Are you kidding me?

Yesterday, Saturday, was our first of two home study visits with a social worker from our adoption agency.  This is something that most people are a little nervous about, because the social worker is going to write a summary about our family and it will be submitted to the Ministry of Women's Affairs in Ethiopia, which is something that they will look at to see if they will let us adopt one of their beautiful babies.  So, rightfully so, something to be a little anxious about.  However, we had talked to a few people and other social workers who assured us it was nothing to worry about and that the SW is on OUR side.

So, we made sure that all the dust bunnies were tucked away, that the girls didn't have any snot on their faces, put a couple snacks on the table, and took a few deep breaths. Soon thereafter, our SW, Nancy*, showed at up the door.  Immediately my mind was put at ease because she was wearing a baseball cap and t-shirt, obviously coming straight from one of her boys' baseball games.  The initial meeting and instructions went very well, and she, Daddy, and I sat down in the family room to chat while the girls played "quietly" upstairs.  So far, so good.

Things were going along swimmingly, and I only had to go upstairs once in the first hour to referee.  Unfortunately, the first hour was only the first one-third of the visit.  The second two-thirds...not so swimming...more like drowning.

Drama #1 - Little Bit comes running down the stairs crying because the Dirty-Dirty choked her out.  No, really.  She confessed to CHOKING her little sister IN FRONT of the SW.  This is a first in the Feaster house...choking...while the social worker is there trying to see if  we are "fit" parents.  You ever had a social worker WATCH you while you try to discipline your child?  Me neither...UNTIL NOW!   My face was BEET red, and all I could do was laugh, unbelieving. 

Drama #2 - The Dirty-Dirty is the next to run down the stairs crying...WITH A BLOODY MOUTH!!!  Yes, folks.  We had choking AND blood during our home study visit.  Beat that.

(I'll spare you the imagine of this one.  For some reason, I couldn't find anything comical.)

Drama #3 - We love our neighbors...a lot...but, we don't necessarily love all of their friends.  I shouldn't say that.  We DO love them, we just don't necessarily want them around when the social worker comes to see if we're "fit" parents.  Why?  Well, because one in particular obviously didn't get enough soap in their mouth when they were little.  Understand now?  So, funny thing - we ran into our neighbors at the annual Western Festival in our hometown a few hours prior to our home study.  Daddy saw fit to tell said neighbors to keep a particular friend of theirs FAR AWAY until after the SW was gone (in a somewhat joking way).  It actually sounded something like this: "Hey guys...the social worker is coming by later this afternoon, and we know that you're going to have friends over, but could you PLEASE make sure that Bob* is far, FAR away??"  They completely understood.  So, probably two thirds through the visit the doorbell starts to ring, and ring, and ring...no less than 57 times.  I run to the door to stop the madness and whose cheesy, tobacco-filled  grin do I see peering at me???  That's right... Bob's.  ARE YOU KIDDING ME?  We actually called out ONE person by name who we wanted outside a 100 yard radius of our house during this three hour period - AND HE'S STANDING AT MY DOOR!!!  I shoot a "what in the world" look to my husband and say politely - "It's Bob."  His response - "Are you kidding me?"  Praise the good Lord that the front door had blown shut prior to Bob's arrival because only He knows what obscenity might have been yelled in to announce his arrival.  I open the door as fast as I can and close it behind me just as fast.  "Hey Bob and Barbara*!  What are you guys doing here?"  I guess I should tell you this - Bob & Barbara have NEVER, in the almost two years that we've lived here, knocked on our door.  NEVER.  They have NEVER stepped a foot through our front door.  NEVER.  And here they are.  So...back to the front porch.  Barbara has to go potty, and the neighbors aren't home.  "Here's the deal," I tell them, "the social worker is here for our adoption, so you can come in and use the restroom, but Bob, you have to be on your BEST behavior, or I WILL KILL YOU!"  I guess I should also tell you that Bob just celebrated his 50th birthday, and I'm having to talk to him like a 12 year old.  Nice.  That should give you a feel for why we didn't want him around for this.  Also, I could tell you stories about Bob's younger years that would curl your toes.  That being said, Bob is very nice.  We love him.  He has a good heart.  We would do nearly anything for him, and I believe he would do the same for us.  For some reason, God just forgot to give him a filter.  Back to the story...after explaining to them who our "company" was, Barbara quickly backed Bob back down the driveway and apologized profusely for the interruption.  OMGoodness.  While I was outside, Daddy was inside explaining Bob's lack-o-filter to the SW and we all had a good laugh about it.

Drama #4 - We had to address the issue of "corporal punishment."  Normally, this wouldn't be a big issue, however, if your big family joke about discipline includes a "punch in the neck," there's some splaining to do!  A "punch in the neck" in our family is similar to when other families say "cut it out or I'm going to throw you out the window" or "stop fighting with your sister or I'm going to drop you off at the 'bad boys farm'" or "stop whining or I'm going to sell you to the gypsies."  Had we known that some day we were going to have a social worker in our house asking us and our children about "corporal punishment," we would have NEVER instituted neck punching.  BELIEVE ME.  So, before the question "what happens when you get in trouble?" was posed to the angels, we decided we should explain "a punch in the neck."  SW laughed that one off too...I think.

There you have it, friends, family, countrymen...the WORST home study EVAR**!  Praise the good Lord (again) - the kind woman has four young children of her own and understands what being a "normal" family means.  Daddy and I, on the other hand, are still shaking our heads in disbelief.

* The "real" names have been changed to protect the identity of the innocent.

**  I know how to spell EVER, but EVAR is much more fun and appropriate.