His voice is high pitched and sweet. He might not even be old enough to buy alcohol. I throw my bag over my other shoulder and slip my hand into his for a firm shake. “It’s nice to meet you.”
“You too, and if you have any questions while you’re here, please just come tap on my office”—he points to the door practically next to us in the entryway and giggles—“right here, and I’ll be more than happy to help you.” He lets out another giggle before going on. “We have one staff member and two aides on at all times.” He steps down into the dining area split from the living room by a half wall and a kitchen on the other side, which he points to next. “Oh, and a cook, but she’s only part time for meals. Girl”—he grabs my arm—“she is the best. I swear if I could afford it, I’d bring her home with me to cook all my meals. She cooks better than my mama, but don’t tell her that.” He brings his finger up to his lips.
I smile, releasing some of the nervous tension. So far, the place doesn’t look too bad. The furniture is all mismatched and secondhand, and the floors are covered in outdated beige carpet, but it’s clean and orderly. No funny smells. I used to try to figure out a hidden system for how they determine which kids go into good homes and which go into bad ones, but there isn’t one. It’s completely luck of the draw where you end up.
“Would you like a grand tour?” Sam asks.
“No, thanks. I think I’d rather just get to visiting with Mason.”
“Of course,” he says, nodding. He points to the hallway leading off the family room. “Go through that doorway, and Mason is the second door on your right.”
“Thanks so much,” I say before I head through the house. I walk slowly, taking it all in, my eyes sweeping each room. Nobody’s around, which seems a bit odd for a house filled with twelve kids. According to their website, there are three bedrooms on each floor. Two kids in each room, just like a college dorm. The foster mother, Blanche, described it almost perfectly when we spoke yesterday.
“We function more like a group home than a foster home,” she explained over the phone when I called to schedule my visit.
I took the opportunity to ask her about Mason while I had her on the phone, since I didn’t know if she’d be here today, and it’s a good thing I did, because she’s not.
“What’s he been like since he arrived?” I asked, testing the waters. I learned the hard way that people don’t like when you come into their homes and immediately start asking deep, personal questions. You’ve got to work up to that.
“Honestly, he was a pleasant surprise. I’ve been the house mother for over twenty years, so I’ve had hundreds of kids come through, and I don’t have a fancy degree hanging on any of my walls or anything like that, but I’ve got plenty of experience. So when I saw his file and everything he’s got on his plate, I expected to have a really big mess of a kid on my hands, but it hasn’t been that way at all.”
“Really?” Someone with Mason’s diagnoses and level of impairment would likely shut down from the trauma and constant stimulation of these past few days or become a complete wreck. It’s notable that he didn’t.
“Yes, it’s been the strangest thing. Like I said, though. A pleasant surprise. He’s very quiet and keeps to himself. He likes to be in his room the most. Most of the kids do, quite honestly, which is why we try to keep their days filled with structured activities so they don’t just hide out in there.”
“How has he done with all that?” Blanche had forwarded me their weekly schedule and rules when I’d emailed her to arrange our chat. Their program is filled with impressive blocks of activities ranging from art classes to outdoor fitness time.
“He doesn’t have a choice around here, since we expect all our kids to attend scheduled events unless they’re ill or there’s some other type of emergency. One of the girls in the house has taken a particular interest in him, and she’s taken him under her wing. She bosses him around and tells him what to do, but he doesn’t seem to mind at all. He’s started looking for her whenever he comes out of his room and follows her around on his own even when she’s not trying to give him orders.”
“And how does he do with things like getting dressed in the morning and meals? Has he had any trouble adjusting to all that?” How is he functioning so well? All he’s ever known is twenty-four-seven care. Even if he has another resident helping him out, it doesn’t explain how he’s able to do things on his own like coming out of his room at the designated times.
“So far so good. Doesn’t seem to be having too many issues. At least I haven’t heard of any, and I’m usually the first to know.” She pauses before going on. “Honestly, the thing I’m most concerned about is his medication. When’s the last time he had a medication adjustment?”
“Gosh, I’m not sure. I don’t actually have access to his full medical charts, only the testing reports from his psychologists and specialists. What’s going on?”
“All of our kids see our staff psychiatrist while they’re here for their medication needs. He comes to the house once a week and meets with whoever needs it. We started doing things that way years ago for our kids because it just made things easier. He stays in touch with their current psychiatrist if they have one so that the two of them can work together, and then they can go back to resuming their care once the child is discharged. Anyway, all that to say we had him meet with Mason this week, and he did a blood draw. It’s totally standard procedure for any kid who’s on lithium like Mason. Lithium can affect the kidneys and the thyroid function, so we always check to make sure they’re in the correct range.”
One of the biggest pains of lithium is the constant blood draws. I’d never be able to do it with Harper. She hates needles. So do I.