Bloggers Block

I hate that the last blog I wrote was about my dog pooping. It's embarrassing. Yet I haven't had any desire to blog as of late. Might be my insanely crazy schedule. Might be I don't really have a purpose to my blog. Should it be funny like my colleague Meghan's? No...hard as I try I'm not really funny. Should it be smartly political and family oriented like my friend Amber's? No, I have a lot of political opinions, but whenever I try to put them into words my mouth stops working. The intelligence just disappears. Should it be literary like Colleen's or a combination of all of the above like my friend Karen's? I'm just not as brilliant as all that. I think my best blogging is about my work.

Work. Lately lots and lots of calls to DHS. The week before last I lost it at work...yes I actually cried in front of my boss who looked frightened. I'm the one who is supposed to keep my cool when children are abused and the state won't do anything about it. This time I couldn't stop myself. I couldn't just tell myself "patience...it will come." Like the family at my old job, where it took 3 years of reporting before the 5 children were taken into protective custody and sent to live with a grandmother.

This time, when the totally incompetent and idiotic DHS caseworker tried to tell me she wasn't worried about the child who is being hit at home not being at school the two days after she was interviewed by DHS, I couldn't stop myself from losing my Freaking mind. I yelled at her. I wanted to hang up on her. I wanted to pull out every flippin' cuss word in my very extensive naughty book. All I could do was pace and cry, and cry and pace. Then, thank goodness the child showed up to school mid-day. Maybe the worker called. Maybe not.

Sometimes my job is beyond discouraging. But I have to hold it together for all those teachers who haven't had the lovely experience of reporting. I have to hold their hand and guide their words and wipe their tears. I have to check in with the kiddos, let them lay on my couch after mom and stepdad threw glass things at each other, or poured hot sauce in their mouths, or flicked them in the mouth. I have to call DHS and listen again as they tell me they'll "Document it" or that it isn't illegal for parents to hit children. I have to keep it together to hope that eventually children will matter. So often they don't. So I set my rats in their laps and watch as they get a little critter TLC. I give them hugs and send them on their way. Sometimes back to homes where no one loves them. Sometimes back to homes where they are loved black and blue.

At night their stories haunt my dreams and their faces stay in my head. Sometimes I'm a worse mom for it, as I guilt my own children for tantruming about small things, and worry what perspective they are getting in their comparatively spoiled lives. Sometimes I traumatize my children by sharing bits of these stories in order to give said perspectives. I don't want them to have the pain that these children face, but I do want them to understand that some things aren't worth crying about. That their lives are not hard because they don't get everything they want.

Okay...last blog on here no longer about my dog's poop.