where there is smoke.

I struggled with writing this one. Likely because I don’t want to create a label for a kiddo. However, it is probably important for someone out there to know that this is something that happens. I know I really make this foster parent gig look glamorous already. The truth is the truth, and sometimes you just can’t get the pig to hold still long enough for adequate lipstick application. ha.

So thanksgiving evening, I’m sitting, enjoying a break between emotional meltdowns of the female teenage variety, when I get a text from Mr. Gatsby. In true Mr. Gatsby fashion, every conversation has to be drawn out with as little detail as possible provided in each response to questions. His first message, “What’s her name broke a candle.” Ummm, ok. The next message, “Told her to toss it on the garbage can outside.” Ok, I’ll bite. Now I want to know what is going on. There has to be more to this because I’m not sure I needed to know that a candle is broken or that it is going in the trash. (Mr. Gatsby is mostly a need to know type of conversationalist.) He follows up my question with, “Idk what she did but she broke a candle and burned something.” So now we are getting someplace. We probably could have led with something alerting me to the fact that there may be a fire in the house. Or not. So I continue on with the game of 20 questions. He comes back with, “I smelled the smoke and went into the bathroom.” Ummm hmmmm…. “Didn’t find anything burning.” I head down the steps and see Sneaky Sweet Tooth headed for the trash bins outside. She is clearly disposing of the broken candle. Great. Nothing to see here, right? I check the bathroom only to find ash all over the place. As I’m cleaning the floor, I ask Sneaky what the deal is and of course, she has no idea. I’m not sure why everyone feels the need to treat me like I’m operating with a minimal amount of brain cells. It is what it is. I clean it all up, collect every match and lighter in the house I can find and move on.

Upstairs, the screaming coming from Daytime Emmy Nominees room has restarted. She is clearly in the middle of a very upsetting disagreement with her significant other. This happens a lot. By a lot, I mean every 12 hours or so. Great, I’m so glad she has found her way back to this one after what I’d estimate was a 12 hour break up period. Anyway, I’m dealing with that, and hubby still smells something burning and heads back down the steps to investigate. At this point everyone down there can smell the smoke, Sneaky has herself blocked in the bedroom, and it has become more than obvious that something sinister is going on in there. Hubby gets entry into the room, sees more ash on the bed and starts the search, which at some point leads him to under the bed where a rolled up and crumpled piece of paper is burning.

As there is a first for everything, this is indeed a first for us. Although now I guess it’s a second based on the earlier bathroom candle incident. I’m so blessed. This is going to require yet another call to the agency emergent line. As I’m writing this, I should probably put all those numbers on my speed dial list, eh? Each office has a different number and I have cases out of Pontiac, Flint and Port Huron. At any rate, I call, and the luck caseworker on call is also the brand new caseworker for Sneaky. That poor girl is in for a baptism by fire here. I believe she is new to the job just based on her chipper and upbeat tone, so she hasn’t been chewed up by the job and spit out yet. She of course has no idea what to do, as this is something she hasn’t ever experienced. (Same, girl. Same.) This scenario is a “call my supervisor” type of incident. So I wait. And I wait. And I wait. After about 20 minutes, which I use to clean myself up and change back out of my pajamas, (because I am pretty sure I know this is going to result with me heading out to someplace I don’t particularly want to go), the still very upbeat caseworker calls me back. She suggests I head to a hospital with Sneaky for an evaluation to determine if she is “homicidal or suicidal”. I told her I was happy to meet her at a halfway point, but that I was not willing to sit in a hospital all night long to be sent right back home with a child that has just set two fires in the house. Hard no for me. She tells me that sitting there is, “kinda my job.” While I would agree with that in most situations, I remind her that I asked for a respite placement months ago, was told there was someplace until last Thursday afternoon. I asked again for respite on Sunday. No follow through and no call back. So, I’m sorry, no, I will not be sitting in the emergency room all night during my vacation. Her tone is a little less upbeat now.

Armed with a plan, I go to let Sneaky know to dress for the weather and that we would be leaving. Shocker, she is AWOL. I feel like we’ve done this before. I realize at 15 years old, you feel like you’re invincible. That said, I’m also sure that I would have thought that out a little better before I wrapped a blanket around myself and headed out into the pitch black night in the middle of nowhere, in the snow. I likely would have also shut off life360 so that I wouldn’t be found out within a minute or two. But hey, what do I know? Hubby and I track her down to find her on the phone with 911 because she is “lost”. She is also directly around the corner, again, with life360. I take over the call with the 911 operator. She is clearly confused and looking for the address as to where we are staying. Yeah…. again, sadly not born yesterday, I’m not giving that up and respond with, “I’m in a rental and I don’t know the address right now.” That seems to satisfy her and we wrap up the call and head an hour and twenty minutes to meet the no longer so upbeat worker.

Now that I have Sneaky Sweet Tooth’s phone, I’m retaining custody. I am convinced based on the way the week has gone, that she is up to all sorts of crazy she should not be. Based on a quick scan of the phone, I’ve confirmed the suspicion. As I’m looking, Sneaky is screaming and flopping all over the back of the car, breaking one of the arm rests on the seat. Then, because this isn’t dramatic enough, she opens the door and motions to jump out. Hubby hits the brakes, tries to reason with her and the door closes again. I bet this thanksgiving I’m thankful for a lot of things most people aren’t. Like children not leaping from my moving car on the highway. Just me? Yeah, I thought so.

Sneaky eventually falls asleep. (Thankful for that, too.) An hour later, we meet the worker, and I sent in my written notice for a 14 day removal request. Fire starting is on our list of HARD NO’s with a placement, along with abusing animals. I am apparently totally ok with being abused myself. Probably something else I should explore with a therapist. Also one of those things I’m sure I’m never going to do. I’m not a “talker” any more than I am a “hugger.”