Kristen is determined to regain custody of Aurora

SITTING IN A CHAIR DESIGNED FOR A FOUR-YEAR-OLD, her delicate knees pointed toward her chin, Kristen Glass* projects the perfect image of a young mother at a parent-teacher conference. Her doe-like brown eyes focus intently on the teacher, never wandering to the playground just outside the window. Her small frame is still, as if any movement might detract from absorbing invaluable knowledge. Whenever the opportunity arises, she enthusiastically shares input about her daughter. She smiles ever so slightly when the teacher offers a compliment.

Here surrounded by glittery dress-up shoes and an abundance of dolls and accessories for playing house, Kristen is not as she first appears. Her auburn hair pulled back in a clip exposes two tattoos—a turtle under her right ear and a dragonfly below her left. They stand in sharp contrast to her delicate face.

Although Kristen is a mother, her role here is that of a student—once delinquent, now dedicated—and the most important hours of her week are spent every Friday in this thirty-foot by twenty-foot classroom.

The twenty-three-year-old is at the Relief Nursery, a Eugene, Oregon, non-profit agency, to prove her parenting skills. If she succeeds, she will regain custody of her six-month-old daughter, Aurora.* If she fails, the courts will try to find a relative to adopt the baby. If that attempt is unsuccessful, Aurora will be put up for adoption.

The classroom and its mandate are part of the Families Together program at the Relief Nursery, which serves abused, neglected and at-risk children and their families. The twelve-week program includes weekly parenting classes, one-on-one meetings with an interventionist (or parenting coach) and ninety-minute labs where parents are supervised and evaluated as they interact with their children. For most parents, these ninety minutes are one of only two times each week they get to see their children. How they perform during each minute becomes crucial—it will determine whether the child returns home.

The state court orders enrollment in Families Together. Parents have one year from the day their children are removed to prove themselves capable or the adoption process begins.

Kristen wants to make sure that doesn't happen to her. As she and her interventionist, Melissa Padron, wrap up their conversation, they revisit Kristen's daily goals about being attentive and managing anxiety. Kristen is focused on Melissa's insights, but she's also antsy. She wants to get to the lobby where Aurora is waiting with her foster mother. It's been almost forty-eight hours since she has seen her daughter and she hates to miss out on even a moment of her development. Finally, the one-on-one session is finished and Kristen hurries down the hallway, barely resisting the urge to skip.

In the lobby, where parents and foster parents exchange children and share updates, Kristen makes a beeline for Aurora. The child is asleep in her carrier, snuggled in a pink fleece blanket that Kristen made for her. With her hands softly caressing her daughter's shoulders, Kristen coos, her voice rising several octaves. As Kristen adjusts the blanket over her baby, she notices the cute little jeans, embroidered with flowers. Aurora's foster mother has dressed her in a new ensemble.

KRISTEN KNOWS THE DEPARTMENT OF HUMAN SERVICES NEEDS HER TO PROVE SHE'S DIFFERENT—NOT FOR THEIR SAKE, BUT FOR HER DAUGHTER'S.

Before returning to the classroom, Kristen receives an update on recent feedings and diaper changes from Aurora's foster mother. Although she listens to the information, she stays focused on the baby. Time is limited and she knows it. As soon as possible, she hoists the carrier onto her slender arm and mother and daughter move down the bright hallway toward the classroom.

THIS ISN'T KRISTEN'S FIRST TIME ENROLLED IN FAMILIES TOGETHER—she became familiar with the nursery and its all-important classroom three-and-a-half years ago. In those days she was a different person—"a really bad person," she says. Her history is riddled with problems she does not want her daughter to experience: an abusive childhood, uncontrollable anger, violent relationships, drug abuse. She spent time in jail for possession of a controlled substance, burglary, theft, harassment and forgery. During these incarcerations, which usually lasted ten days at a stretch, she felt comfortable with the people around her. She felt she fit in.

Kristen had a son in March of 1999 while she was living with the baby's father. Their relationship was rife with domestic violence, and the Department of Human Services (DHS) removed the boy after Kristen threw him at his father in a rage.

Kristen entered Families Together, but was not ready to accept the responsibilities of parenthood. She failed to complete the program and signed over her parenting rights. Her son, who just celebrated his fourth birthday, is no longer a part of her life.

Kristen's anger persisted after the boy's removal. She was often so angry and irrational that her partner filed a restraining order after he claimed that Kristen threatened to kill them both. The relationship ended in the summer of 2000.

Several months later she began a new relationship. Though it didn't last, in February of 2002, Kristen discovered she was pregnant again. She was determined to make changes. She stopped smoking marijuana and dropped her medications. She moved to a new apartment, eager to start a new life, but her problems followed her.

Soon after she moved, the police showed up. She had failed to notify her parole officer of her new address. She went back to jail for a probation violation.

But this time, within the confines of the cement walls, she was no longer comfortable. She didn't belong. She knew she was no longer the same.

On October 20, 2002, Kristen gave birth to Aurora Felicity Glass. For the new mother, everything was perfect. "Lying in the sun with her, cuddling with her, breast feeding her—it was the best time of my life," she recalls.

Three days later DHS unexpectedly came to her home and took her baby away. Again, Kristen's path was obscured.

"I felt like everything was collapsing around me. I cried for a week straight," Kristen says, the pain in her voice audible. "I couldn't eat; couldn't sleep. I felt like I hadn't done anything wrong."

And, in fact, she hadn't. But Dave McGory, Kristen's caseworker from DHS, says there are circumstances where DHS makes a removal for the safety of the child based solely on a parent's history. Kristen's history of child abuse required state intervention.

Today, Kristen understands the state's position. She knows DHS needs her to prove she's different, not for their sake, but for Aurora's. But that doesn't make it any easier to contend with the emptiness of life without her child. She is determined to show she can parent—and parent well.

GRETCHEN DUBIE WANTS TO HELP KRISTEN REALIZE HER GOAL.

And what Gretchen says matters. She's the last word, the person who measures a parent's ability during the program and, at the end, assesses his or her potential. The Families Together program coordinator and parent educator has a degree in special education and one in psychology. The shelves in her office are full of parenting books. Both coworkers and clients revere her.

AS THE END OF THE LAB NEARS, KRISTEN EYES THE CLOCK. THE TIME IS NEAR-THE TIME WHEN SHE HAS TO GIVE HER DAUGHTER BACK.

In her eight years at the agency, thirty-one-year-old Gretchen has seen many parents lik Kristen facing challenges. Gretchen has tracked the progress of them all, from the mentally ill to drug and alcohol addicts.

She has followed Kristen since her first time in the program. Back then, Gretchen says, Kristen was so distant and detached that it was hard to get through to her.

"She was on so many meds, she couldn't have a conversation without spacing out," Gretchen says. This time around, however, she sees a completely different woman.

Different or not, Kristen still has much to prove. Only 40 percent of those who participate in the program see their children returned. Even then, the potential for failure persists. Within the group of children who go home, almost half are removed again at a later date.

Kristen is in her second twelve-week term. Although Gretchen saw progress after the first term, she wanted to see whether the young mother could sustain her success over a longer period of time. The key to her success is meeting her parenting goals.

For Kristen and all the other parents in Families Together, progress is measured by these goals. The objectives—set by the interventionists and parents together—measure and improve parenting skills. For example, if a parent needs to increase attachment to a child, he or she may have the goal to smile and show animation ten times during a lab. All goals have to be quantifiable.

Kristen has three main goals: to recognize when Aurora needs diapering and bottles, to calm herself when Aurora does something to make her anxious and to show animation with her voice so Aurora knows her mom's around. This may seem like instinct for a parent, but for many, Kristen included, they are skills that must be learned and practiced because they were never modeled for them in childhood.

"I want to deal with things a lot better than how my parent figures have in my life," Kristen says.

Of those goals, the most difficult is one that haunts her every word and gesture in the classroom—she must master the ability to control her anger in stressful situations.

INSIDE THE CLASSROOM, A TAPE PLAYS UPBEAT SIMPLE LYRICS FOR CHILDREN. Kristen and Melissa sit together on the floor near the large window that separates the classroom from the outside world. Aurora sleeps soundly in her carrier on the floor next to them. Soon, another mother, infant and interventionist enter the room. Kristen smiles at them. She prefers to be with other people because she can watch how they deal with parenting situations. Plus, Aurora likes to watch people.

From large wooden boxes, the mothers pick toys they think their babies will enjoy and the lab begins. During the time they spend with their children, they are free to do what they want, but the key is to incorporate goals with playtime.

"Hi goober," Kristen says in her high voice. She kisses the baby, who struggles to keep her eyes open and lifts her onto the pink blanket spread on the floor.

Lifting Aurora's flowered shirt to expose her belly, Kristen flits her lips on the flawless skin. The baby coos and reaches for her mom's head, joggling her feet and hands in excitement. When Aurora spits up, Kristen immediately cleans the goo off her face. When the baby's diaper needs changing, Kristen is right on cue. The young mom chats with Melissa while putting a new diaper on the baby. As they speak, Aurora tilts her head in their direction.

"Do you see how she responds?" Melissa says. "Every single word that you say she gets excited about. Whether you know it, you're developing her brain right now."

To help Kristen relax, Melissa relates things from her own parenting experience, like how her toddler still doesn't sleep through the night, which can be normal for kids. Speaking calmly, she offers suggestions.

Gretchen enters the room and the mood changes. Kristen stops playing with Aurora and her eyes latch onto Gretchen making her way to her seat, where she settles with a steno pad to watch the mom and baby. Gretchen says it's typical for parents to become self-conscious in her presence because they know that her evaluations help determine their fates.

Melissa refocuses Kristen's attention by suggesting some development exercises for Aurora, which mother and baby do. Gretchen watches for ten more minutes. As she leaves, Kristen's eyes follow her out of the classroom.

LATER, GRETCHEN AND MELISSA MEET TO ASSESS KRISTEN'S progress during lab. She showed good animation and involvement with Aurora by using her voice. When she moved away from the baby, she continued talking to her. She has exhibited less and less anxiety with each lab. The more time she spends with Aurora, the two women conclude, the more comfortable she is and the more she trusts her own ability to cope with parenting.

Kristen wasn't always this comfortable, Gretchen recalls. In an earlier lab, Aurora wouldn't stop crying and she didn't respond to any of Kristen's attempts to calm her: changing her diaper, giving her a bottle, rubbing her back. When Gretchen asked how Kristen felt having exhausted her options, she said she thought she should take Aurora to the hospital. Gretchen says she stressed to the anxious mother that crying is normal, nothing to get too worked up about. Since then, Gretchen notes with satisfaction, Kristen's anxiety has visibly decreased when Aurora cries. She tends to the child but doesn't get panicky if the crying doesn't stop.

Kristen's determination is paying off.

Recently she has been awarded the privilege of in-home labs where she will start meeting with Melissa and Aurora at home on Fridays rather than in the classroom.

"This is not something I do with everybody," Gretchen explains. "There's no question in my mind where she's at—she's doing really well."

This marks Kristen's entry into the "transition home" phase of the program. Soon, Aurora will stay with Kristen on Friday nights, an extension of the upcoming in-house Friday morning labs. And in five months, Kristen could be given full custody of Aurora who, by then, will be nearing her first birthday.

Though the thought of her daughter coming home delights Kristen, she is also concerned.

"I worry that it's going to be stressful to make a schedule and a routine," Kristen says. But she knows she can't focus too much on the future. She has to concentrate on the present.

As the end of the lab nears, Kristen eyes the clock. The time is near—the time when she has to give her daughter back. "Five-minute warning," Melissa announces.

Kristen has been relishing her time with Aurora, slowly feeding her puréed carrots, holding her while she has lunch and one last bottle feeding. When Melissa asks whether she needs a hand with anything, Kristen declines, knowing that soon she'll have to do all of this on her own.

After feeding Aurora, Kristen gently sets her back on the pink blanket and continues talking to her as she packs the diaper bag. She relegates the bag and its contents to the carrier and tenderly picks up her daughter. Kristen checks to make sure she hasn't forgotten anything. Her movements are deliberate—as if she is willing time to slow down. She doesn't want to take her child back to the lobby. But she knows that with the right steps, she'll never have to take this walk, sit in this small classroom chair or wait to hold Aurora again.

Melissa holds the door open and they enter the hallway.

*names changed for anonymity