Scrutiny Revisited: Is Your Pad (Still) Up to Snuff?

Note:  the names, identities, and personal details of the foster children and social workers have been changed to protect their identities

A visit to our home by a social worker requires a certain amount of preparation, and it brings with it a certain amount of swearing stress.  As we mentioned in our previous post Is Your Pad Up to Snuff, there are 76 points of stupidness safety that foster parents must obey.  So when we heard that Kidsave had arranged for a County social worker, Lyla, to visit our abode this past Tuesday to make sure our pad is still up to snuff, we complained loudly rejoiced.

You might recall the visit earlier this year from crazy well-informed agency social worker, Hattie.  During Hattie’s visit, she provided us with numerous migraines opportunities to improve.  We quickly reviewed Hattie’s list in anticipation of Lyla’s visit.

Rule 1:  Toxins, pesticides, paint, bleach, cleanser, nail polish remover, disinfectants, cleaning solutions, and any other items which could pose a danger to children must be locked up. 

We failed this rule when Hattie did our pre-inspection inspection, prompting us to question whether or not keeping our house clean is really that big of a deal.  We wondered:  would Lyla go through every single cabinet and drawer?

Rule 2:  Knives, scissors, and any other sharp objects must be locked up.

This beauty of a rule made dinnertime into cranky-time whenever we had to cut, chop, slice, or dice anything.  We tried to stash one small steak knife and a pair of relatively dull scissors under a bunch of spatulas, but that Hattie – she can smell blades a mile away.  Given that we’re mentoring and not fostering, would we have to go back to cranky-time?

Rule 3:  Frozen foods are properly wrapped, dated, and rotated. 

This part of our inspection culminated in the knowledge that soup does not constitute a snack, even in an emergency.  As such, we got orders from Hattie to purchase crackers.  We’re rules girls, so we did – and we still have those crackers, which we proudly displayed at the front of the cupboard for Lyla’s inspection (and/or consumption).

Rule 4:  All medications (including over the counter meds, prescriptions, inhalers, vitamins) and all alcohol must be under lock and key.

So while we had foster kids in the house, we put our meds under lock and key and our alcohol way up high. Not good enough.  But since we haven’t had kids in the house for some time, our alcohol now lives on the counter and our meds live… on the counter.  We decided we’d offer Lyla a glass of wine and perhaps a vitamin or two in the hopes she wouldn’t notice.

Rule 5:  All medications given to a foster child, whether prescription or over the counter, are logged into the child’s medical record each and every time the medication is given.  Logs will be turned into social workers weekly.

Although this particular rule is not applicable, it does touch on the mountains of paperwork required when dealing with foster kids.  We anticipated more forms and more forms about forms.

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Lyla arrived on Tuesday afternoon at 2pm.  If Sarah Jessica Parker and Julia Louis-Dreyfus had a baby, it’d be Lyla.  This made us feel very tall.  And big-boned.  And very not-funny.

“How about a tour?” Lyla requested.

“THERE’S ALL OUR WINE,” we loudly proclaimed, pointing in the general direction of the kitchen. What were we doing?!  “Actually, that’s not ALL of our wine,” we stupidly continued.  “We have other wine in one of the cabinets.”  Pease, someone, shut us up!   Lyla leaned around the corner and peered at our wine rack.  “Well, that’s handy,” she said.  Handy.  Handy?  We like this girl!  “Would you like some?” we offered.  She shook her head “no.”  Too far.  Okay.  “But the coffee smells good,” she said.  We were brewing coffee.  Suddenly, that seemed weird.  “I love that you have the coffee pot next to the wine rack,” she observed.  “Handy.”  Again with the handy.  Were we awesome or dorks?  We couldn’t tell.  But we knew we were tall.  Very tall. 

Lyla didn’t open a single cabinet.  She didn’t look in the fridge.  She asked if we had a first aid kit.  “We do!  It’s HUGE.  Not because we need it.  Just because it has stuff for our dogs,” we rambled.  “Like almost more for the dogs than for us,” we joked.  Shut up!  “No…  We were kidding.  It has mostly stuff for us and a few things for the dogs.  Do you want to see it?”  She didn’t need to see it.  “We also have a 3-story safety ladder,” we zealously informed her.  She looked confused.  “But this house is one story.”  It’s like we had verbal diarrhea.  “Do you have any guns in the house?”  We laughed.  Hard.  She waited.  Oh, she’s serious.  “No,” we said, very seriously.  She nodded.  “Okay.  How about we sit down and talk?”  Talk? 

We ventured back to the living room and sat down.  “That’s a big TV,” she said.  We do have a big TV.  “Do you watch a lot of TV?”  “No.”  We looked at each other.  “Yes, we do.  We watch a lot of TV.”  She smiled.  “Me, too.”  Whew!

We spent the next hour giving Lyla a sense of who we are and what we like to do.  She wanted to know our plans for mentoring our Kidsave kid.  She asked about our family, our friends, our community of people who might be a good influence, who might have a positive impact, who might make a difference in the life of our Kidsave kid.  She met our dogs.  She had a cup of coffee.  She told us that on weekends when the child is around, we’d need to put away the alcohol and lock up the meds and make sure our place was safe for him – physically and emotionally.  She marveled at our foster history and empathized with our still-present grief. 

In a nutshell, Lyla treated us like two adults.  She treated us like two adults who have enough practical knowledge to mentor – if not foster – a child.  And she treated us like two adults who want to make a difference in a kid’s life. 

“Are you still open to fostering and adopting?” she asked.  “Yes!” we said.  “We are.  We absolutely are.  Whether it’s a Kidsave kid or not.”  She nodded.  “Good,” she said.  “I’m glad to hear it.”

As she shook our hands goodbye, she smiled.  “Whomever you get matched with – they’re lucky,” she said.  “I’d want to be mentored by you.”  And then she was gone.

We looked at each other.  “Our pad is totally up to snuff,” we decided.  And then we celebrated with a glass of wine.  And a coffee chaser.