well, this is a fine day (no rain) cindi has already had me chauffeur her home because her son's truck is sitting at Spreckels' house with no gas and a dead ignition. Cedar the golden lab came along, she's babysitting him as well. Feeling very conflicted about the latest episode of foster kidding..this time the girls at the gallery have given me the business, so has the gal that runs the liquor store. One says that I am to have no more to do with fostering because the kids I get are a blight on the community (this latest one I discovered had a gallon of Bacardi tucked in my sewing trunk.) The gal at the liquor store thinks I should have just marched him over to the store and returned the bottle immediately but that's not what I did. This kid came to me with the proviso that his hand was bruised from ramming it into a wall. I advised myself to caution when discussing the matter and was proceeding with that plan. Having a sidekick with him most of the day did not enhance my caution, merely quieted it to a dull whisper. I thoroughly searched his room, found two empties, decided that he had actually been involved in the heist at the liquor store, debated calling the police immediately, went to my TOPS meeting and at 4 pm that afternoon, after his room had been totally overhauled, was preparing to bring him home for the great interrogation. He was, instead, already in the hands of the police. The cocky little policeman, one who once read me my Miranda rights over a missing ten dollar, asked me 'when I was planning to tell them (him, the police) about the alcohol in my house.
"Hmm," I said, "You must mean the gallon bottle of bacardi I found in my sewing trunk, huh?"
"were you planning on keeping it?" he asked point blank.
When someone comes at you with that kind of accusation, and bear in mind that the kid was a notable violence potential candidate, you forget to say, when he 'doesn't look like he's going to knock my block off' I'm going to deal with this. My plan was, because he'd already turned in a bottle of vodka found on the grounds of the art gallery next door, that perhaps he had this alcohol on his own, somehow. I didn't know, it was my intention to find out. There was a great potluck in an hour, our annual Christmas feast for the firehall crew. As it turned out, I didn't make that. Instead, the police came to my house, the Bacardi, the two empties were taken into custody and so was the foster son. He had started to call me "Mom". I never really did get a feel for this guy's personality, rather that he was some kind of 'cover' for himself. And with that in mind, my daughter read to me last night over the phone the comments that were made by the liquor store lady about 'certain parents in the community not wanting to come forward with evidence'...which is sitting like bile in the back of my throat. The whole experience was unfortunate and now I'm on the outs with the ladies at the gallery because of it. They told me in no uncertain terms they would not tolerate another foster child at my home because this one had stolen from them, cadged food, telling them I hadn't fed him.. That's the way it goes with these guys, they learn a certain set of behaviors and there's no stopping them in terms of how they exploit the caregivers assigned to them. That's probably not the worst of it either. They come with no resources, no clothing, no goods and services in hand, and in the words of the Port Angeles licensor, who sent me a spelled out list of what the monthly allotment the state provides for them is intended for...you're supposed to just wing it until their allotment comes. Supposing the kid took my last twenty bucks as a matter of form, along with the giant bag of cheese puffs that I had intended to share with him and a good movie...supposing I did feed and clothe him, chauffeur him to places he wanted to see, and did all I was supposed to do for him and then he robs the liquor store in the middle of the night while I am sound asleep. "But he's supposed to be supervised.." was the proviso...we knew that, not only was he registered as a pro forma matter of record, he was not allowed on school grounds according to the school principal, who apparently spent the entire week drumming up the injuction against his presence on the school grounds rather than getting him enrolled...which is what we had been working on the entire week before.
I can't really focus on where blame should lie in the situation. I want to say it's the usual cosmonaut bungo palace and trading suits is what they do. Thats what I want to believe but soehow it keeps coming back to the girls at the gallery and how they were in the house teaching him to cook while I was at a ladies' luncheon which took several hours and during which time he told me he would be at the library facebooking. I think I'm hating facebooking at this point. I'm supposed to be going out the door for a Christmas luncheon as I write this and after the disastorous luncheon previously...do I really want to do that. I've kind of let things go around the house, although the fire crackles nicely the chimney cap has imploded and needs to come off when the fire dies down. I'll have to get another one of those and I'll have to measure to see the size...thinking of daily routines and how this has disrupted my world, actually housing someone that committed a crime. Having it rubbed in my face by people I thought were my friends, who come over days later and ask for a ride home because they're stranded. Who give me a couple of bucks for being their maid and then ask me to get their coffee after I'm off the clock (for hours at a time they do this...) It's not really relevant, I help the one because she's done me plenty of good turns, I help the other because I've learned thanks to the likes of Herr Policeman dude that if one has a job, one keeps it no matter what, but in this regard, they've told me that I mustn't be a foster parent anymore and while I might have reached that conclusion on my own, being told to do so makes me dig in my heels and want to refuse. I doubt I'll have much say in the matter anyway. The roof leaks in both bedrooms now..I can't fix it myself and Julius is not here. The gallery girl's son is a a contractor but he ain't touching my projects. He's filling up the backyard next door with tons of dirt while my backyard sprouts Lake Crescent and Lake Sutherland, in addition to the Mississippi River!!
So, there it is, a few days before Christmas, my mother is sounding like there'll be no generous card from her with a check enclosed. I'm pretty sure she's not going to hand out presents to myself and my brother this year because she'll think she did and then she'll buy some more beer. She's gotta have money for that. She claims to have Parkinsons' but it's the morning after shakes that she's got. So that's not good but I think what really decided her about Christmas gifts was when I told her I think she's maybe turning into an alcoholic and I'll be happy to take her to AA. She got this venoumous look on her face, although we did take a trip to Neah Bay for a little jaunt, and closed her cover before striking, hehe...I'm pretty much resolved that last year was the end of Mother's generosity. That and the eighteen dollars the state wants to give me for keeping this little burglar and the sum of my Christmas holiday experiences is about moot...bah, humbug to all that. Won't be going in the liquor store ever again for boxes or whatever, not welcome there. Although that lady sold a bottle to a guy so drunk he drove down a street sign leaving the front of the store..she says 'legally she has to'..hehe, right..and I'm to be condemned for not confronting a brutal child without backup..she wouldn't want to hear my side of the story I'm sure..she has her opinion and she's stuck on it...As far as the gallery girls, well I know they're paid pretty good, they just went to see the Nutcracker in Seattle...and I know who pays them so their money is going right into their pockets and it seems they need more, somehow. Be nice if they took a trip to Oregon about now...I'm about done with them as well..which leaves me friendless and alone, staring at a little tree, watching the fire burn. I do think foster parenting is probably behind me..but not because they say I can't do it anymore, but because Ivar's clam chowder is finally ready (huh??)
"Hmm," I said, "You must mean the gallon bottle of bacardi I found in my sewing trunk, huh?"
"were you planning on keeping it?" he asked point blank.
When someone comes at you with that kind of accusation, and bear in mind that the kid was a notable violence potential candidate, you forget to say, when he 'doesn't look like he's going to knock my block off' I'm going to deal with this. My plan was, because he'd already turned in a bottle of vodka found on the grounds of the art gallery next door, that perhaps he had this alcohol on his own, somehow. I didn't know, it was my intention to find out. There was a great potluck in an hour, our annual Christmas feast for the firehall crew. As it turned out, I didn't make that. Instead, the police came to my house, the Bacardi, the two empties were taken into custody and so was the foster son. He had started to call me "Mom". I never really did get a feel for this guy's personality, rather that he was some kind of 'cover' for himself. And with that in mind, my daughter read to me last night over the phone the comments that were made by the liquor store lady about 'certain parents in the community not wanting to come forward with evidence'...which is sitting like bile in the back of my throat. The whole experience was unfortunate and now I'm on the outs with the ladies at the gallery because of it. They told me in no uncertain terms they would not tolerate another foster child at my home because this one had stolen from them, cadged food, telling them I hadn't fed him.. That's the way it goes with these guys, they learn a certain set of behaviors and there's no stopping them in terms of how they exploit the caregivers assigned to them. That's probably not the worst of it either. They come with no resources, no clothing, no goods and services in hand, and in the words of the Port Angeles licensor, who sent me a spelled out list of what the monthly allotment the state provides for them is intended for...you're supposed to just wing it until their allotment comes. Supposing the kid took my last twenty bucks as a matter of form, along with the giant bag of cheese puffs that I had intended to share with him and a good movie...supposing I did feed and clothe him, chauffeur him to places he wanted to see, and did all I was supposed to do for him and then he robs the liquor store in the middle of the night while I am sound asleep. "But he's supposed to be supervised.." was the proviso...we knew that, not only was he registered as a pro forma matter of record, he was not allowed on school grounds according to the school principal, who apparently spent the entire week drumming up the injuction against his presence on the school grounds rather than getting him enrolled...which is what we had been working on the entire week before.
I can't really focus on where blame should lie in the situation. I want to say it's the usual cosmonaut bungo palace and trading suits is what they do. Thats what I want to believe but soehow it keeps coming back to the girls at the gallery and how they were in the house teaching him to cook while I was at a ladies' luncheon which took several hours and during which time he told me he would be at the library facebooking. I think I'm hating facebooking at this point. I'm supposed to be going out the door for a Christmas luncheon as I write this and after the disastorous luncheon previously...do I really want to do that. I've kind of let things go around the house, although the fire crackles nicely the chimney cap has imploded and needs to come off when the fire dies down. I'll have to get another one of those and I'll have to measure to see the size...thinking of daily routines and how this has disrupted my world, actually housing someone that committed a crime. Having it rubbed in my face by people I thought were my friends, who come over days later and ask for a ride home because they're stranded. Who give me a couple of bucks for being their maid and then ask me to get their coffee after I'm off the clock (for hours at a time they do this...) It's not really relevant, I help the one because she's done me plenty of good turns, I help the other because I've learned thanks to the likes of Herr Policeman dude that if one has a job, one keeps it no matter what, but in this regard, they've told me that I mustn't be a foster parent anymore and while I might have reached that conclusion on my own, being told to do so makes me dig in my heels and want to refuse. I doubt I'll have much say in the matter anyway. The roof leaks in both bedrooms now..I can't fix it myself and Julius is not here. The gallery girl's son is a a contractor but he ain't touching my projects. He's filling up the backyard next door with tons of dirt while my backyard sprouts Lake Crescent and Lake Sutherland, in addition to the Mississippi River!!
So, there it is, a few days before Christmas, my mother is sounding like there'll be no generous card from her with a check enclosed. I'm pretty sure she's not going to hand out presents to myself and my brother this year because she'll think she did and then she'll buy some more beer. She's gotta have money for that. She claims to have Parkinsons' but it's the morning after shakes that she's got. So that's not good but I think what really decided her about Christmas gifts was when I told her I think she's maybe turning into an alcoholic and I'll be happy to take her to AA. She got this venoumous look on her face, although we did take a trip to Neah Bay for a little jaunt, and closed her cover before striking, hehe...I'm pretty much resolved that last year was the end of Mother's generosity. That and the eighteen dollars the state wants to give me for keeping this little burglar and the sum of my Christmas holiday experiences is about moot...bah, humbug to all that. Won't be going in the liquor store ever again for boxes or whatever, not welcome there. Although that lady sold a bottle to a guy so drunk he drove down a street sign leaving the front of the store..she says 'legally she has to'..hehe, right..and I'm to be condemned for not confronting a brutal child without backup..she wouldn't want to hear my side of the story I'm sure..she has her opinion and she's stuck on it...As far as the gallery girls, well I know they're paid pretty good, they just went to see the Nutcracker in Seattle...and I know who pays them so their money is going right into their pockets and it seems they need more, somehow. Be nice if they took a trip to Oregon about now...I'm about done with them as well..which leaves me friendless and alone, staring at a little tree, watching the fire burn. I do think foster parenting is probably behind me..but not because they say I can't do it anymore, but because Ivar's clam chowder is finally ready (huh??)
