More Chickens, Less Counting

Once again, Justice's attorney has saddled up her horse, hitched up her lance and ridden to the rescue.

I'm sure she appreciates that visual as much as I do.

The word is that Sue, the attorney, has worked with Social Worker Nancy Souza (more impressive than climbing Everest in my revised opinion) and the letter from the therapist is now received, and the paperwork is being submitted and the goal of Justice transitioning to her father's over the coming Spring Break is one step closer.

Doesn't make it a reality, and we wouldn't advise holding your breath, but there it is.

We have more chickens, but we're not going to count them. We'll just let them run, uncounted, as God intended them to be.

Counting Your Chickens

Early last month, with a song in my heart, a dance in my step and visions of becoming the next Gene Kelly in my mind, I reported to you the optimistic news that Justice's new social worker, Social Worker Nancy Souza, seemed competent, capable and cogent of her responsibilities.

I have come to you today to appologize.

I was wrong.

Social Worker Nancy Souza is none of the things I had claimed.

I am shamed to show my face in public, and I'm considering a ten-yard sari and full burkha.

Update for the Week

With Justice's return to us on Sunday, and her subsequent meloncholly when her father and his fiancee left, we redeployed our efforts to make certain everyone was moving forward.

I called our new social worker, Nancy Souza, to see follow up from the call previously, where we agreed she would contact me the next week. That was two weeks ago.

I haven't yet relegated Nancy to the same status as our last stumbling block, Social Worker Dayle Kline, but I'm getting closer. I left a message, which to date hasn't been returned.

The next call I received in this saga was from Lil, saying that "an assistant" to Nancy had met with Justice and told her that Nancy was no longer her social worker.

A year ago, this might have sent me into a rage to rival that of a hundred-thousand Hulks. This was just another blip, since it's happened before and I figured was likely to happen again. Probably sooner than we could place bets.

I called a supervisor who had helped out previously, and she got me in touch with Nancy's supervisor, and gave me all the information I needed. Nancy was moving positions, but because our case had been handed around like a village bicycle she would keep the case with her. That may or may not be good news.

Nancy also had, apparently, made several calls to the therapist in order to get the letter needed to help file the interim ex patre-legaleeze-thingamajig. That's a bit odd, I thought, since the therapist had been more than helpful, flexible, and had even suggested that Justice was ready for the move.

Taking Justice to the therapist Monday fell to me, so I gathered up the information needed for the letter, and discussed it.

"That's odd," the therapist said. "I haven't received any calls."

"Hmmm . . . they said she'd called a number of times and didn't get a response. Maybe she was calling the wrong number."

In truth, I'm more willing to believe that Nancy hadn't called at all, and was simply CYA-ing herself. Perhaps I'm bitter, jaded and otherwise disguntled with the system.

Or maybe I'm just used to the incompetant status quo.