scrub Lady ask me "What kind of snacks does he eat?"  Monkey's head whipped around so fast I'm surprised he didn't get whiplash!  "Nack???  Nack???  Nack???"  Clearly a word he recognized, and suddenly Scary Scrub Lady wasn't so scary anymore.  :-)

We made our way back to the exam room with Monkey's new entourage (by then, he was eating up all of the attention from the ladies).  That's when he caught sight of what were clearly "medical type instruments," and that bottom lip went out.  The dentist came in and sat down to talk to me.  He eyed her warily, but didn't cry. That is, he didn't cry until she made the grievous error of touching him in order to look in his mouth.  There was no getting him back after that.  He freaked out to the point of hyperventilation.  No amount of gifts or bribery could convince him that everything was going to be okay.  He screamed non-stop bloody murder for the remainder of the visit.  Fortunately, they couldn't get us out of there fast enough after that.  ;-)

So that was my good deed for the year.  Taking Monkey to the dentist so his daddy wouldn't have to do it...

As crazy as I think it is having to take infants to the dentist, at least I think I've finally found one that I like!  Even if they did practically lock the door behind us when we left.  :-)

Featured!!!

Very exciting!  Gail over at Upbeats and Downbeats contacted me yesterday and asked if she could do a post featuring my latest "You Know You're a Foster Parent When..." 

It's always an honor when anyone acknowledges your writing, whether it's a deep, meaningful post, or one filled with snarky humor.  I try to keep a good balance around here.  :-)

If you haven't checked out Upbeats and Downbeats, you should run over there and look around.  Gail is a single bio, foster, and adoptive mom with fantastic advice and parenting strategies, especially when it comes to parenting children who come from hard places and have special needs.

Thank you so much, Gail, for the feature!  It is very much appreciated.  :-)

You Know You're a Foster Parent When... - Part Three

After 3 1/2 years in Foster/Adopt Land, I am constantly coming across more "You Know You're a Foster Parent Whens..."  :-)   Enjoy!
You know you're a foster parent when:

• Your first reaction to potential real estate investments is something along the lines of "OMG!  Do you know how many kids I could fit in there?!?"  

• You have more children than available vehicle seating.

• You feel like a rebellious teenager when you leave the Tums in your unlocked medicine cabinet (in between placements, of course ;-).

• You are called to your child's school to meet with the principal because Little Timmy has been continuously loud, disruptive, and won't sit still in class, and you are secretly thinking, "You Go, Timmy!!!  Good for you!!!" and planning how best to praise him when you get home because last month he was throwing furniture and hitting the teacher.  

• You're intentionally vague when questioned about your children by random strangers simply because you get a good chuckle out of watching them squirm.  "Is he your first?"  "No.  He's my 12th."  or  "Does she (your child of a very obviously different race) look like her father?"  "I don't really know.  I never saw him."  ;-)

• You visit a new church with your five children of different ethnicities, and the church "grandmas" secretly pray for you to find Jesus because they think you're loose.  ;-)

• You are on a first-name basis with your city's police officers, and you do your best to keep them happy (because chances are they'll be bringing one or more of your kids home late one night after getting into trouble if they haven't already.)

• The 3-month-old boy that you were expecting turns into a 3-week-old girl by the time they get to your door.

• You don't know how to spell, let alone pronounce your child's name.

• You know you're going to be in the restroom longer than 30 seconds, and you bring your monthly paperwork with you so you don't waste valuable time just sitting there.

• You know every pediatrician and specialist in your area that takes Medicaid, whether or not they are accepting new patients, their estimated waiting time for appointments, and the first names of all of their nurses and front office staff.

 

If you liked these, feel free to click the links to Part One and Part Two!

 

What about you?  Do you have any that you would add?  :-)

 

I've Got the Shakes

Yep...  You know that fostering is definitely your calling when you are chomping at the bit and ready for a new placement immediately after your last little one leaves you.  It's been 3 1/2 weeks since Monkey was returned to his daddy, and while I am absolutely loving my life right now, I have the "MUST HELP MORE CHILDREN" shakes.

I still haven't told my agency that I'm willing to take a new placement yet.  I'd like to be able to get into a bigger home so Monkey and the new little one (or big one(s)) will each have their own rooms.  The arrangement with Monkey and his dad is working out beautifully, so I definitely don't want to give that up.  But there's the whole, "I'm a foster parent.  There are other kiddos out there who really, really need someone like me to be there for them when their own parents can't be" thing.  I meet kids who I immediately want to take home with me and give them the kind of structure, consistency, love, and attention that they are so desperately needing.  I think of Little Miss and how badly she needed me, and it just kills me to think that there is another little one out there who is struggling.

When I look at Booger Bear and Monkey, I see that as flawed as the system is, foster care can work.  When I think of Little Miss and the huge strides she made in the little time that she was with me, I know that what I am doing for these kids matters.  It's important.  And as much as I miss being a Mama to my kiddos when they leave me, I know that I've done everything that I can to make their lives a little bit easier while everything else seems to be crumbling around them.

Now that Monkey is home with his daddy and is doing great in a good, loving situation, I really don't know what to do.  I think because I've only parented children from hard places, I'm not really sure how to parent any other way!  I've always had to advocate and fight for them every step of the way.  It's a very foreign feeling to not have to do that.  I feel like I should be doing something, but there's really nothing for me to do other than love on Monkey four days a week and spend time with the "Saturday Crew" as often as possible.

I definitely see myself moving into a bigger place sooner than I'd anticipated though.  I've got the "MUST HELP MORE CHILDREN" shakes, and I fear the only cure is to once again take the crazy roller coaster ride of emotions that is "foster care."

"Foster Friday" - Understanding the Love

I thought I would share this post that my mom wrote last week as this week's "Foster Friday."  Foster care affects so many people...  I am so blessed to have parents who make no distinction between biological and foster.  The children in our lives are simply their "grandchildren," and the pain of the losses are just as difficult for them as grandparents as they are for me as a mother.

I have been blessed with an amazing group of close family and friends who love my children.  These people have been pulled into the world of foster care, not on their own accord, but indirectly through me...  They suffer the loss of these children as much as I do, but they open their hearts over and over again because they love and care about me.

I think my mom explains the love that is involved with being a foster parent/foster family perfectly, and I hope that it helps put things into perspective for those people who might not fully understand.  In my mom's words, "...when a person becomes a foster parent they know that their lifetime with their child probably won't be 'forever.'  Yes they signed up for that.  It still doesn't make the pain of losing your child any less."

Thank you, Mom, for loving me and my kiddos so much.  And thank you for putting into words what I want to say (but in a nice way ;-).

"A Wish for Understanding and Compassion"