Yes, I am angry.  And hurt.  No, I do not think I’m not being a good Christian by feeling this way.  Even Jesus got angry.  So far, I don’t see that I’ve sinned in this situation, so I feel that right now I’m in good standing.  Please don’t preach at me right now.  I know all the same verses you do.  For likely about as long as you have.  I need to process, and pray, and let the Holy Spirit work His peace in me.  It won’t help if you start throwing Scripture verses or Christianese at me right now. 

Also, am I the only one who thinks that Social Services needs to revamp their obligation/anonymity policy?  I mean, if there is truly a very obvious case of abuse or neglect, and you’ve tried to talk to the parents, I can see wanting to be able to quietly report it.  But even the social worker who handled our case two years ago said that most of the time, the reports/accusations are unfounded.  So I think that number one, if a person feels obligated to report a situation they need to first be asked if they’ve spoken with the persons involved.  If they have, they proceed with the guarantee of anonymity, unless the accusations are found to be false, and then the identity is allowed to be given to the accusee.  I bet that would stop a lot of the “axe to grind” reporting that goes on.  In fact, our own social worker asked me if I knew of anyone who had/has any issues with me.  Yeah, I can think of a couple of people.  Not that I’ve really done anything.  They just can’t stand me.  Poor them. 

And, we really did see that house several years ago, and it was truly love at first site.  There has been lots of doubt over the past few days as we’ve investigated our options about the level of regret I might feel if we gave up our waterfrontage.  At this point, I feel like it would be nothing but blissful, sweet relief.  We still own our mobile/lot, and it’s the next best thing to waterfront, and we know and like the neighbours there.  So we could still have a “cottage”. 

We need wisdom.  And grace to walk this out in a way that only glorifies God.  Without doing or saying anything we’ll regret.

And without eating too much chocolate.

I’m sure many of you have seen the joke about the child that’s gone missing, everything is pandemonium as the search and rescue squad, police, etc have been called in.  Then someone calls the house, hears the commotion in the background when a child answers the phone, and asks what’s going on.  The child explains that the commotion is due to a search for a missing person.  The caller asks who they are looking for, and the child giggles “Me.”

That joke used to be funny.  I was funny before I was a mom.  It was funny before each of my kids has caused that sense of panic to stir up in you when they don’t answer and you can’t see them.  It was funny before Social Services investigated us because of an anonymous caller’s report that we are doing less than a good job with our children.  And it’s even less funny now that we are waiting with bated breath to see if the same call is going to be made a second time.

You see, one day about a month ago, I “lost” Eliana.  I’m not proud to admit how quickly panic set in, and even less proud of the reason WHY panic set it.  I was scared someone was going to find out, and report me.  Well, they did find out, and they almost reported me.  The story we’ve heard is that a conversation with another neighbour convinced them to not do it.  And what would they be reporting?  I found her.  In my basement, sound asleep under a bath towel.  After I looked downstairs three times.  I felt stupid.  Complete idiot.  But what’s worse is that apparently, making a mistake like that, at least in my life, almost guarantees a report to Social Services.

Social Services is the joke.  They are what’s funny, in a very pathetic sense.  They won’t help you continue therapy for an autistic child if you don’t go through public school.  They’re respite care causes more stress and work than the “respite” is worth.  And they certainly will not help fund something like, say a fence.  Oh no.  They’d rather invest their time and money into responding to anonymous reports AFTER the fact.  After they could have stepped in and helped the situation not occur in the first place.

I am essentially a prisoner in my house at the moment.  For six months in the past year, I blamed it on winter.  “Just wait until summer,” I said to myself over and over.  I can’t go outside, because I know I’m being watched.  I hate that feeling.  I KNOW I’m not doing anything wrong, but people don’t care.  They’ll report you anyway.  Because they can.

But now it’s not just the kids.  We’ve had some very insulting, hurtful and intense interactions with our immediate neighbours, and we are shell-shocked to say the least.  I am terrified to open the door lest the dog dash away on me and set one measly hair over the property line.  Let’s not mention the fact that these neighbours made a fuss of our dog.  Fed him, played with him, asked us to leave him out to be around them while we went to town and they worked in their yard.  Now, it’s screams of “Get the H*LL off my property, you D*MN dog!”  And in front of the kids no less. 

So, the house below?  We actually are investigating purchasing it.  It’s doubtful it will go through, and there is another offer in at present.  There were several conditions to be met, so we can only hope that some of them fail.  We hate the thought of leaving our beloved waterfront.  As of last night, we had figured if we put in a fence (not a cheap proposition, might I add) and convert the garage into a few bedrooms, the situation here will be livable, and better than that, attractive to us again.  However, tonight as we were headed to town, we saw a truck pull into the neighbour’s yard.  My husband knew right away who it was.  “Doggone.”  It’s a dog catcher.

I must really p*ss a lot of people off.  Because for many years now, there is SOMETHING like this going on pretty much constantly.

So right now, I need to figure out how to find joy in my days again.  This ain’t fun, people, and I need a break.  We are definitely not flush for funds right now, and the only suitable option for a fence is a six foot high minimum privacy fence.  We have no idea how we’ll ever afford it. 

God, we’re stuck.  Help!