I got an email today which seems to be sent yesterday, although the meeting it referred to was scheduled for today. Nothing is as it seems when it comes to the CSH.

So I received an email hours before the usual scheduled 3:30 Tuesday visitation, which I need to be there at 3:20 or before, or else I’m written up and fined steeply for. As the client, you see.

The email states that after “careful” consideration, the CSH has decided to keep me on as a client. As long as I don’t sep out of line, according to them. They were kind enough ti include a copy of their guidebook, which is as vague as can be, and a copy of “Disciplinary Action” that has been edited and amended from the original provided to me and Judge Ward. I pointed out that it had been edited to the person sending the email, and no comment was made, of course, about it. Ignored totally.

The day of the visitation is being changed to allow for school which is beginning. I have missed the entire Summer with my daughter now. Gone forever.

She did manage to tell me she’s gone to Alabama, out of state, which she shouldn’t be doing without my acknowledgment, and now lives in a camper. And she wants to come to stay with me. I miss her so much.

Something I should add a but his visit which says it all about this facility my child and I were dictated to use, with no input or consideration about the families being sent to these places by a judge who wants no responsibility for doing such is this:

While I was ther with my daughter, I was playing with her with us both sitting on the floor. I always make sure to come down to her level when giving her attention, rather than sitting is a chair or worrying too much about my own lazy comfort. I believe being in “their level” makes the experience and respect show to her better. And it’s easier to play with her on the floor anyway. And the rather corpulent “supervisor” sits in a chair, clicking her pen, and making notes while observing us, talking on her cell phone and zoning out. With a big video camera in the corner peering down on us, which Cecelia keeps laughing about for some reason, which I wish I could share her amusement. I find it pitiful. But I’m not 6.

So I get up to get us some crayons or something, And stand on my own shoelace, and stumble when getting up. Clownish, sure but it happens to the best of us who still wear shoes with laces and not “crocs” for all occasions.

And I fall over almost smashing my head and look like a buffoon. But the supervisor just sits there, 4 inches from me – I almost take her down with me- and says and doesn’t move or even flinch. Just watched me go down. And makes a note about it. No words were uttered except by me, along the lines of “Good grief,” but no worry, no help, no nothing. But jotting a note about tit down in her pad, which I don’t even want to know what it said.

THAT’s the “Children’s Safe Haven appointed to take care of the problems the judge has considered in the 2 minutes she had us n front of her and dedicated. This is how things go in America, if you even have the slightest misfortune of getting caught up in such governmental horrors.