That's really how I feel. Humiliated. Ashamed. DCF (Department of Children and Families) came by today to "investigate" my youngest's escapades the other morning. She came by right after lunch. The dirty lunch dishes were all over the counter, the laundry I needed to fold was piled on the loveseat, and, since all three kids were home today, the living room and bedrooms were liberally strewn with toys.
She comes by and we show her the locks we installed on the windows. The three locks on the front door, the two locks and bar on the patio door, the lock on the screen door to the patio, and the gate in the backyard. The safety lock on every door, drawer and cabinet in the house. She takes pictures of these things. She asks us questions, "Do you have any mental health problems?" "Do you have any substance abuse issues?" "How do you discipline your children?" Then she takes my 7 you (who, for some reason, was listed as a "victim" to our "neglect" even though he was in school at the time) into his room and asks him questions without us present. I asked him after she left what they had talked about and he "couldn't remember." Which is the response I usually get from him when asking about anything more than five minutes old, so I know better than to push it. But I really wanted to know!
Then she says she's not even our case worker, she's just here to file the initial report and we'll be hearing from our actual caseworker sometime soon.
Great. Another "surprise" visit to dread and agonize over.
And I was starting to feel better today.
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Today's picture is of youngest again, swinging on the playset in my parent's backyard in Texas. You can tell it's in Texas because everything is brown, instead of green like here in Florida.
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