Broken, Nothing. Demolished!

Justice is dead.

Justice is sick.

Justice has run away.

Justice has broken her arm in eighteen peices, glued her head to the door, sold her soul to Satan and joined three different cults, all of which involve some form of Kool-Aid.

Any and all of these might have occured and the system, including Social Worker Dayle Kline, would not even know it. The fact that they haven't is, for the most part, just pure dumb luck on her part, and the watchfulness of a cross-bred German Shepherd and a security camera on our part. Yet we can't even get Social Worker Dayle Kline to call us back!

Yesterday, Justice asked Lillian, "Why hasn't Jonah visited me in awhile?"

For those of you not in the system, and count your lucky stars for that one, a foster child is supposed to be visited once every month to make certain he/she is well, being fed, clothed and not housed in a shed with wolves.

Yeah, I was as shocked as you are. What else are the wolves supposed to do at midnight?

"Jonah isn't your social worker anymore, Justice," Lillian replied.

"Oh."

Yeah, "oh" indeed. Social Worker Dayle Kline has had Justice's case for four freaking months and Justice has met her twice. Once because we brought Justice in over the whole loss of services back in November.

Which brings us to Part Two of this particular rant. Last week, Justice was complaining of some aches and pains and whatnot. We scheduled a doctor's appointment, fully confident that the system and Social Worker Dayle Kline had taken care of any and all issues to ensure and insure that Justice's health and well-being were first and foremost handled.

Wrong.

No, wait, that syntax and mechanics weren't strong enough. Let's try this:

WRONG!

Lillian got to the doctor's office, they swiped Justice's medical insurance card and it came back on hold. You may recall that we jumped through huge hoops and worked the phones like Republican Party incumbent pundits on a sinking platform ship. We were assured by everyone from God on down that this matter was handled and all things were well taken care of and well in hand.

WRONG!

We had to get an emergency release for Justice just to see the doctor, and while I was assured by Social Worker Dayle Kline that this matter would be handled and that she would call me back when all was well again, can you believe it?

No call back.

Feel free to insert any choice explitives, colorful metaphors or vulgarity as befits your station in life.

What this means, in addition to the lack of insurance, is that the money, which before wasn't really an issue, has now become an issue. Justice receives a stipend for clothing and food and whatnot, which is paid out in Lillian's name. It's not a lot, but it offsets the otherwise minimal impact that Justice has had on our budget.

We haven't received this since November.

So, here we are again, once more working the phones like crazed monkeys trained to punch numbers and chirp until something happens on the other end of the line.

And people wonder why there are half-a-million foster children stuck in the system?

Success

I'd love to open with some quip about my trip to Minnesota the first week of December, and link you to my other blog where I'd have a hilarious account of those events.

I'd love to, but I can't.

I decided to write this blog first while the events are somewhat fresh in my head. So many other things happened, that I have too much fodder for my other site that I may not get to the Minnesota trip until later in the year, if at all.

Suffice to say that I went to Minnesota as a buisness trip to meet my new boss and new team, and while I was away, Lillian was left with Justice, who had transformed into the Uber-Demon from the Lower Levels of Hell. We can fling blame and logical discourse on Justice's behavior until the quadrapeds come home, but the facts are that Justice is hard to handle with two of us around. When our numbers are divided, Justice, like any good psychological warrior, goes in for the kill. So, while in Minnesota, I received a call each night from Lillian, frustrated, upset and at her wits end about how to deal with Justice.

I suggested a burlap sack, a couple of cement weights and a deserted pier, but with housing prices the way they are, all three items are in short supply.

By the time I flew back to town, we had decided we would drop Justice off at her father's a little early, about a week, and thus save the County and taxpayers of Riverside time, effort and funding prosecuting us on any number of charges.

We got up early, even for us, and hit the road. This strategy had two attractive elements. First, traffic would be relatively light, and second, Justice was likely to sleep. Both paid out in spades. Traffic was reasonably light, even for Southern California, and Justice slept the entire ride up. This was a vast change from our other trips with her, wherein she would whine, scream, cry, cajole, whimper, simper, and otherwise attempt to make the trip utterly miserable.

So, almost completely without mishap, we drove up to Goshen, California, in the Fresno Valley, and dropped out little bundle of joy off at her father's house. Leaving her there was akin to a drowning victim suddenly realizing that if they cut the two ton weights from their legs, the chances of survival go up by an order of magnitude to say the least.

Lillian did a backflip.

I kid you not.

Ok, I kid you a little, but that's what it felt like. The sudden lack of a ten year-old, and the responsibility of a foster child became immediately and readily apparent. We went and watched a movie, one we didn't have to worry about the content for young eyes. We ate dinner, again, without having to worry if there would be something for Justice to eat. We bought snacks, without a thought toward if we would have to share or say no, and how to deal with either. There were no social workers, no family resource investigators, no police arresting me for kidnapping, no lawyers, advocates, judges or Grim Reapers standing over us and watching every move we make, every decision we take, every time-out Justice has to sit through.

On the other side, Justice's visit was more than a success. The only phone call, as heartwrenching as it might seem, from her was the day before we picked her up. She asked if she could stay longer. If it had been in our power, we would have let her, but we'd already paid for the hotel, and with family schedules leaving and coming to our house, along with school and work, it was just impossible.

But the titular success mentioned is that Justice was so thrilled at having brothers and sisters and aunts and uncles and grandparents and parents all within a one mile radius, and all heaping love and affection on her in gross-tonage amounts, that she is more than ready and willing to transition to her "real family" as she put it.

Yeah, there's a little knife twist there for Lillian and I. Something Justice may never come to understand.

On the other hand, watching my wife do backflips assuages some of that pain.