Protective Custody
Today I challenge the maze of "Protective Custody" to see about arranging all or part of Winter Vacation with the GKs, as well as attempting to get updates on the bureactratic investigation. It sure is scary stuff. Hubs and I decided to give up on consulting Daddy on the subject. Mamma remains a closed door to us. Consulting her directly never has been an option for us. We feel like our son has been punished for our efforts each time he has returned with the list of offenses within those efforts. Since the children were taken into protective custody, our son has been far more husband than father. I love you, my son, but your husbandly business is not mine to sort. There are things a mother should never know about her son. Of course we will keep him in the loop but coordination between the two sets of grandparents feels too complicated already, even without the on-going couple drama. Yes, we will keep him updated, but the latest list of ego-centric complaints from his wife is not helpful in the planning process. We get ^it^, Son. The love of your life doesn't like us. Part of me wants to worry that he doesn't seem to have any complaints of his own, but. . . Repeat. . . That is his to sort. Ours to sort is where do the children fit into this? CPS seems to believe the unborn child should be included in that particular question. The parents are due to be evicted from their current apartment shortly after she is born in January. Hubs and I have not been asked yet, but we have decided we are not going to finance their relocation this time. I find myself calling the unborn granddaughter, "Freya," just to make her more real in my mind and heart. There, too, we have precious little information about the child.
The first of the phone calls were shuffled to voice mail. It is still rather early in the day. Small steps, big faith and lots of prayer.
Been moving rocks again. The two projects currently underway are a rock splash pad for the repurposed utility sink in the tinker's den and the play area beneath the tire swing next to the back door of the house. I like moving literal rocks when my life gets metaphorically rocky.
Replies
I can't help admiring the clarity of your thinking and sorting in this chaotic situation. Keep repeating and telling apart what is yours to sort and what isn't.
I love the name "Freya"... norse Goddess of Love.
I hope the hard physical work helped you and that it gave you satisfaction - I always feel it's good to actually see what I've done.
Sending you lots of support and gentle hugs...
Thank you, Beatha. I honestly don't know if I am making a lick of sense of all this, or knot. The outside validation helps.
Hyper-active wench that I am, my nervous energy needs channeling. It burns holes in my gut when I don't channel that nervous energy. The soil is soft enough and the air temps are prime for rock moving. There is no shortage of rocks on this ranch.
For now, the name is just a personal thought to help me process the presence of the unborn child. Whatever her name after she is born, she doesn't deserve to be a taboo topic and she is in her 33rd week of gestation. We learned about her from the caseworker who placed the children in protective custody.
Sending you lots of support ((((Arfie))))
& a Big hug <3
(and yes you sound like you’re making sense to me cause you’re speaking from your heart & that makes sense)
Grazi. Missy. Still waiting on returned calls. Sigh. . .
Wow, I love the rock metaphor. You are wise and skilled at sorting through the struggles and difficulties and while I understand the nervous energy, you are handling life and all it’s complexities and it’s very encouraging. Hugs and prayers as you sort through it all.
Arfie, you are a 'bulldozer' when life comes at you, pushing and pulling to find the 'sort' of place the 'it' needs to be...
Prayers for your Highest Good...
Nobody returned phone calls yesterday. There is still plenty of time, so. . . No big. . .
Got a blockage in my gut that is giving me fits. Ouchie papa!!! Painful, but no big surprise. I'm calling it, "A stress knot." Just work it out. Easy does it.
Why would anybody call me a bulldozer?
Zoom zoom.