The post from last night was a reaction to all our Christmas party goings-on. When we began adopting, we thought that telling just our closest friends was enough, we didn't want thousands of people asking us, just dozens, blah blah blah. As a result, we've had some explaining to do when we show up with a child. And the ladies at Huck's preschool! What a bunch of biddies. Things I thought would be kept in confidence between me and the director regarding our safety cnocerns are all over the school. I didn't share much, but I did have to tell the director that NO ONE other than The Hub or I should ever be allowed to pick him up, call the police if someone tries. Because of the added paperwork, it was fairly clear that he's in foster care. Blech.

Yes, Margaret, it is fun. Muzzling my inner June Cleaver is good. Welcome back, Calamity Jane.

Yesterday was our monthly foster parent meeting (through the agency), and it was held at an indoor playground. Two hundred foster kids might not sound like most people's idea of a good time, but I loved it. It was surreal to recognize so many kids from the state photolisting, I'll admit. However, they were kids being kids. Foster kids or not, they run, jump, play, laugh, chow down on pizza and fruit punch, and open Angel Tree presents just the same as any child. At one point, a little girl got the wind knocked out of her, and she laid on the floor for about twenty minutes while she recovered. She recovered without too much intervention, don't worry, but in a way it was nice to see the nearest thirty adults rush to her and care for her. I know this little girl, and three months ago, there's a good chance no one would have acted if she'd been bleeding from the head, but in this environment, even though she doesn't really belong to any of us, she's all of ours.

More happy news for the foster family Huckle was with for a week while we did visitation with him: they've taken placement of two brothers, ages 7 months and 15 months. Their future is uncertain, of course, but if they aren't reunified, they'll stay with this family. Yay for the "one child, one placement" motto and seeing it (potentially) work out.

And now for the "Learning Self-Control" portion of my post. On Thursday, we have another foster parent meeting and holiday party. Present at this one will be the foster family that had Huckle for eight days, then threw him out. They said that Huckle was unadoptable, wild, cruel, non-verbal, and that the only way they'd keep him is if he were put on a variety of medications. Huck's social worker told them to, um, Blow Her, that Huck was traumatized from being removed from his mother again, and to give him time. The next day they basically put him out on the front step with three t-shirts and a pair of shorts and said, "Come get him out of here." I met these people last month, but I didn't know they were That Family until the next day when Good Foster Mom called me (she'd been at the meeting too, her hubby is the president of the group). How do I keep from punching them in the face? Should I request his toothbrush and the toys they didn't send along with him? Maybe ask for the package of pullups they kept? Inquire about the emergency clothing allowance they received? Really, I'm leaning toward punching them in the face, though.

And regarding trauma: I'm still sort of waiting for Huckle to melt down. He's been through so much, how can he maintain? Admittedly, I have no firsthand experience of what it is like to go through what he's been through -- maybe repression of memories is the best for him now -- but I'm waiting for something to happen. Maybe this is still a honeymoon phase, though he doesn't seem to have any trouble stating his mind. Maybe I was just prepared for so much worse that I don't yet believe that this is how things are.