the captive.

It has become painfully obvious to me that the foster care journey I chose for myself, has made me a prisoner in my house. I’m 45 years old, I know, you’re shocked. (No one is more shocked than I am, trust me.) Basically all of my friends are at a point in their lives where they have an empty nest, or if not, the ability to travel about freely. This quick trip to Marquette reminded me that I’m not like everyone else, and no matter how many times I attempt venturing out on my own, the outcome is sadly, always the same shit show. 

On the evening of February 13th, I handed over a cell phone to Daytime Emmy Nominee. She hasn’t had one in years, for a wide variety of reasons. Attempting it again has been a conversation for months. It was discussed with caseworkers and eventually we all agreed to allow her the phone, with restrictions, and take baby steps towards the full responsibility that would come with it. There was to be accommodations in her safety plan for the phone. That safety plan has yet to materialize.  I’m not sure why that bothers me so much. Daytime Emmy Nominee could not give a flaming rats behind what the safety plan said anyway. Much like a restraining order, a safety plan is really a useless piece of paper in this particular relationship. 

Since the phone has come back into the fold, it’s been used each day to gripe at me about something. I’m already aware that everything that happens to each of the little pumpkins in my house is entirely my fault. I don’t require constant text reminders. I also don’t need to spend my day engaged in some argument about how awful it is to be you, with no chores, and no actual responsibilities. Let’s be honest here, the most taxing part of your time awake, is deciding which pair of shoes work better with whatever pair of pajama pants you’re wearing out in public that day. (Could someone PLEASE enforce the dress code at school?)

Last night, the complaint was the screen time lock out on the cell phone. The same restriction that was agreed to as part of the condition of having the phone. Having it all day and then to be expected to put it down at 10pm on a school night is, of course, unreasonable. Begging me for the code, from one day to the next, to turn off restrictions, isn’t at all grating on my nerves. Nope. I can’t imagine any better way to spend my day. I’m so happy to have done this to myself. Again. *insert eyeroll here*

The request for the screen time passcode, that she woke me up at 11:50pm to ask for, was denied. The word “no” is always greeted with such acceptance, so I’m sure you already know how this is going to play out. I told her I was going back to bed. At some point, after I had fallen asleep, she texts to tell me that she “can’t stay home and she is leaving”. So at 4am, I see her texts, inform Hubby, and track her down. She has somehow managed to get her fanny all the way out to Warren. Of course. Better yet, she assures me she will be home by 10am because she doesn’t want to wake anyone up. Uhhhh, I’m sorry, say what? I can’t even adequately express with words how lucky she and I both are that I am a plane ride away. I have no words. She is in Warren. WARREN!

What’s better than hiding out in Warren? Being driven there by an adult, who is knowingly harboring a runaway right this minute. I guess there are several conversations I will be having today. Can’t wait to see how this all plays out. 

I am 45 and I can’t leave my house. Reality bites.