I had my second foster parent licensing class session tonight. Oh Lordy. It was titled “Operations,” and covered the basics of the monthly home visit (some announced, some unannounced) that case managers and foster parents endure (for lack of a better word). There is another three-hour class devoted solely to documentation.
Golly. To say that I was overwhelmed by tonight’s information would be a gross understatement. Shell-shocked is perhaps a more fitting term. Forget for a moment that foster parenting involves helping severely wounded and traumatized strangers heal. That alone is work most people would politely pass on if asked. Add to that the sheer amount of paperwork involved in this crazy endeavor, and I was more than slightly cross-eyed by the end of tonight’s session. Here are some examples (and keep in mind we are really just grazing the tip of the iceberg here):
- Every single household cleanser must be kept in a locked container out of reach of children. Spill something? Get out a key and a stepladder.
- You have to keep weekly, often daily, detailed accounts of your child’s behavior, moods, experiences. This is the kind of thing well meaning biological parents dream of doing with their first child, but by the third they don’t even have a picture of the kid before first grade. With foster kids, it’s law. Oh, and that’s completely separate from the “educational portfolio” that you keep in addition to the more ‘basic’ log. And then of course there’s the medication log…
- You have a posted fire evacuation plan, with monthly fire drills. I moved into my house five years ago, and I don’t think I’ve even tested a smoke alarm since. And don’t even get me started on the disaster preparation kits and accoutrements that need to be assembled (they gave us a book to fill in…a book!).
- If you have a swimming pool (or a koi pond, or a fountain, or a bird bath, or an inflatable wading pool, or a forgotten bucket), you can’t foster a child unless you undertake massive fence construction. There was one couple tonight for whom I would wager this was a deal breaker.
Paperwork. Mounds of it. The CPS minimum standards document is 358 pages long. 358! And most agencies add more rigorous standards on top of that.
Don’t get me wrong—I absolutely believe it is essential that we safeguard these traumatized children with careful and consistently monitored procedures. But as someone facing this onslaught of regulations, it is a bit panic-inducing. I am not administratively incompetent, but still, I have a subtle nauseating feeling that I might need a full-time secretary just to be a foster parent…
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