That question should have been our first clue that we were in deeper than we ever thought we'd be. We were sitting with the social workers from DCF and discussing the progress of our foster son's case. We had been informed before he was ever placed in our home that his father was dangerous. But he was in prison, we reasoned. And there was going to be a court order preventing our identifying info from ever being released to him. How would he find us when he didn't even know our names? Naivety, thou art cruel. Find us, he did, when he was released from prison. He called us to try to rattle our cage and now we live life assuming we are constantly being watched. We had already installed a video security system the week before he was released from prison. Two giant dogs named Cujo and Beast are our front line of protection. And yet we don't feel safe. How do you protect your family from a sociopath? Our stress levels are through the roof, our patience is razor thin, and we both are ready to crawl into a hole and never come out. But we've got the two most precious children in the world who keep us going. We had to each find something to help keep us relatively sane. I found baking.
I bake for bake sales, I bake for coworkers, I bake for family, but mostly I bake for me. It calms me, it helps me to focus my brain on the numbers/measurements of ingredients instead of on the nightmare of the day. Listening to the whir of the mixer and watching the batter flow in waves from a bowl to a pan is enthralling. I also dabble in cooking. But it doesn't appeal to me as much as baking. I love to create beautiful swirls of frosting, moist cakes, and crispy cookies. I just don't get the same satisfaction when cooking up parsnips or grinding pepper in the mill. Oh, wait. Takesy-backseys. Pepper grinding provides relief as I envision myself grinding up all of our problems, gathering their particles into a neat, little pile and then blowing them off into the air. Whoosh! Gone.
I've decided to start this blog as another stress reliever. I tend to spend WAY too much time analyzing everything with the kids' cases. Are their parents doing what they need to in order to get them back? Is DCF going to move them to a different home if I don't tow the line and go along with every stupid thing? Am I going to get to keep my Peanut Brittle? Am I going to get to keep The Boy? The little boy who has been in the middle of a giant tug-o-war for far too many years. I plan on posting random recipes, musings on the foster care system, and pictures of giant dogs and naked cats. And praising the existence of my exhausted husband without whom I would never have made it through the last few years of this craziness. Join me on the roller coaster. Remember, you have to throw your hands up in the air and scream as you ride. It's the only way to get through it.
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