Social worker visit number ????

You'd think I'd get used to the visits from social workers since we started the foster care process. But I don't. I don't know if I ever will! After so many years of being a mommy without having anyone come into my home to assess my abilities, discipline methods or safety standards, it feels sorta strange to have such visits, in order to ensure a continued safe and healthy home for our sweet baby boy.

So, when I got the call 2 days ago that another visit was in order for this week, I quickly rearranged my schedule to squeeze in a visit for today. I had an hour between dropping Ky off at school and the scheduled visit and I surveyed the home front. I love a neat home, so immediately I jump into cleaning mode and pick up as many legos, race cars, books and baby toys as possible in a matter of moments. After I've dropped each off in their place in the basement (where all 3 boys are playing wonderfully!!) I return upstairs and think, "It looks much too sterile! It probably looks better if I have some toys up here after all, because I certainly won't be hanging out in the basement with the social worker where all the toys have now gone!" I head back downstairs and select a few "nice looking" toys and arrange them. But then, I feel it looks too staged. But, perhaps it goes along with the nice scented candles and piano music I have playing in the background. Oh my. :) What is a home supposed to look like where great care of an infant is being provided?

If it's clean and tidy does it look fake and posed, or does it look like I am a woman who has my home under wonderful control (like that will ever happen!). If I leave the dishes in the sink, crumbs on the floor and toys scattered about, does it look like a happy, lived in home, or do I look like a slob? Should I answer the door with the baby in my arms, or leave him playing happily as he is downstairs... or would she consider that irresponsible since my supervision of him is intermittent? What to do. He starts to cry, so I go and retrieve him and hold him in my arms as we head back up the basement stairs. He has been battling a cold all week, and just as the doorbell rings, he lets out a huge sneeze, and (beware, mommy talk) long strings of snot are hanging from his nostrils and running down his face. Not exactly the impression I wanted to have as I opened the door! I smile and hear the social worker remark, "Oh my! Someone has a runny nose!" That was an understatement. I was ready for her to ask the baby, "isn't anyone taking care of you?" But she was polite and refrains. I run to the bathroom to grab a tissue for his nose.

I laughed at myself for wanting to create just the "right" environment for the meeting and then, with real life breaking through my facade, answering the door with a sneezing, snotty baby boy. What I sight. What reality. I am humbled, once again, by my little ones!!