The Home Study

Well, as you saw from the last post, we had a lot of paperwork to fill out.  In tandem to the paperwork for background checks, etc., we also have the Dear Birthmother Letter to work on.  Well, there is a third piece to the puzzle: the Home Study.  This has been probably the most daunting part of this whole process.  The fact that someone is going to be entering our home, talking to us about who-knows-what, and evaluating us on the safety of our home.  Now, in my mind, and I think in Chad's mind too, we envisioned a Social Worker coming in, with white gloves checking for dust, pulling out every drawer and examining the contents to ensure child safety at all times, and grilling us about our intentions with the child.  As if we are going to turn into pageant parents or something.  We had to write autobiographies that asked about all kinds of personal details from our childhood including our relationships with our parents, who we thought we were more like, what our school experiences were, our relationship history, and listing every. single. job. we have ever had (with dates and reasons for quitting).  Not going to lie, for a moment, I contemplated just attaching my Curriculum Vitae and calling it good.  So with this in depth autobiography sent to the Social Worker, what else could she possibly want from us?  Blood samples? Lie Detector tests? Medieval torture chamber experiments? It was unclear.  So we panicked.  Because that is the rational thing to do.  Now, if you talk to Chad, he was calm, no panic to speak of.  I, however, panicked.  In typical fashion for me, I throw myself into everything I can control to make the situation as perfect as can be.  I am sure the social worker would have some sort of judgement about that.  Heck, I am a Psychologist and if I heard that, I would probably have some sort of judgement, so why wouldn't she?  

We pulled out the information the agency had given us (in the $18,000 binder) about how to prepare for the home study. 

First, remove all cleaning supplies from under the kitchen sink and store in an elevated location the child cannot reach.  Great, they want us to set back the hands of time and erase history and pretend like no one in the world, and especially parents, would ever consider having cleaning supplies in such a ridiculous place in the house.  I mean, really? Nothing under the sink.  I can say with 100% confidence that the only reason I put them there is because my mom put them there when I was growing up. And that means that I had unadulterated access as a naive child to drink and eat as many cleaning products as my hands would allow.  AND I DIDN'T.  I am still alive.  I am also fairly certain that if I did a poll here of people who had cleaning products under the sink when they were kids and those people are still alive, the poll would show 100%.  But I buckled and made space above our washer and dryer in the laundry room - on the other side of the house - to put the cleaning supplies.  Its nice to have to take the south shuttle to the laundry room when I want to get the dishwashing detergent out to run a load of dishes. 

Second, ensure all medications and vitamins are in a locking safe (with combination or key lock).  Even better.  So now, in order to get medications that a licensed and board certified doctor has decided are important for the health and safety of the parents, we must enter a combination into a special medication safe.  I sure hope during one of my asthma attacks I can focus enough to remember the 18 digit password to get into the safe for my inhaler.  I am sure that is a pretty easy feat to accomplish.  And when I get older, and start taking calcium for my arthritis or bone degeneration, I hope my fingers work well enough to maneuver the find motor skills required to twist the handle open.  However, it did provide a great opportunity to sift through the myriad of pill boxes and bottles that we have been hoarding since we left Oregon 4 years ago.  I was quite shocked to find some sudafed that had expired in 2006.  I am pretty certain it was well on its way to becoming methamphetamine - because there is an aging process on meth, much like with fine wine.  So I tidied up the joint.  I encouraged our roommate to do the same.  And now, the cabinets look oddly like they did when we first moved into the house, of course with the addition of the fire-proof, kid-proof safe (with combination lock).

Third, the water heater must be set at or below 120 degrees.  Okay, I can handle this.  I mean, after all, our water heater did just putz out on us last week and had to have a plumber come and replace some valve or something. So we asked him to set it to 120 degrees.  He laughed at us.  Literally.  Laughed. In. Our. Faces.  Apparently 120 degrees is like taking a shower in a lake in about April.  Its cold.  Well not cold, but lukewarm.  Fantastic.  Gone are the days of half hour showers with steamy hot water to lull me into a relaxed stupor.  Now, I am going to be racing the clock to get out of the shower before my hands and feet turn purple.  I am sure California Water and The Gas Company will appreciate my lowered bills.  And, in turn, all of your environmentalists will love me for my conservation efforts.  

Fourth, the fireplace needs to be covered. I am assuming this is so a child can't throw themselves into a fire.  Well, normally fireplaces have those nice, tacky, glass doors.  That is more than enough "coverage" according to the binder.  However, we didn't like the 1990's brass and gold glass doors on ours so we removed them.  And the fake log for the gas flames to surround.  THen we filled it with multicolored crushed glass for a more modern look.  Yeah.  That's gonna need to be covered somehow.  Thankfully, our friend Jerod (you are the best!) is a bit of a handyman and said he could make an awesome cover with plexiglass framed with black paint with magnets to keep it closed and keep the child away from the flames and glass.  He brought it over the day before the home study and it looks amazing! Basically a work of art.  Try and get in there now, kid!

I guess those are the major issues to be addressed.  Of course, we needed to make sure there is a bed for every child in the house.  Thankfully we have none as of now. But we do have a crib for the upcoming baby.  And Chad only acts like a child sometimes, so I think they will be okay with us sharing a bed (I am KIDDING Chad!!).  

The date was set for the home study. The Social Worker called me and set up the appointment for August 15th.  She was very nice. She said she was going on a cruise so the 15th was the soonest she had available.  Naturally, because I am either a sociopath or a really good Psychologist, I filed that tidbit of knowledge away to bust out during the actual visit to show I pay attention, and will therefore pay attention to my child.  The night of the 14th we frantically cleaned our already clean house.  Scrubbing walls, dusting the tops of pictures (you know, because she has white gloves), and scraping grout in the bathrooms.  Chad bought the book, "The Five Love Languages" and in the cleaning he had moved it to the floor next to his night stand.  I went behind him and put it back on the night stand.  Again, sociopath or Psychologist?  We were ready.  

On the 15th, we were ready. The appointment was at 6.  By 5, we were sitting in silence, in the living room, waiting.  I think the nerves finally sank in for us.  6 came.  6 went.  6:15 came, and went.  Chad informed me it was creepy, at this point, to have my face pressed up against the front door staring out the slots of glass.  I was nervous.  I needed to call her.  He told me to wait.  6:28 came and I was at my wits end.  He finally let me call her.  She informed me that the appointment was at 6:30 and she had just pulled up to the house.  I hung up and entered into my fairly common shame spiral of thinking that I had just failed us on the home study because I questioned her appointment schedule.  Whoops. 

She came in and she was probably the nicest person we could meet. We confessed our nervousness and she laughed.  In. Our. Faces.  It is becoming a theme.  She assured us we had nothing to worry about.  She had never failed anyone on a home study (there's always a first, lady).  Then she took it back and said she failed one person because he revealed he had a history of sexual perpetrations.  Well we are in the clear then, we are not sexual perpetrators.  All she really wanted was our life history, in our own words. Maybe she can't read? We wrote those out already.  But she was very nice about it and it was incredibly easy.  She said there would be two visits, the second one a few weeks after this visit after she has processed everything we discussed and had written it down and come up with more questions.  She also said the actual house evaluation could be then.  We said we would prefer it now, because, well, we cleaned the friggin picture frames for this! I am not doing that again.  After she had taken in about her maximum amount of information, she decided to have a look around.  It was quick.  All of the things that we did in preparation (see above), were of little interest to her.  I actually had to physically open the cabinets under the sink to prove to her that there wasn't anything in them.  She didn't care.  Perhaps it was her 20+ years of working for CPS that clued her in that our house was probably safer than the vast majority of the homes she comes across on a daily basis in the ghetto.  Maybe THEY should have to scrub their houses before they pump out the kids.  

Then it was over. Of course, she didn't notice the book on the coffee table, or the safe, or the scrubbing.  I did toss in a question about her cruise.  When she said she went to Alaska, I knew the deal was sealed.  After all, I am from Alaska and could related to her experience.  

She comes back for the second visit on the 4th.  I don't know what else she wants to know from us, but she said she usually comes up with some questions from our first interview.  She explained the process: she would finish the study, send it to us to review, then send it to the agency to review and then it would be done.  It would probably take about 6 weeks.  Ugh. More waiting.  I guess this is like our first trimester or something.  I don't know.  I sure hope she can type quickly.  And how do I get in on this deal? Going to people's houses, getting paid to write up their life story? I can do that! And I would notice the little details, clearly.  

Travis