Mom Again

Education in America

2011-06-15T02:08:00.002-04:00

Well, it's hard to believe it, but Sun will be heading off to kindergarten next school year.

Searching for quality, affordable day care was an ordeal, but it doesn't compare to the frightful enterprise of choosing a KINDERGARTEN classroom that will prepare your precious 5-year-old for LIFE. I mean, this is not your grandmother's (that would be me) kindergarten. When I started K at Grace A. Green, way back in the year 1, we came into the classroom as tabula rasa. Our teachers treated us like we were little, well children, who needed only to do things like play house, learn to count, learn our ABCs, and learn to sit still when told. I mean, we took naps!

Kindergarten today is serious business. I read recently that children who go to Pre-Kindergarten turn out to have better lives decades later than children who do not. If Pre-K can have an effect on future prospects, imagine how important it is to choose the right K environment. Bad kindergarten--forget college. In the future, employers may want to see your child's kindergarten transcript before offering a job. There is no napping in kindergarten anymore. And you'd better be counting into the hundreds. Forget learning ABCs. If your kid is not reading by kindergarten, you must be doing something wrong. Playing is no longer play--you must be learning something as well.

So now, the decision is upon us. We discussed Sun and Raine's education before now and worried about the state of education in our country, the general decline in the quality of public schools, the disparity between the haves and the have nots. We talked about the charter school option, even considered started our own. (yeah, right) I fell in love with the Montessori philosophy, but could never find anyone who had actually experienced this educational method firsthand, no one who could assure me that all that independence and "unstructured" learning actually pays off. We even considered home schooling. (yeah, right) But, we never felt the urgency because, after all, Sun was only 2. Then, 3. Then 4. Plenty of time.

Now he is 5 and registration deadlines loom before us. And, frankly, I'm feeling very sad about our options. After visiting five schools, talking to parents of children in those schools, talking to anyone who would listen, searching for ratings online, I am truly stymied. So, I'm asking for more input. Tell me, given the choices below, which would you choose?

First, let me lay out my wish list:

An educational philosophy that knows all children can achieve excellence, a classroom environment focused more on experiential learning than on rote memorization or teaching to a test. I want the teacher to develop creativity, independence, and a love of learning, rather than spend hours imposing rules about what not to do in class.
A diverse student population, and a diverse teaching and administrative staff. Male teachers.
Bright, clean, stimulating environment inside the school building and lots of room to run and play, climb, jump, sit in the grass under trees, grow things, etc. outside.
Art, music, drama, phys. ed. classes in addition to the academic curriculum. And, as a result of visiting a private school, I would really like our kindergarteners to start learning another language--at least one.
All at a price we can afford.

We visited 5 schools. Here are our choices:

School #1: The Catholic School. All my life, I've heard about how wonderful a parochial education is: the uniform, the discipline, the academic standards. On our visit to the school, I saw kindergarten classrooms with the chairs lined up perfectly in rows, students who did not seem very friendly, and a repetition of the word 'Obey.' Also, I'm not completely comfortable with the religious education. After spending only a few weeks in the Catholic Pre-K, I heard Sun and Raine talking about some of their stuffed animals who had died after being beaten and hung on a cross. The tuition for the school ran into the thousands, but one can pay monthly and because of a statewide voucher program, parents can get help in the form of grants. The catch is that your child's public school must be in 'Academic Emergency' before you can be considered for a voucher. Our district's schools are in a state of 'Continuous Improvement' (improving from what? I wonder), and therefore, we don't qualify for a voucher. Besides, those babies are snapped up very quickly and only about 14,000 students statewide actually receive the grants.

School #2. The Private School: This wonderful oasis of education sits on 23 acres, tucked away in the innermost reaches of a swanky suburb. It has almost everything on my wish list. The art and music rooms look like they belong on a college campus. The science classroom has live animals. Each grade has its own garden outside. The lower school students (K-2nd grade) meet every Monday morning to share stories, make announcements and presentations. Every grade has an immersion project during the year. The kindergarteners' immersion project is to learn about nutrition, visit restaurants, and then for several weeks in the spring, they plan, design, and run their own restaurant out of their classroom. The meals cost 55 cents and are prepared and served by the 5 and 6 year olds. They learn about healthy eating, the chemistry of cooking, planning and working together, making change from a dollar, running a business. All students, from K through high school, are taught Mandarin Chinese. 100 % of the high school graduates go to college. What's not to love? While the student are a mix of ethnicities (somewhat), the lower school faculty is of one stripe: white females. No men teach in the lower school, and I saw no African American, Latino, or Asian teachers. Then there is the matter of tuition. $15,000 a year. No, that is not a typo.

Schools #3 and 4: The Charter Schools. The reports that charter schools in our area are not producing the stellar scholars they claim to be able to produce are troubling. However, the reports from parents are mostly positive. But the first one I visited was situated in an old, nominally renovated building, with cramped, artificially lit rooms, narrow hallways with thick coats of paint that can not convey a cheerful environment. The building is on a busy street in a 'transitional' neighborhood (one whose transition is stalled) with absolutely no green grass or trees anywhere. The 'playground' consisted of a tired little plastic set plunked down in a circle of concrete. Ugh! Furthermore, the school administrators touted the fact that their students must memorize a School Creed, which spooked me, I'll admit. And finally, this school building is only one of three. Once a child goes to 3rd grade, he must go to another building blocks away. And after grade 6, he must go to another building in another part of the city. And there is no high school. So, built into this school experience is four moves to different school environments. For me, that is a deal-breaker.

The second charter school presented a marginally better appearance. The building was bright, shiny new. There was a play yard, and some grass. Instead of a creed, there were signs everywhere touting the moral lessons that would be part of our child's education. I don't have a problem with that. But online reviews from parents complained about the school's 'zero tolerance' policy, imposed even upon the tender K students, and while we were there, we found several boys (African-American boys) who had been 'sent to the Principal's office' for discipline problems. Somehow, the notion that moral education is stressed and yet you have discipline problems that you can't hide from visitors bothered me. This school did have a male music teacher. Yeah! That alone might be the decision point for me. And it houses K-8th grade in one building. However, the student population was not diverse, and the academic scores reported on the 'Great Schools' website were disappointingly low.

School #5: The Public School. Ah, where to start? In the last election, the school levy was defeated. Therefore, several school buildings are closed. So the building that was meant to house the Pre-K program now must accommodate Pre-K through 2nd grade. On a tour of the admittedly clean, bright, newish building, I asked how many students would be in each kindergarten class. The answer: probably around 28. 28 kindergarteners? Really? I did not even ask about educational philosophy, because I can't imagine a teacher being capable of managing, let alone educating, 28 5-year-olds every day. I did ask if the students were taught a different language, or if they had weekly meetings run by the students, and if there was bus transportation. No, no, and yes. So there you go. To its credit, the student population is somewhat diverse, the principal is a man, the staff seemed quite friendly, and they did have art, music, PE, and a technology room. And a cute library. Another plus is that Raine, being in Pre-K, would be in the same building as Sun--Raine and 900 other students. (I exaggerate, but not by much).

Big sigh. What to do? The Catholic school seems stuffy and overbearing. The private school (which we love) is priced out of our range--even though they have offered a grant for half of the tuition. Do we get second jobs (already done that) or take out a loan for the difference, panhandle on the streets? We're purchasing a home within the year. We're saving for their college tuition. We're strapped. We don't have wealthy grandparents to help out with the fees. We're the grandparents, remember. The charter schools' environment, educational philosophies, and track records are sketchy. And the public school--it almost feels like to send him there is to set him back before he even gets started.

What would you do?

I Hope You Keep Dancing

2011-02-14T20:40:00.028-05:00

Raine turned four this past weekend. The night before her birthday, she attended a Valentine's Day Father-Daughter dance at the local Y. We picked out a 'Cinderella' gown because like so many 3 and 4 year old American girls, she is into the princess thing. She has the dolls, the tiara, the wand, the books, etc. And for this dance, she got the hair pressed and curled for the first time. The amazing thing to me is that with her hair down and all dressed up, she looks so much like a picture of my mother when she was a girl. It's an eerie feeling, looking at your granddaughter and seeing your mother.

Check her out.
Raine and the Macarena
So happy, uninhibited, not a care in the world.

A friend of mine watched the video and said it reminded her of a favorite song, sung by Lee AnnWomack. I Hope You Dance. I like that song too and wished the same for my daughter. As little girls, we awaken each day with "that sense of wonder," a lack of editing, a kind of confidence that can't even be called confidence because it comes before we have the self awareness to be confident or not. It's just pure self.

I hope we all still dance like a four-year-old out on a date with her Daddy. I hope we all still dance.

I Hope You Dance
Songwriters: Sanders, Mark D.; Sillers, Tia;

I hope you never lose your sense of wonder,
You get your fill to eat but always keep that hunger.
May you never take one single breath for granted.
God forbid love ever leave you empty-handed

I hope you still feel small when you stand beside the ocean.
Whenever one door closes I hope one more opens.
Promise me that you'll give faith a fighting chance.
And when you get the choice to sit it out or dance--

I hope you dance, I hope you dance!

I hope you never fear those mountains in the distance.
Never settle for the path of least resistance.
Living might mean taking chances but they're worth taking.
Lovin' might be a mistake but it's worth making.
Don't let some hell-bent heart leave you bitter.
When you come close to selling out reconsider.
Give the heavens above more than just a passing glance.
And when you get the choice to sit it out or dance--

I hope you dance, I hope you dance,
I hope you dance!

Day

2010-11-12T11:22:00.000-05:00

Wake at 5:30.
Stay in bed as long as I can .
Groom. Dress.
Take all medications.
Check my email.
Work two hours.
Unload clean dishes.
Load the dirty ones.
Potty time with the kids.
Feed them their breakfast.
Bath for O.
Bath for S.
Dress. Comb. Brush their teeth.
Snack.
Pack.
Load up the car.
Strap in the kids.
Drive to the park.
Unload the car.
Push them in the swings.
Order them to play.
Sit down in the shade.
Breathe.
Breathe.
Pack up the car and drive back home.
Feed the kids lunch.
Put them down to naps.
Work.
Start dinner.
Read to the kids after nap.
Play some kids game.
Try not to lose my mind.
Make dinner.
Greet returning husband.
Eat. Clean. Watch some TV.
Put them in bed.
Work again.
Shower.
Wash hair.
Rinse.
Repeat.

The Age Thing: Part I

2010-05-23T06:38:00.006-04:00

Sooo, John Travolta, 56, and wife Kelly Preston Travolta are expecting another child. She is 47, about the same age I was when I became a mom again. (Although, I admit, not to a reincarnated child.) Why does this make me happy? Because my children will have a role model of a famous kid with an older mom? Because one day on the playground, my kids will be able to look at me and Kelly Preston having a chat and know--not ALL moms are young and pretty and energetic? Vacuous, yes, but it's the kind of think I thing about.

Right now, some people still say, 'You look young enough to be their mom' when I tell them I'm their grandmother. But that won't last. It won't be long before everyone looks askance at me when Sun and Raine call me mom in public. Will people look askance at Kelly Preston when she's 65 at her child's high school graduation?

Probably not. She can afford all the high maintenance costs, so at 65, she can look 35 if she wants to. As far as maintenance is concerned, I can't even afford to pay attention. Soon enough, there won't even be the odd person who says, 'You look young enough....'

Then, everyone will give that questioning look. And I'll feel compelled to explain our situation over and over and perhaps break down into sobs like I did with the couple from Mason, Ohio, whom I chanced to meet as Sun and I took a stroll along a wooden path. 'Our children don't always turn out like we expected,' the woman said, dripping with sympathy as I explained to her that Skye is my grandson and that my husband and I have custody of two of our grandchildren. 'No. But being a mom again is a blessing,' I began with my standard reply to dripping sympathy. 'Especially after a tragedy.' However, by the time I got to the word 'tragedy,' my voice had cracked and to my own amazement, my eyes teared. I intended to add, 'Look at John Travolta and Kelly Preston...' but couldn't get the words out. The couple smiled, nodded, and made a polite exit. Soon, Sun came running back to me from the duck pond, 'Mommy, look!' and I wiped the tears away.

Right now, he sees me as his Mommy. Not as his grandmommy. To him, I'm the perfect age, whatever age I am, to be his mommy. One day, that will change. He will look at his peers with their young mommies and then at me, and he will know the difference. How we prepare our children for this and the many other moments that will be unique in their lives because they're being raised by their grandparents occupies my mind even more than John Travolta, Kelly Preston, and my low-maintenance march into advancing middle age.

KATHERINE ESTHER (SCRUSE) JACKSON

2010-01-01T01:15:00.000-05:00

Installed in the Mom Again Hall of Fame on January 1, 2010

KATHERINE ESTHER (SCRUSE) JACKSON

Born: May 4, 1930

Just shy of her 80th birthday, she became a Mom Again. Under the most tragic of circumstances, the death by homicide of her much maligned but undeniably talented and loved 5th son, Michael Joseph Jackson, Katherine Esther Jackson was granted permanent legal custody of his children: Prince Michael Joseph I (12), Paris Michael Katherine (11), and Prince Michael II, aka Blanket (7).

She had given birth to ten of her own children and raised all but one to splendid adulthood. As the mother of the famous 1970s singing group The Jackson Five, Katherine Jackson has been a public, if very private, figure for much of her adult life. Husband Joseph Jackson may have believed in the dream of stardom for his children, but Katherine seemed at times unprepared for the sudden change from struggling working-class family to Hollywood celebrity. Through all the fame and the misfortunes, she has been an unceasing defender of her family, even when claims of abuse by Michael and daughter LaToya sullied the image of the all-American success story family. One might think she deserved, at 79, to sit back and let someone else (in the family) do the heavy lifting. But Katherine Jackson did not hesitate to make known her wish to become a Mom Again.

Though she is surrounded by her progeny and is financially comfortable, Mrs. Jackson by all accounts is a "hands-on" Mom Again. The website TMZ caught her on camera at a Target store days after her son's death, shopping for sleeping bags and toys. She takes the children to her Kingdom Hall once a week, planning to raise them as Jehovah’s Witnesses as she did her own children. She is looking into sending the children to school for the first time in their lives (they had been homeschooled), thereby making the kinds of decisions and inquiries all parents must make to ensure their children are well educated. Through her legal representatives, she is seeking some level of control or at least awareness of Michael Jackson’s financial legacy, all for the protection of the three already motherless children he left behind.

As the mother of the famous, and now infamously killed King of Pop, Katherine Jackson and the children will be under a spotlight for the rest of their lives. Those of us who face being parents to young children at an older age know what challenges they all face. We honor her life and her commitment to her children and her children's children as our first Inductee to the Mom Again Hall of Fame.

SELECTED BIBLIOGRAPHY

BIOGRAPHY

Biography.com

IMDB.com

Jackson, Katherine and Richard Wiseman, My Family, the Jacksons, St. Martins, 1990.

NNDB, Tracking the Entire World

ONLINE ARTICLES

Katherine and Joe Jackson, a Unique Team

Katherine Jackson Finally Able to Grieve

PRINT ARTICLES

Johnson, Robert E. Exclusive Interview: Katherine Jackson Says, ‘Don’t Believe Any of La Toya’s Lies.’ Jet; Oct. 21, 1991: 81, 1; page. 58

“We are just a plain family. We don’t claim to be big shots. We are just down-to-earth people.”

Murphy, Carla. “A few million US grandmas know what’s ahead for Katherine Jackson.” The Christian Science Monitor. Boston, MA.: Julu 8, 2009, pg. 2

“Michael Jackson's mother, Katherine Jackson, raised nine children, but the last came of legal age when she was 54. Raising her late son's three children, ages 7 to 12, now, at age 79, would be another challenge unto itself, and it's one that nearly 3 million American families tackle - although they're not necessarily the families you might think they are.”

“One big happy family.” People Weekly. Feb. 28, 1994, vol. 41. iss. 8, pg. 62.

“In 1980, with children Randy and Janet, Katherine marched into Joe's office, grabbed his assistant, Gina Sprague--whom they believed was also his lover--and according to a police report filed by Sprague, Kate announced, "Bitch, you better leave my husband alone!" She then beat Sprague, who was later treated at a local hospital.”

McCann, John. “Just how old is too old for caring?” Herald Sun. durham, NC. Aug. 14, 2009, pg. C4.

“Weeks ago, before the late Michael Jackson's mother gained custody of his children, Beverly Gibbs was on her Thursday-morning radio show on 1410 AM WRJD dismissing the notion that grandmothers like Katherine Jackson, 79, are too old to raise kids.”

Giddings, paula. “Katherine jackson.” Essence v. 21 (December 1990), p. 38.

“Katherine Jackson describes both the highs and lows that accompanied her children's success, including her husband's infidelity, conflicts with Motown, and the persistent rumors that plague her son Michael.”

MOVIE

The Jacksons: An American Dream.

Pain Is Inevitable

2009-12-01T06:38:00.000-05:00

At the age of 51, at 5:15 a.m., I dragged my reluctant, 30 pounds overweight ass out of bed to attend my second fitness bootcamp. Despite knowing that exercise is important for living a long, healthy life (and being a Mom Again, I long for longevity, if not immortality), I searched for every excuse I could to avoid doing this 45-minute high-intensity workout again, searched all the way into the parking lot—desolate at 5:55 in the morning. Maybe, I thought, no one else will show up and the class will be cancelled.

Fortunately, several other campers had already entered the brightly lit Shao-Lin DO Center, a beacon in this dark hour of the morning. Right inside the door was Jason Yun, proprietor of Yun’s Fitness Bootcamp, which was meeting this morning at the Hilliard, Ohio location. So—there was no escape for me. And that’s good.

Yun’s Fitness Bootcamp is like no exercise routine I’ve done before. I’m used to the hopalong, dancealong, Zumba-esque aerobics class with a frightfully excited expert leading the rest of us in complicated sequences of lock-step moves. Nor is it what I expected—a screaming Sarge commanding us to ‘drop and do 20.’ Jason’s sessions include a variety of weight-training exercises and simple calesthenics. His demeanor is encouraging but calm, and everyone works and advances at his/her own pace.

Jason’s workout is based on interval training, which he describes as “…high intensity exercise performed for a certain amount of time or reps, followed by less intensity or complete rest for a certain amount of time or reps.” Key words here—high intensity. And let me tell you, I’m feeling the effects.

The warm up for my first class was about 8 minutes; that meant at 4 minutes, my thighs were already screaming for help. For a week afterwards, I continued to feel the burn. But by the time I arrived at my second class, I knew what to expect. After all, a writing on the wall (literally) said, “Pain is inevitable. Suffering is a choice.” I completed the workout feeling invigorated, and prepared for the short-term pain that is to come.

As I was leaving, a fellow camper asked me, “Do you like this?” I had to admit I did. “Are you feeling sore?” she asked. To which I should have replied, “Are you kidding?”

So, in an effort to gain, if not immortality, at least vitality, I will get up at 5:15 a.m. to attend the next Fitness Bootcamp class, and the next, etc., looking forward to the day I can drag my reluctant, 20 pounds lighter ass out of bed.

Mom Again Hall of Fame: Honoring Kinship Caregivers

2009-08-04T13:21:00.031-04:00

Periodically, this site will post a Mom Again Hall of Fame Honoree. These Honorees will be women and men--historical, fictional, or contemporary, prominent or little known--who in middle age or as seniors take on the responsibility of raising the children of their children. People like

Madelyn Dunham, a Kansas-born woman who played a significant role in raising the
first African American President of the United States, Barack Obama
George and Martha Washington, as in the Nation's first First Couple, who raised two of their grandchildren in the President's House
Mabel Eudoria White who moved to Hollywood so that her granddaughter, Carole Burnett, could pursue a career in entertainment
The grandparents and great-grandparents who raised Edward James Olmos, Isaac Hayes, and Willie Nelson--all of whom credit a large part of their success to the influence of the "grand" parents who raised them

Too often, the role these grandparents/parents play in their grandchildren's lives is ignored, underappreciated, or unknown. In this Mom Again Hall of Fame, I hope to raise awareness of custodial grandparents and provide role models of energy,compassion, perseverance and sacrifice for the millions of middle-aged and senior people who, at that time in life when they could be "empty nesters" take on the task of building a life for young children all over again.

Kinship Caregivers--You ROCK!

The first Honoree will be posted on August 29, 2009, on the anniversary of the birth of her son Michael Jackson: Katherine Esther Jackson

Send comments and nominations for future Honorees to jabarnes937@gmail.com.

Support, 3.0

2009-06-07T13:15:00.006-04:00

You may remember my quest for a local support group for Moms Again in my area. After a long search, I finally attended one meeting of such a group. I was enthusiastic about the meeting, but have not returned. I could blame this on logistics, laziness, or "Other Life Events," but the truth is, the group just didn't seem like the right fit for me. Presumably, these groups have continued to meet, but I just learned that the county-wide organization linking them together is shutting down.

The Kinship Navigator program was created to provide information, resources, and activities for kinship caregivers. I first learned about them in Montgomery County, Ohio, where the organization is fully staffed, fully funded, engaged with many other community organizations, and by all accounts, thriving. However, in this county where I now live, the program had a small staff that was often hard to reach, seemed to operate on a marginal budget, seemed somewhat isolated, and is now going away. No doubt a victim of budget cuts. No doubt those of us who should have did not support their activities or advocate for their existence. I know that I didn't. Perhaps--and this is just my personal musing--this particular program didn't do much for kinship caregivers in this county and won't be missed. But if the closing down of such programs is happening across the country, then the need for Parents Again to find other means of sharing experiences and information is crucial.

With that in mind, I have joined a grandparents raising grandchildren group on Facebook. I plan to be a more active participant this time. I have high hopes--for myself and for the group--that we can make a difference in each others' lives and in the communities that support (or don't support) us.

Members come from different parts of the country, have care of grandchildren of different ages, and no doubt lead lives very different from each other. But we have some key things in common:

we are dealing with the issues of being middle-aged parents to young children whose own parents are a source of worry, pain, loss, and sometimes hope;

we want to share our stories because we recognize that our social position is odd: most people our age are not raising young children; most parents of young children are 20 to 30 years younger than we are. While there are benefits to cross-generational communication, we really want to talk to people who are like ourselves, to form a new (and by all accounts, growing) social group;

we have been given the special gift of having our grandchildren with us all the time (in contrast to those proud grandparents who are happy because they can "send the children back to their parents," we can't, and for myself, I don't want to); and

we need (and are actively seeking) help!

I have so many questions I want to ask, so may opinions I want to hear, so many experiences I want to share and learn about from others--but I will reign in my enthusiasm and let the benefits of talking to other Parents Again on Facebook accrue over time, like a savings account--with much better interest!

The Verdict is In

2009-05-21T03:05:00.001-04:00

GUILTY!

Exhausted.

Details another day.

The Jury is Out

2009-05-20T10:49:00.002-04:00

The jury is deliberating. We are on our way back to court this morning (Wed.), hoping for a verdict soon. We must leave Atlanta today either way, and may be on the road when the verdict is read. I hope not. I want to be in the courtroom no matter how it turns out.

No time to say much about the closing arguments of the last defense attorney and the lead prosecutor. Suffice to say, they were as expected. The defense attorney may have convinced the jury to acquit his client of at least some of the charges. The prosecutor gave a closing that sparked emotion in Justin's friends and family. He dramatically pointed to Josh, who was running close behind Justin that night, and said, "He's lucky to be alive and here today." The entire court turned to look at Josh.

What seemed to be a solid case now seems to have its doubters. Let's all hope and pray that true justice is done.

The Defense (Un)Rests

2009-05-19T08:49:00.005-04:00

On Friday, the entire defense team rested its case WITHOUT CALLING A SINGLE WITNESS. One by one, the defendants responded to the judge's questions about their right to take the stand on their own behalf. To the man, they all declined to do so. With no one else, apparently, willing to either (1) perjure him/herself under oath to be an alibi witness or (2) claim under oath that these young men are of good character, court ended early on Friday because at least one of the defense attorneys claimed he was "not ready" to give his closing arguments. The truth is, no one wanted to give a closing argument that would be forgotten over the weekend.

So, Monday opened with the first of six closing statements, each of which could be two hours long. First to speak was the prosecution co-counsel who explained the law for the jury for the first time. He explained about legal responsibility, specifically how each party to a crime can be held legally responsible for the actions of only one party. This is because of two legal principles: "party to the crime" and "conspiracy." For instance, if two men decide to rob a bank, but only one actually goes into the bank while the other stays outside and drives the getaway car, both are EQUALLY responsible for the bank robbery. And, if the one inside the bank assaults or kills someone, both are equally charged for murder, even though there was only one shooter.

This applies directly to our case. For two weeks, the defense attorneys have argued their clients' innocence of the charges because there was only one shooter and no one (except Ahmad) claimed to know who the shooter was. Well, the co-prosecutor shredded that defense with a simple explanation of the elements of each charge against the defendants (there are 15) and with examples everyone could understand. He used a power point presentation to illustrate his information and he provided evidence from the trial's 33 witnesses and over 200 exhibits to show why these people should be found guilty. His presentation took a little over an hour, just as he had said it would.

When the judge asked the defense attorneys how long each of their presentations would be, they answered from twenty minutes to less than an hour. That was the first lie they told.

The first defense attorney who spoke represents the (unadmitted) shooter, MB. He had said his presentation would take about 20 to 30 minutes, but because he repeated himself so often, he ended up speaking for over an hour. He advised the jury that they were the "barrier" between the "awesome power of the state" and his client. As an example of this "awesome power," he noted that the prosecutors used Power Point, while he was reduced to his legal tablet and scribbled notes. There are five-year-olds who can put together a Power Point presentation. This relatively simple technology might have helped him organize his thoughts. If he had had a clear plan of presentation, he might have cut out all of the unnecessary and annoying repetition. Then his summation might truly have been only 30 minutes. From his opening to this closing, this lawyer deserves to be labelled "Unprepared."

After a break, the next defendant's two attorneys split their two hour time allotment. This was Ben Matlock and his co-counsel. The co-counsel spoke first. He made it known that the true presentation of the laws that apply to the charges against the defendants will come from the judge, not the prosecutor. A valid point. He also pointed out the lack of evidence against his client concerning his "gang affiliation."

"He had just graduated from high school two months before this tragic incident. How could he be a member of a gang?"

Ummm.

He also lacked any of the "gang" tattoos, and on his MySpace page, he was never seen wearing a bandanna. He neglected to remind the jury about the gang "symbol" flashed by his client repeatedly on his web pages. He continued to claim his client was "just passing through" the secured apartment complex at the time of the incidents, having gained access by crawling under a fence. The trouble is, this reminded everyone in the court, including the jury, of the fact that his client's "re-enactment" of this entry was shown to be impossible on video tape. Mercifully, his summation was short.

Ben Matlock, unfortunately, was neither brief nor interesting. He began by simply restating what each witness for the prosecution said on the stand. I admit, I left the courtroom during his presentation. There is something about the sound of his voice that just irks me. But reports from Justin's friends indicate he continued his recitation in the same vein, to what purpose only he (and presumably his client) knows.

While in the hallway outside the courtroom, I had an encounter with a friend of one of the defendants. I know, I know, we're not supposed to speak. But the young man approached me, and it's not in my nature to be nasty or even impolite. He asked me if I had a friend in the courtroom, and I told him Justin was my son. Despite the fact that I think he knew this already, he showed genuine sympathy. He let me know that he and the defendant had been friends since 5th grade. But he did not go on to say how impossible it is that his friend could be involved in such criminal activity. This may be because his friend is already a convicted felon, having driven a getaway car from a shooting involving an AK-47 a couple of years before.

This brings up an interesting and disturbing fact about all but one of these defendants. Three of the four on trial have previous arrests and convictions for felony crimes. Felonies involving guns and home invasions and weapons on school property. MB is still facing charges in North Carolina for involvement in a murder case. He was OUT ON BAIL when he shot Justin. Why? Why? Why are these boys out on the street??????

The last closing argument for the day came from the attorney who could be labeled "Has not a clue." It is impossible for me to relate here the many illogical statements he made during his hour and half presentation. Early on, this was his claim: "The evidence that my client knew nothing about the shooting is that he asked 'Nancy' (a co-worker who lived in the apartment complex on Aug. 2, 2007, and whom his client called that night to gain access to the property) 'Did you hear about the shooting at your apartment complex last night?'" He asked this before any news reports had been published. He asked this before Nancy, or any of the residents, had been notified of the incident by management. But, oh, he "knew nothing" about it. Except that it had happened.

Actually, this lawyer made some good points about evidence not offered by the prosecutors, evidence which might have strengthened their case. For instance, he pointed out that since each of the boys reportedly climbed over a fence with barbed wire at the top, there must have been some blood evidence to collect. No such evidence was offered. Also, a "wife-beater" tee shirt and a "do-rag" were recovered on that barbed wire, indicating the criminals used these to avoid getting too cut up. But no DNA tests were performed on these items, tests which might have definitively placed at least some of them there. However, these perfectly reasonable points were lost in his rambling, otherwise illogical, oftentimes contradictory remarks. Furthermore, he insulted the jurors several times! "I can hold you here for another 45 minutes" he told them when he learned he had been speaking for over an hour. "I know you want a bathroom break, but I'm going to keep talking," he said.

You had to be there. The jurors, the defendants' friends and family, Justin's friends and family, and EVEN THE COURT REPORTER could not help but express incredulity at this attorney's close. I've seen very few closings in real life, but I've watched a lot of Law and Order. This has got to be the worst closing I've ever seen!

Today, the last defense attorney, the exuberant African, will give his arguments. We can all expect a dramatic presentation. Then the lead prosecutor will close. We can all expect a highly competent presentation. Then the judge will give the jury instructions, and they will retire to deliberate.

The light at the end of this tunnel appears. We are all ready for this to be over.

Don't Ask, Don't Tell, Don't Even Speak

2009-05-15T09:11:00.003-04:00

Yesterday, on my way to court, I was told that if anyone on the defendants' side should say something to me, I should not respond but should inform one of the deputies. The day before, several friends and family of one of the defendants became very vocal outside the courtroom about a decision by the court to allow certain evidence. They were well aware that Justin's father could hear them; yet they ranted on. Earlier in court, some of them had laughed at a description of a picture of Justin flashing a "peace" sign. His father and I engaged in a stare-down with the gigglers, I admit. So, antagonism between the two groups of family and friends seems to be growing. Thus the warning not to engage in any conversation with "the other side."

Before being told this, I had already had a conversation with a defendant's mother, and we continue to speak whenever we have occasion. I have made eye contact (nonhostile) with some of the others, but have received little indication they want to engage. Fine with me. In the hallways, bathrooms, and streets outside the court, I have also run into defense attorneys, jurors, court employees, and even the judge--and they have all made a big show of not speaking to me. Not even a hello. Not even a nod. Nada. It's a wierd situation, but now I understand why no one seems inclined to show simple politeness.

As for the case, the prosecution seems close to resting its case. The lead detective finished testifying in cross-examination, and now the ADA is calling witnesses to testify about "similar transactions." These are prior bad acts of assault, robbery, gun possession, even murder committed by the defendants. After this, the dreaded medical examiner will take the stand. I have decided to sit this day out.

I hope by Monday the defense will begin presenting its case. What kind s of witnesses will they call? Already, two people on thier witness list have been told they will "not be needed." One was clearly going to perjure herself, and evidently did not want to go to jail. No doubt they will call a string of people to say what wonderful citizens these boys are, how they could not possibly have been engaged in the crimes with which they are charged. With any luck, it will be a short presentation and the case can go to the jury early next week.

Stay tuned.

The Wheels on the Bus

2009-05-13T23:38:00.003-04:00

I did not attend court today. Instead, I took Sun and Raine on their very first ride on a city bus. For some reason, these two children absolutely love buses. They sing the song "The Wheels on the Bus" at least once a day and most days more than once. Their favorite DVD is "The Wheels on the Bus." They play with bus toys, read books about buses (well, we read them, but we've read them so many times I'm sure they know them by heart). So, we rode the bus from the university where I used to teach back to our hotel. Raine took it all in stride, but Sun was all grins and stares riding that bus. When we reached our destination and it was time to get off, he became one of those babies on the bus who go "Waa waa waa," all the way off the bus, into the hotel, and back to our room He stopped only when I warned him I would never take him on a bus again unless he stopped crying.

Meanwhile, the wheels of justice turned sloooowly. Yesterday, the lead detective on this case began testifying. He was on the stand all day today, and will likely be under cross examination most of tomorrow. And the defense attorneys went "Waa waa waa" all day long. They raised so many objections, the jury had to be sent out three times. The lunch break for the jury stretched out to about 3:30, and court did not end until 6:00. The prosecutor introduced what "our side" considers some very damaging testimony that, among other things, included a totally illogical story by one defendent who claims he just happened to be walking through this secured area after crawling under a fence at 2:00 a.m. on his way to see his mother. Problem is, his videotaped "reenactment" found this formidable steel fence unmolested, with no holes and no space for anyone to crawl under. Another defendent was recorded on a phone call he made from jail. He was intimidating a witness, who happened to be his own father. And a third defendent, the shooter, in a taped interrogation with the detective offered to confess to his part in the crime (still denying that he even had a gun) if, and only if, the police would buy him a Bojangles chicken lunch.

I'm sorry I missed all of that. But hubby and I have decided to save money and time by taking turns going to trial and staying with the children. I'm glad I did not miss seeing the wonder in Sun's eyes as the big blue Cobb County bus rolled up, the doors hissed open, and the driver said "move on back!" (Okay, the driver didn't say move on back, but he did let us ride for free!) When the wipers started going "swish, swish, swish," and the riders started going "bumpety bump," you could not have paid me to be anywhere else than with Sun and Raine, for whom art today became life.

A Defendant With a Conscience

2009-05-12T20:23:00.002-04:00

Apologies for letting a couple of days of the trial go by without this update, but I can explain. On Friday, I was told the forensic investigator was testifying, and I didn't want to hear all of that. His testimony had a profound effect on those who love Justin (J.B.), and I was told that it was good I wasn't there. But I returned to the courtroom on Monday afternoon and today to hear from one of the defendants, whom I'll call Ahmad, who made the decision to testify against the others as a prosecution witness.

For this decision he received nothing but scorn and ridicule from the defense attorneys who charged him with having a "secret deal" to lessen his charges. We've been assured by the lead detective, the prosecutor, an investigator with the state, and the witness himself--over and over on the stand--that he did not, in fact, have any kind of deal and had been told, explicitly, that he would not have a deal. He was testifying, he said, to "clear my conscience," recognizing that he is partly responsible for what happened and he has "the blood of Justin Brown" on his hands.

I don't know what the jury thought of his credibility, but we (the family and friends of Justin) believed him. We believed him even though he had previously lied to the police. We believed him even though he said he "never touched a gun" that night and had tried to convince the others that no gun was needed. But the defense attorneys (seven of them now!) hammered away at him, trying to shake him off his resolve. To no avail. He held up. He stuck to his story. And he NAMED THE SHOOTER!

(Yes, MB, we know you did it. You bragged about it. You told your "boys" you "hit that dude in the chest" and saw him crumple. You can sit in the courtroom and ACT LIKE you're innocent, but we now all know you did it!)

Yes, Ahmad agreed to do the robbery that led to this shooting. Yes, he suggested the target (a former classmate of his whom he said was an "easy mark"). And yes, he went up to the target's apartment with the intent to rob him. But he has done what the other three defendants who did not shoot the gun should have done--he admitted his role and told what happened--the truth.

If the jury believes his story, the case is decided. If they don't, I just don't know what to say about people.

Trials and Triumphs, Day 1

2009-05-08T11:53:00.004-04:00

The trail started yesterday and I am happy to say I did not fill up with hate when I got my first look at the defendants. In fact, with the antics of the defense lawyers, it would have been comical if it hadn't all been so sad. But the great show of support from Justin's friends who showed up and who are following the trial on blogs, facebook and twitter was an antidote to all that is sad about this whole thing. It's too early to make any predictions about the outcome but I have a couple of observations:

1. The lead prosecutor is ALMOST as cool and collected as Barack Obama. I am very impressed with him. His opening statement was organized, thorough, clearly articulated, and yet he struck a conversational tone. He remained unruffled by the numerous objections and motions to dismiss the case from the peanut gallery, uh, I mean the defense attorneys.

2. The defense attorneys are made up of these characters: a Ben Matlock lookalike, complete with heavy Southern drawl; a hack whose cross examinations seem to support the prosecutions case more than his client's; a couple of ill-prepared dolts who apparently have not done their due diligence; and a flamboyant African man who distorts the truth, uses flattery and humor to try to win over the jury, but who is the most entertaining and probably the most effective of all the defense attorneys.

3. Having said that, there's still no guarantee the the trial will go our way. Like I said, these defense lawyers made no less than 10 motions to dismiss in just one day and too many objections to count. They may wear down the judge's good judgment. They may influence the jury. Speaking of the jury--I just don't know. At least one juror for whom English is a second language admitted during voir dire that she 'didn't understand much' of what was being said. Ummm, how did she make it on the jury?

4. With four defendents and six defense attorneys, numerous State witnesses still to come and all the motions and objections, this trial may go on for two more weeks.

I walked out of the courtroom at one point to avoid seeing some video tape I didn't think I could handle. In the lobby sat the mother of one of the defendents. I looked at her and she looked at me, but we didn't say anything. After I sat there for a minute, I got up to introduce myself to her (she knew who I was). She began apologizing for "all of this," and telling me how much she has thought about our family and our loss, and how much she has been praying for us, and how sorry she is. She told me she had lost a son last Fall. We hugged. She admitted that nothing she could say would make a difference in this tragedy. I agreed. I said, "I wish you had known Justin. He was a good son." Then we parted. I'm still processing this encounter.

On a happy note, we took the children with us to court in the morning because the Atlanta traffic made it impossible to make it all the way to the babysitter's house and back in time for the opening statements. They behaved splendidly! But during the lunch break, we did take them to stay with her. As I expected, there were tears, but those stopped soon after we left. And as I hoped, the children came running into our arms when we returned.

Finally, kudos to JB Sr. (Justin's father) for how well he handled his time on the witness stand. He was the State's first witness who was there to "say who Justin was." He did it with great dignity and intelligence even though I know it was a tough time for him. And thanks "Jack" (Justin's uncle) for coming to Atlanta. Thanks BD for the get together after the day's ordeal. Thanks to Justin's friends and if I start naming names I will surely leave someone out, but you know who you are. And great thanks to the lead detective for ALL THAT HE HAS DONE AND IS STILL DOING TO BRING THESE YOUNG MEN TO JUSTICE.

Of Babies and Babysitters

2009-05-06T22:52:00.002-04:00

Here is a dilemma I never thought I'd face: leaving my two grandchildren with a babysitter I just met today so that I can attend the trial of my son's killers tomorrow.

After two months of searching and with help from extended family and friends, especially Jacque and Niki, I have hired a woman to babysit the children while we're in Atlanta: an expectant stay-at-home soon-to-be mom again who will care for Sun and Raine while my husband and I sit in a courtroom for eight or more hours. She comes highly recommended. She seems lovely, warm and generous and she says she loves children. Her home is a good environment for children--free of knick knacks and what nots children should not touch, with a playground nearby and trails for walking.

I'm grateful she's willing to take on our two- and three-year-olds for eight or nine hours, sight unseen. This happened truly at the 11th hour. Until about 7:00 this evening, we were still without a babysitter or a solution. Would we take the children with us to court? Is that even allowed? It certainly isn't ideal. Would both of us miss part of the trial as we take care of them in tandem? That's the easiest and best solution, perhaps, but totally unsatisfactory. Now, we have a solution, and now, I'm having all kinds of doubt.

No matter how loving and caring she is, Sun and Raine are going to have a fit when we leave them with her. They will think we are abandoning them and be scarred for life. (Worst case scenario) Or they will cry for a while and then get distracted and adapt and have fun and rush into our arms when we picked them up. (I can only hope)

I'm not sure I can do this, after all. I've bought food for their lunch and snacks and treats and will pack their favorite books and toys. I'll EXPLAIN to them that Mommy and Daddy will come back to get them--. But there will be a scene. It's midnight now and I still don't know if I can go through it.

Thus, the dilemma: Do I skip the trial and stay with the children, or do I trust that this last-minute, lovely babysitter is truly a godsend and go represent my love for my son in court?

I'll find out tomorrow.

Happy Birthday, Pilar

2009-02-24T14:00:00.004-05:00

Happy Birthday, Pilar. Wherever you are, I pray you are safe.

Maybe you will use a computer in a library, search for your name and find this post. We talked about that. It's possible. So, I'm sending this video birthday blog.

Your children are beautiful. On this blog, I call them Sun and Raine, but you know who they are. They are now both two (Irish Twins), and driving me into the library to find books about what to do with two-year-olds. They yell at each other. They do not want to share--toys, books, me or their Dada. They whine when they don’t get their way. Yet--they are the sweetest babies on Earth!

You can have a conversation with Sun and learn things from him. You would appreciate that Pilar because you were verbal early yourself. He uses metaphors and similes. He reasons things out and solves problems. He has a great singing voice (Watch the clip below). Raine can repeat just about anything you say and can say what she wants even if it's often in a language we don't understand. Her Uncle J. told her, "You got to start speaking English!" Happily, she is. She’s talking about as well as a typical two-year-old. Considering her preemie beginnings, that’s saying something.

Raine knows so much more than she lets on. Behind those big Brown eyes, Pilar, she’s always watching. I think this is a preemie characteristic. She was recently evaluated for a NIH preemie follow-up study. She sat there and put pegs in the right place, and matched shapes, and pointed out all these objects in a book and said words that were understood! She looked people in the eye and responded to her name and instructions and basically aced all the tests. At the end of the examination, the nurse packed up her things like, "No problems here!" You can read about this ongoing nationwide study here. http://www.nichd.nih.gov/about/org/cdbpm/pp/prog_epbo/

Not only do they communicate well, but Sun and Raine are also polite and friendly. Sun's teacher told me he always says "please" and "thank you." She says this is rare among kids these days. Wow. And Raine will approach just about anyone and say, "How!" which in Rainespeak is “Hello!” She is fearless. This can be dangerous, we know. We’ll have to help her develop her judgment. For now, she's just one of those babies you can Never Take Your Eyes Off Of—or else she’s gone and into something.

Did I say they were beautiful? Just look at them. Those are your children. They need you in their lives. We all do. We want you to get help.

I say that, and yet I know it's like asking a burning man to put out the fire himself. I also know that with the current state of mental health care policy and practice, you either go for help yourself or get taken there against your will, usually after some crisis. I still remember the first time we experienced the 72-Hour Hold process and I learned just how difficult it is to help people with mental disorders. But we keep trying. Your father and I are looking for a long-term residential facility where you can get the sustained care you need. Mostly, we are looking for you.

So, if you do read this, please go get help. You can go to the emergency room. I know you know where it is. They will contact us. If someone else reads this, especially in the Atlanta area, and sees Pilar, show this to her. If anyone knows and can recommend a good residential treatment facility for young women with mental disorders—please, contact us through this blog.

Help is available, Pilar. You don’t have to go through this alone.

Support, Part 2

2008-12-06T22:48:00.010-05:00

In 2006, our family contributed to the Kinship Caregiver Coalition's Christmas basket fund. They distribute baskets of toys, books, and food to help kinship caregivers pay for this most expensive holiday. This year, however, we received a Christmas basket--well, trash bags actually--filled with toys, books, clothing, and food. Our benefactor is a ministry called Project Help. Does our shift in position from givers to receivers reflect a change in our economic status? Or is something else going on?

After I attended the support group meeting I wrote about in Support, Part 1, we started getting offers of --well, assistance. Not just the Christmas basket but another group offered to give us a Thanksgiving basket a few weeks before. I don't remember supplying any financial information to or requesting aid from the organization that sponsored the meeting. Yet, here we are, on their list to receive -- assistance.

I have to admit, it felt odd to be "in need of assistance," as in "so and so charity provides clothing and toys to families 'in need of assistance.'" BD and I declined the Thanksgiving basket. "Certainly there are other families who need food," I condescendingly explained to the person who called to deliver our basket. "We have our Thanksgiving dinner, thank you. So, just give our basket to a (needy) family." I did not say "needy" to her; I said "another." But needy is what I meant.

Why is it that accepting charity, assistance--financial or otherwise--should make us feel ashamed, embarrased, needy?

It's not like we haven't received assistance before. When we first brought Sun home, a place called Hannah's Closet sent baby clothes, plush toys, crib linens, a car seat, a stroller, bottles, and diapers to us for free. When the children were infants, we received WIC program coupons for formula (expensive stuff!), milk, and juice. Our state offers a monthly grant to kinship caregivers based solely on that fact, regardless of income. It is not much, but I got a letter today stating that, come January, the amount will be increased. In these tough economic times, it's incredible that the State of Ohio affords even a minimal increase. In these economic times, it's good news for us.

But somehow "needing" a basket at Thanksgiving and Christmas carries a connotation that made me uncomfortable. Why? Years of indocrination, I suppose. We're supposed to beleive that anyone who needs and accepts assistance is lazy, a cheat, of low value in society. A leech sucking money from the hardworking taxpayers.

I know that's not true for us. We're two of the hardest-working people I know. I don't believe it's true for other kinship caregivers. Raising children is the hardest and most worthwhile work you can do. I doubt it's true for any of the other (mostly) women lined up along with me in the freezing cold and falling snow to receive our Christmas baskets from Project Help this year. Some of those women could not even stand in line. They were on canes or had arthritis so bad they had to be escorted along the "shopping" areas. All of them--every one--had children they had to get back home to. One woman I talked to is caring for four foster children, all boys. Whew!

So, yes, I accepted this offer of Christmas toys for our family, though BD was not 100% for it. I accepted not because we can't afford to purchase some gifts for Sun and Raine. (But any money we save now is only going to benefit them in the future.) I went there today because here was another chance for me to get the kind of support I do need: the company of people who are experiencing the challenges we're experiencing; the chance to share stories, make connections, get information; and, most importantly, the evidence of the good and loving impulses in our species in the fact that so many volunteers gave up hours of their life to make accepting assistance an efficient, pleasant, humanizing experience. Not at all like mall shopping.

Not just those volunteering today, but the many people who worked in the weeks leading up to this day, gathering donations, sorting, boxing, labeling. And not just the people doing the physical work, but also the stores, organizations ,and individuals who donated food, toys, clothes and school supplies. And not just the donors, but also the spirit of the woman who started Project Help 22 years ago--Mrs. Claire Lilla Waters. By accepting their assistance, thier gift, I am touched by and connected to them all.

Mrs. Waters' daughter, Sandy Waters-Holley, is carrying on this annual event now that her mother has passed. I can't help but feel good after just a few minutes in her presence. She is spirit-filled. "This is not about Santa Clause," she told us. "This is about Jesus."

Where is the shame in accepting such help as this?

I read a prayer recently, written by a 17th Century poet: "Thou that hast given so much to me, Give one thing more, a grateful heart."

It's not an economic shift, but a spiritual one that allows me to accept this charity with a grateful heart. Thanks to the volunteers with Project Help Clothing Ministry, FirstLink, the State of Ohio, and taxpayers (of which I am one), for this wonderful Christmas gift.

USA 2.0

2008-11-06T09:36:00.011-05:00

When a major revision of a computer program is released, that version is called 2.0. A 2.0 release is an improvement over 1.0 because the known bugs have been fixed and new features added. Windows 2.0 brought improved graphic support and overlapping windows. Web 2.0 is the “next phase of the evolution of the Internet.” A 2.0 release is a major break or change from the old version. Now that we have elected Barack Obama as our country’s 44th President, the United States of America has a chance to release our 2.0—the new, improved, more user-friendly version.

The great experiment of representative democracy, formed in the minds and souls of our founding fathers and mothers over 200 years ago, professed that all are born equal and have the same opportunity to rise to the top. The founding of our nation represented a break from the past. Yet this version of America was released with a major bug in the system, a fatal flaw, a stain, The Birthmark upon its beautiful face. That was slavery.

Stolen from Africa, sold by their own kind into a vile Slavery-Mercantile Complex, Africans survived the Middle Passage and their descendents endured centuries of oppression and discrimination under USA 1.0. While the birthmark may be faded, it yet remains, compelling people to look away in disgust, denial, guilt, and fear. But with the election of President Barack Obama, the stain can all but disappear. This bug that has escaped fixing even up to the present day, we can address in USA 2.0.

I don’t think we should forget our history as a slave-holding nation. On the contrary, we should build museums, mark historic sites, remind people of the fundamental wrongs of slavery. We should also appreciate the strength and endurance of this new race of people, African-Americans, mestizos, a mixture of Africa and America. They survived, endured, and helped build this nation. And today one of them, Barack Obama, LITERALLY an African-American, will become President of the United States of America.

Nor do I think all racial tensions will be resolved with this election. Far from it. However, I do have greater hope that my grandchildren will inherit a better nation, one that truly lives up to Dr. King's dream that people should be judged by the content of their character. I want Sun and Raine to know every time they see a picture of President Barack Obama just how great this country is. For that to happen, I believe, we must all take part in this new release. For those of us who look at other Americans and still see the birthmark, take this opportunity to be released from your old, tired attitudes. We don’t have to look away. Instead, we can engage each other, discuss, exchange, and basically, GET OVER IT!

Instead of fixing our gaze upon the mark, let’s look each other in the eyes and embrace USA 2.0.

Raine as Sarah Palin: "Now can we all just get along?"

See the Dayton Daily News article about our Bus Trip to the Inauguration. Contact me at jabarnes937@gmail.com if you'd like to go along.

Day Care, Part 3

2008-10-31T10:58:00.012-04:00

A couple of weeks ago, I wrote about Raine's experiences in an early intervention program for children with physical or mental delays. These many days later, I'm finally getting around to writing about Sun's experience in a Christian day care center. I apologize for the delay. I wanted to get an audio recording of Sun singing "Let's Go Fly a Kite" so perfectly as he does, so I could post it here and show everyone what a great vocabulary he has at two years old. (One of the perks of being a Grandmom/Mom is that you can gush about your grandchildren unashamedly.) But it was taking too long to actually get that accomplished. That was asking too much of Sun, of the blog, and frankly, of me. However, I did get an "imperfect" and yet engaging performance from Sun, which you can listen to by clicking the attachment below (if I can get it loaded).

Let the Sun Shine

I've had two children and been around a lot more, so I can say with some authority that Sun's communication skills are advanced for his age. I started keeping track when he was 14 months old and spoke 29 clearly articulated words, one of which was "book". A month or more later, he more than doubled the list, with 65 words, including "oxygen" after his sister's oxygen generating machine and tanks were added to our household decor. I lost count around 17 months and by 20 months, he was speaking in 3-4 word sentences. He could sing his ABCs, recognize people from pictures and say their names (including "Obama!"), and ask for just about anything he wanted. He made observations about the world around him. Once in a woman's office, he heard a train whistle from some distance away and said, "Train, Mama." The woman was so amazed not only because he said this, but because she had worked in her office for years and never heard a train go by.

Not long after 21 months, I noticed Sun using similes and metaphors. That's when I knew--I needed to get him into some kind of formal learning environment because he was quickly going to exceed my teaching abilities. So I started looking for classes and day care centers, which I wrote about in an earlier post. That's when I ran into the "High-Cost-of-Daycare" wall.

I'm happy to say that Sun is now enrolled in a Christian day care center that we all like. It has a friendly, professional, caring staff; a wonderfully colorful, diverse, and expansive facility; a website, a newsletter, a camera in every room so parents can observe their children; parent meetings, daily reports, lessons in values and world cultures (!); and (this is what I really love) a big comfy sofa in every classroom.

All of this is not cheap. Sun attends only one day a week. It's what we can afford. At first, this appeared to be a problem. Sun cried when we arrived on our one morning a week. But yesterday, for the first time, he did not shed one tear! He let go of his Dada's hand and joined the class at snack time. When I picked him up later, he did not cry. He was glad to see me, ready to go, but he didn't look as if he thought, "You found me! Get me out of here." He told me on the way home, "I want to go to school AGAIN!"

His teachers report he is always polite, active, talkative, and loves the playground. He asks for the potty (sometimes). He makes wonderful art/science projects. The latest is one of those telephones you make with two toilet paper rolls and string. This arrangement appears to be working out well.

There is a down side. Today, Sun is running a fever and throwing up. The same thing happened with Raine last week. Their pediatrician said there's a bug going around. As Charlie Brown would say, "Rats!" Last week, a notice came home with Raine saying, "Your child may have been exposed to head lice."

"Good grief!"

Venturing out into the larger world, being stimulated by other sites, sounds, and people, learning, growing, having fun--all that is great. The colds, the germs, it's all part of the experience. Just means we have to be even more diligent.

I am a "Wiping-Noses" Mom Again,

signing off.

Day Care, Part 2

2008-10-04T13:12:00.019-04:00

Both Sun and Raine are now attending “school” part time. How did that all come about and how much does it cost? How is it working out so far? Today, I’ll blog about Raine, and the next blog will be about Sun.

Raine is a Lake.

I’ll answer the last question first. So far, so good. Raine, who is now 20 months old, has shown great physical and mental growth in the last several weeks. She stands up, she cruises, she walks with help. She still scoots but she's starting to crawl. She's actually doing this wierd combination of the two. She's communicating better, saying more words, and using sign language. She can say “eat,” in both English and sign language. She can say "more" in both. Raine likes to eat, eats a lot, and eats just about anything. She’s like Mikey. On the daily report from her teacher, under snacks it says, “Ate it all." So it's not surprising she's mastered those two words.

Raine is attending an Early Intervention Program at a school run by Easter Seals. She goes to "school" four times a week, for two and a half hours. She is in a classroom with a half dozen other students who are all slightly older. She hardly ever cries, and she plays well with (or around) the others. She gets speech therapy, physical therapy, and occupational therapy from specialists who come to her classroom. The school is housed in a beautiful new facility, with a youthful and friendly staff.

And it is all paid through the local "Help Me Grow" program, which identifies children with delays and helps get them enrolled. The goal of the EIP is to help children with mental or physical delays overcome as many as they can before age 3. It’s a wonderful goal, and it's made possible, believe it or not, through the "No Child Left Behind" legislation. (However, there are massive waiting lists because of insufficient funding.)

I used to wonder if Raine was mentally delayed. Not just because she wasn’t walking and talking, or that she was an extreme preemie, which increases the chances of a child having mental retardation. It was, also, a certain expression she showed sometimes, a look in her eyes that said, "I'm just not getting it. Life is confusing. I don't want to THINK about it!"

Raine’s eyes are so expressive and dramatic. They are big and brown, and her lashes are thick, long, and curled. When she first came home from the hospital after being hooked up to oxygen, feeding tubes, and monitors in a NICU for the first three months of her life, she looked at us with mistrust. As if she were saying, “Okay, how attached do I get to you before the next shift comes in and takes your place?” I would tell her over and over that she was home now. She could relax. But Raine definitely had a “wait and see” approach. I thought she had a problem forming emotional attachments.

Gradually, though, she began to trust us. Gradually, she began to know she belonged to us and we to her. Her eyes no longer showed suspician. Instead, sometimes, I found a look of incomprehension, that vacant look you get when you're asked a question and you don't know the answer.

I no longer see that look in Raine's eyes. Since she started school (actually, a couple of weeks before that), that vacant look has been replaced with curiosity , discovery, and devilment. Her expression says, “What is that? What can it do? How does it taste? What happens if I push that button? What happens if I push it again even though Mama said not to?"

Her teachers report, "Raine had a wonderful day." Perhaps they say that about every child to keep you coming back. But I see the “wonder” in Raine’s eyes now.

One morning I was still sleeping when Sun came to my bed and said, “Raine is a lake.”

“Sun?” I said, through my sleep fog.

“Mama.”

“Yes, Sun.”

“Raine is a lake!”

“A what?”

“A lake.”

Sun pronounces his W’s as L’s.”

“A lake. Raine is a lake,” he said.

“Ooh,” I said, “awake. Raine is awake.”

“Yes,” Sun said, “a lake.”

That’s what I see in Raine's eyes now. She’s awakened from her preemie fog. It’s exciting to see, and I can’t wait to be a part of what’s to come.

Support, Part 1

2008-09-08T14:07:00.004-04:00

In the mid-1990s, in New York City, a group of 15 custodial grandmothers came together for a course in empowerment training. They met at the Graduate School of Social Services at Fordham University. Their median age was 64, and among them, they were raising over 30 grandchildren. Only two were married with living husbands. The oldest was 75.

The Graduate School developed the class specifically for these African-American grandmom/moms. It covered topics like communicating with grandchildren and talking about sex, HIV/AIDS, and drugs to legal issues and how to negotiate systems. At the end of the 6-week class, none of the participants wanted the sessions to end. So they formed their own support group and began making presentations to other custodial grandparents. They became advocates in their local communities, and at least one grandmother “demanded to be placed on an advisory board so that she could have direct involvement in policy.” The results, the authors of this pilot program concluded, was a “discovery” that grandparents raising grandchildren have “a plethora of needs,” but they also have “formidable strengths and resilience” to meet them.

The New York grandmothers were not the first to get together to learn, support each other, and become advocates for their cause, but since the 1990’s, as the numbers of grandparent-as-parent headed households increased, support groups for custodial grandparents formed in communities across the country. Today, you can find them in every state. After nearly three years, several phone calls, and a 15-minute drive that turned into an hour drive because I relied on MapQuest and got lost, I finally arrived—late—at my first Kinship Connection Support Group meeting in downtown Columbus.

By the time I got there, the meeting had already progressed to the “Any New News” segment of the agenda. About the room, a dozen or more people sat (two men, the rest women). A couple of children were finishing up their pizza and soda at some tables in the back. The women were eager to discuss new news, which in this case, is old news: money, or more specifically, the lack of money to support raising their grandchildren.

Some custodial grandparents continue working when they take custody of their grandchildren, but others retire early to start their new full-time job as caretaker to young children. Either way, the operating budget gets slimmer and spreads only so far. Realizing this, government agencies have instituted cash support for kinship caregivers—that is for some kinship caregivers and not for others.

For instance, in our state, we have what is called a Kinship Permancy Incentive Program. Qualifying custodial grandparents can get an initial payment of $1,000 and $500 payments every six months up to $3,600 if—a big if—they took custody of their grandchildren AFTER 2005. Other conditions apply as well, having to do with household income, background checks, and court orders, but it is this one—the arbitrary (it seems) cutoff date, that raises some people's ire. “My grandchildren are teenagers now. I took custody of them when they were little—before 2005. So, I can’t get the KPI.” This woman is facing foreclosure. Yet, she did not appear to be bitter or helpless. She has agreed to let me interview her for this blog, which I will do in the coming weeks.

Another young woman explained that her parents took custody of several children who are not related by blood. At first, these children were considered foster children, and the State supported their caregivers with a monthly stipend. But case workers in Children’s Services allegedly convinced the family to take legal custody. As we custodial grandparents know, the stipend for someone with legal custody is considerably less than that for a foster parent. Worse, this family could get no financial support, it seems, because the children are not “kin.” Some other issues may be involved, including language barriers, but the point is they are in financial straights because they reached out to help children whose own parents could not or would not take care of them. How much money will this family save the State when these children grow up to attend college instead of taking up a prison cell?

As I sat listening to this young woman advocating/ interpreting for her mother, what struck me was her clear narrative about the family’s predicament (in a language that must have been at least her second as she was from Ecuador) and the avalanche of information and advice that came pouring from the other women. This topic took over the meeting, but by the end of the discussion, the young woman had the name of an attorney to contact and some specific steps to take. She also had, I hope, the satisfaction of knowing how well she advocated for her family.

I read about the New York City grandmothers support group when I first became a Mom Again. Since then, I have been searching for such a group, and now I have found one. I cannot say yet how much benefit I will get from attending meetings, or how much I can contribute to the group—but attend I will. I will also talk to the other members and invite them to contribute to this blog. I hope we can convey on these pages at least half of the information, support, and wisdom I saw displayed in my first meeting.

As always, your feedback is welcome.

Mom Again

Potty Training, Part 1: Just Do It!

2008-08-26T11:29:00.007-04:00

Sun is almost two and a half and should be potty trained according to his great grandmothers. I agree, and it's not like we haven't tried. Each time we get into the sitting on the potty routine, Sun seems to develop constipation. Then again, I haven't been good about keeping to that routine, in part, because we have so many interruptions in our daily routine that I would hesitate to call it such. For instance, in a few days, we will go on a five-day road trip. Why try to potty train Sun when he's going to be stuck in a car seat for hours on end, in unfamiliar locations, and totally off of any "schedule." This is what I tell myself, but it's probably just an excuse.

Like this one: I want to get him a more comfortable potty chair. When I bought his current potty chair, I was in the old Baby Boomer mindset: We don't need a tricked-out chair with music, a rack for holding magazines, and a flushing sound. So, we bought the basic model plastic potty, the most tricked-out feature of which is a rubber splash guard. Then, I see in the learn-to-go-to-the-potty videos and books these smiling babies, straddling what looks like a pony or a duck, contentedly bouncing away while doing their business.

Sun doesn't look like that when he sits on his potty. He looks--, well, bored. Maybe confused. He will sit there while I read to him or talk or sing. (I no longer run the water faucet to "encourage" him.) He sits there and sits there, and does nothing. I want to say, "Just do it!" but I don't. I know one day it will all click for him so I'm not anxious about this. The doctors, nurses, and teachers I've talked to sort of expect that a boy will not be potty trained until he's closer to three.

But today, my mother brought the subject up again. Gingerly. She had read an article in the newspaper about some parents who were still changing diapers for a three-year-old. That is unnecessary and unnacceptable, say the great grandmothers. I agree. "Sun is ready," she said. "He could learn in a couple of days. The article said parents put it off, but you just have to do it."

Just do it. Long sigh. Just do it.

Motherhood and Menopause

2008-08-05T12:47:00.003-04:00

Paris Hilton has nothing on me. She may think she’s hot, but let me tell you, at 50, I am hot, hot, hot.

A month after I turned 48, I became a grandmother and a Mom Again. Two months later, I went into full, undeniable, merciless menopause. The menopause was chemically induced by gonadotropin-releasing hormone agonists. But my break from reproductive fertility was clearly on nature’s horizon because I had been in peri-menopause for years. Boy, was that fun! Now, menopause has arrived with a vengeance. At 50, I occupy two contradictory stages of womanhood, changing diapers and the change of life.

Feeling Hot, Hot, Hot

Holding and snuggling an infant or toddler is a joy divine, but these little suckers are warm. During a hot flash, which is pretty much constant with me these days, this beautiful bonding experience can be excruciating. It does not matter that we’re in the middle of summer; in any weather, I’m fifteen degrees warmer than everyone else in the room. The little bundles add another ten, squirmy degrees. Most days, I feel like I’ve done a heavy workout at the gym when all I’ve done is be a Mom in Menopause.

Another problem--I no longer know how to dress the children for the weather. When it's hot outside, I blast the air conditioner in the house. Consequently, Sun and Raine wear sweaters in the middle of August. When it's cold outside, I find it nice and comfortable. But I misjudge how many layers the children need. I have to ask BD to pick out the appropriate clothes for the day.

I’ve resisted taking any treatments for hot flashes or other symptoms of menopause in part because with all the conflicting information, I don’t know what’s safe, and in part because I do not have health insurance. If I had the time and energy, I’d read up on homeopathic remedies, but I have neither right now, nor the patience. So I sweat. And Sun and Raine are growing up with the constant whirring sound of my little black fans.

I’m not complaining. There are, of course, wonderful things about being in menopause. Especially since I’ve moved from Georgia to Ohio. And then there is the no-more-period thing. Freedom! But with freedom, comes heat. And from what I’ve been told by other women, the heat does not go away. So, I am truly a hot Mom Again.

Eat your heart out, Paris.

P.S. Does anyone know a good deodorant? Not an antiperspirant. I like to sweat, but I don't want to smell bad.

Dad Again, Part 1

2008-07-27T13:34:00.011-04:00

Black fathers have gotten some attention in the mainstream media recently, most of it negative. The latest round began with Senator Barack Obama’s Father’s Day speech to the Apostolic Church of God in Chicago. The media seized upon his comments about “absent black fathers,” which was only part of the speech. (See it here). The TV talking heads began channeling Bill Cosby, and the news magazines gave editorial space to people like Michael Eric Dyson. One CNN commenter conjured up the old Booker T. Washington/W. E. B. DuBois schism, although he mistakenly referred to George Washington Carver instead of Washington.

For weeks, CNN promoted its “Black in America” series. I had high hopes for the show. I remember reading a series of articles in Life magazine from the 60s which focused on the “Negro” in America. Did you see the CNN program? I admit I did not. I was turned off by the panel discussion a few days before, “Recovering the Dream.” The panel consisted of the usual suspects: Cornell West, Julianne Malveaux, other celebrities-who-don't speak-for-me. CNN reporter Soledad O’Brien fed them one Tragic Truth about Blacks in America after another, and they chewed on these like hungry dogs: out-of wedlock birth rates, absent fathers, AIDS, gang violence, poor education, poor health, poor housing.

What little I did see of the “Black in America” series seemed to be more of the same. First of all, it was divided into two segments: Part I. The Black Woman &Family. Part II: The Black Man. See the problem already?

It left me wondering: where are the stories about Black fathers like the ones I’ve known in my life, the ones who are WITH their families, struggling and surviving, doing the right thing most of the time, working, paying the bills, loving their children and their wife. You know who you are. If I start naming you, I will run out of space and time. Where are your stories?

I want to give some space to one Black man who is not only a PRESENT BLACK FATHER, but also a Dad Again—my husband (BD—for Big Daddy).

BD grew up without his father in the home. His parents divorced when he was a toddler. Although his father was in his life, they did not have a close relationship. What BD had, what many Black children had in the 50s and 60s, was a great mother and role-models in the neighborhood: coaches, teachers, business owners, ministers, extended family and friends. Still, BD grew into manhood without the day-to-day experience of having a father in his home.

When he found himself a father, he struggled with some of the same issues because he and his son’s mother lived in separate homes, sometimes in separate states. He wanted very much not to be an “absent Black father,” so he maintained a relationship with his son, who is now a father himself. Furthermore, BD took on the responsibility of helping to raise my two children when we married. My children split their time between two households, so even then, BD was not a full-time father in the traditional sense. And now, here he is in his 50s, a Dad Again.

How are you doing, being a full-time Dad? How are you?

BD: As far as I know, I’m okay.

What has been the most surprising thing about being a Dad again in your 50s?

BD: What’s surprising is how little things have changed. The other day, I was blowing bubbles and Sun was chasing them. I have a picture of my son (now 26) doing the same thing. It’s fascinating to me because I didn’t see the everyday growth before. It’s great. It’s so much fun.

Tell us about your relationship with your son and his family.

BD: We have two grandsons around the same age as [Sun and Raine]. They live in North Carolina. We have pictures and use a webcam, but I hate that I can’t seem them more often. Talking to my son about potty training, who is walking and talking, comparing notes with my son, trying not to be competitive (laughs). That’s a surprise.

Really, this is my first time being a full time dad. From the time my son was two, I had him with me a lot, but not full time. Now, he and his wife are Sun and Raine’s godparents. So it’s enjoyable having the kind of relationship we have now.

Do you have any fears about being a Dad again?

BD: No fears. What will happen will happen. I just want them all to be healthy, smart, and decent people.

Come on, BD. No fears?

BD: Well, I think about Tim Russert dying at 58 of a heart attack. Of course, I want to be around to see them grow.

Raine presents some issues because I don’t have experience raising little girls. She’s so small, you don’t want to be rough, but you don’t want to be condescending. I don’t know “girl” activities. I would do with her the same things I do with Sun. That may or may not be appropriate. I don’t treat them any differently, but maybe I should. It’s challenging to figure out how that goes.

I worry about “over disciplining” them. I spend a lot of time on discipline, setting limits. It’s who I am. You do things, and you don’t know how things will come out.

We’re living in a brave new world. We’re Baby Boomers. They will teach me. But there are some basics that transcend generation. Methodology may be different. It’s most important to me that they have good social skills, be respectful to others.

What is the hardest part?

I don’t find any of it hard. Challenging. Sometimes, I’m really tired. Sometimes, I need some down time, some quiet while I’m still awake. I miss not having my personal time. That’s a struggle sometimes. I need time to regenerate. I would like to read more (other than children’s books). I would like to ride my bike.

How has being parents again affected your relationship with your wife?

BD: It’s helped us focus. We still have a lot of stuff to figure out and plan for. I’m more willing to speak up when I feel strongly, not just go along to get along. In the past, I’ve let things go by regarding the children.

(Under my breath) Hmmmm.

BD: I’m also more patient now, more family oriented, not trying to build a career. We have a lot to figure out. Am I their dad, or their granddad? How do we handle that? How do we explain it to them? When they start interacting with other kids and see younger parents, how do we explain, “I’m your grandfather, not your father, but I’m the only father you know.”

Maybe, I’m struggling with this because my dad was my dad on paper, but not much of a dad. My dad didn’t teach me how to be a dad. We had no role models in our neighborhood. Mostly single mothers. A few dads.

What do you want most for your grandchildren that you didn’t have?

BD: Two parents. Still, I learned a lot of things from my mother, for instance, diversity of activities. She exposed me at a young age to things that weren’t expensive but were fun to do. She spent time with us and the other kids in our neighborhood. She took me out with her when she went out. I want Sun and Raine to have that kind of diversity of experiences. It helped me to be more open-minded about a whole lot of things. If you have limited experiences, your thinking will be limited, you will limit the kind of people you associate with.

I would love for them to be home schooled. We’re the best people to give them the kind of diversity they may not get in a school. Schools have taken away arts programs, phys ed., field trips. I’m not saying it has to be one or the other, but there are things that we will do better than a school.

What kind of religious instruction do you give the children?

BD: We pray together, but we don’t go to church regularly. Again, I want them to be firm in a faith, but also have the knowledge of other faiths and be respectful. So, we go to different churches when we go.

Do you have any advice you would offer to other 50+ fathers?

BD: Enjoy it. I would say that to any father.

Thank you, BD, for this interview.

BD: You’re welcome, honey.

Sun (from the backseat): You’re welcome honey!

Looking to Tell Your Story

2008-06-27T23:52:00.006-04:00

Did you ever buy a new car and then see it everywhere on the road? That’s the feeling I have now that I'm a mom again. I see grandparents with their grandchildren everywhere. At the park. The zoo. The fast-food restaurant. The doctor’s waiting room. I see couples, but more often just women, with children 40 and 50 years younger than they are acting like parents. Two women in the waiting room had a grandson each with them, taking them to see the doctor in the middle of the day. I listened to them and wondered-- are they parents again?

First Lady, “We got seven of them [meaning grandkids] now.”

Second Lady, “Seven you say.? We got—[long pause to count]—eight!”

Their tone was not that of the “traditional” proud grandmother who loves her grandchildren to death and can “send them home to their parents!” These were not grandmoms just out for an afternoon with the grandson, or just doing mom a favor because she has to work. Nope. Each woman was taking her grandson to see a doctor; they were taking on the responsibility of a parent.

Am I projecting my identity onto people who could be hired help? Maybe. But there's something about being a grandparent/parent that attunes you to others similarly situated. Maybe it’s the places I go lately.

I notice these family groups and I want to talk to them, get the story behind the public picture. I want to interview them for this Mom Again blog.

As I do talk to these second-time around parents, I will post the interviews here. Even if you are not a grandparent/parent (and don’t kid yourself that this will never be you: if you have children, it could be), it may be of interest to know what grandparenting means--at the ground level--in the 21st Century.

The first interview will be with my spouse, Dad Again.

If you are a Mom or Dad Again and you want to tell your story, contact me.

Here’s Looking at You,

Mom Again

Some of the Six Million*

2008-06-16T13:35:00.005-04:00

On Father’s Day, I talked with another grandparent/parent couple in a Metro Park in our area. They have three of their grandchildren living with them, ages 9, 5, and 1 ½. The father of the children (or at least one child) may live with them as well as he was at the park with the group. I did not want to ask too many questions, but my reporter’s curiosity and my own self-interest wanted to pry into their lives to glean what I could about how people are dealing in their "nontraditional" family.

The truth is, I probably would not have gotten past “Hello” if they hadn’t spoken first. “You got your hands full,” she said as I plopped S & R into the baby swings and began to push.

“Yeah, I do,” I laughed. People often say this to me. I must look like I’m struggling to handle these two little ones, but I don’t actually feel like I’m overwhelmed. Anyway, it was an opening. We started talking.

They were in the park that morning because their house was being shown. It has been on the market almost a year with only one “bite,” which evidently didn’t work out. They need to sell the house, the woman told me, to pay bills and cut expenses. They plan to move to a trailer on a relative’s property once the house is sold. All of you in a trailer? I wanted to ask. “How big is it?" but I didn’t. There’s evidently a financial strain, but who isn’t feeling that these days? Certainly, I didn’t expect them to start spilling out the details of their financial woes to me, a stranger who had not even given them my name at that point. But the story led me to ask if they knew of any support groups for kinship caregivers in the area.

“For what?” they asked.

“Kin--, you know, relatives, like grandparents, who are raising their grandchildren.”

“Oh,” they said. “No. No. Don’t know of anything like that.”

It’s like they had never thought of such a group. Like they never needed any support group. They were fine. And yet—they hinted they did not get along with their relatives as they had decided, since her mother had recently died, not to attend the family reunion this year, held in this very park. “I don’t need to see those people,” she said. They were evidently not church goers, as she could not name a church in the area, and here they were in the park like me on a Sunday morning. Also, she takes care of the children all day even though she’s on disability and has a plate in her back and fibromyalgia.

“How do you pick up the 1 ½ year old?” I asked the woman.

“Vicodin,” her husband quipped.

We all laughed. They sure seemed fine. The grandkids looked happy and were well behaved. The girls were fascinated with Raine, who was sleepy and content to recline in her stroller while they oohed and aahed over her as if she were some rare museum exhibit. They offered juice and cookies to Sun, who was being anything but sunny. He refused a cookie! (He was sleepy too, but fighting it.)

So, okay, I thought—they don’t need a support group. Why not? I wanted to ask, but didn’t. I have competing urges when I meet people who intrigue me: the curious writer wants all the details, motivations, and innermost thoughts and feelings; the shy person pulls back in the belief that most people just want to be left alone. Indeed, some people in the park that day, even those with children, appeared to want just that. I understand and let people be.

But I want to fight the urge to stay disconnected from strangers, and especially from friends and relatives. I dislike “networking.” But it is a necessity in business today, and even moreso in our social lives. I need to push beyond my barriers and connect with others. This couple complained about “all the Mexicans and Somalians” that are moving to this area, “not speaking English.” I’m sure they or some others in their family had the same disdain for African Americans in the past (maybe still do). I wish we could find a vehicle to connect with each other as neighbors, to push past the barriers of language and culture, nationality and race, native and newcomer—in our wee little cubicle in the universe.

This park, this beautiful park where the woman’s family has its annual reunion, could be a gathering place for people to come and get to know others unlike themselves, instead of sitting alone on a park bench and reading the paper like one woman did, or moving as a group to a secluded area as one family did, or disparaging people based on surface differences as this couple did, or just staying aloof from the lives of others and secluded in our own, as I did.

When we left, I did not ask for their phone number. I did not even say, “Maybe we’ll see you again in the park one day.” I did not make any effort to try to keep in touch. I don’t remember their names, and I doubt they remember mine. This haunts me, this idea that I left it that way. Why am I looking for a support group to connect by proxy and passing on the opportunity to connect in the old-fashioned way--by proximity?

Perplexed,

Mom Again

*"In the United States, more than 6 million children are being raised in households headed by grandparents and other relatives. 2.4 million grandparents report they are responsible for their grandchildren living with them: 29% of these grandparents are African American; 17% are Hispanic/Latino; 2% are American Indian or Alaskan native; 3% are Asian; 47% are White."
From "GrandFacts: A State Fact Sheet for Grandparents and other Relatives Raising Children," at http://www.grandfactsheets.org/doc/National%202007%20New%20Template.pdf

Day Care, Part 1

2008-06-12T16:44:00.005-04:00

How do people afford daycare?

I have been looking into sending Sun to daycare part time. I think he needs some more social interaction now that he is two, and frankly, he's too smart for me. He needs some more stimulation than I'm able to deliver right now. Truthfully, all I really want is for him to be in some kind of class--music, art, sports, etc.--not necessarily a day care setting. But, I am having a hard time finding a class for a two-year old where he can be somewhat independent of me and he can make "friends" (as much as a 2-year-old can) that he will see on a regular basis. So, I thought--a couple of days in a quality day care program might be the best alternative.

So, I started checking out places in my area. I will not name names, but let me just breakdown what I have learned so far:

Nationally recognized school program - two 1/2 days--$400/mo.; two full days--$510/mo.
Highly recommended local day care - three 1/2 days (their minimum)--$135/week.
Another highly recommended day care - two full days--$440/mo (and they include lunch!)
Church day care program - two full days--$470/mo (and no openings until Fall!)

These figures are for a PART-TIME schedule. I'm afraid to ask what the full-time rate is.

When I was raising my two looong ago, I was outraged that I was paying $80.00 a week!!! for TWO children, full time. Of course, we were a struggling newly married 20-something couple, so that was an outrageous price for us to afford. But we did it somehow.

Today, though, with my part-time salary, it is not "cost effective" to enroll Sun in day care, even part time. I would have to work full time to afford part time care; and then I would need full time care, of course, for TWO children again. Two children in day care at these rates. I ask again, how do people do it?

There is a program called Title 20 that helps low-income parents, and kinship caregivers like us, with the cost of daycare. After seven pages of paperwork, you still have to wait a month or more before you get a response (so I'm told). Also, you have to name the center where you want your child(ren) to attend. The problem is that most centers I've contacted have limited space available, and some have none at all at this time and no guarantee they will have any until Fall. Even then, you're on a wait list. So, how can you choose a place, wait 30 days, during which time your spot may be taken, without shelling out the first month or two (because the schools make you pay ahead of time) of these exorbitant fees? It's a Catch-22.

I know that with diligence and a lot of phone calls and site visits, I could probably find someplace affordable, but will it offer the kind of stimulation and interaction I want for him? As with anything else, you get what you pay for.

For now, he's staying home with me. One ray of hope--I contacted a group of Mocha Moms here and they have play groups, field trips, and Mommy Meet-ups. I have not attended a meeting yet, and I suspect these Moms will be in their 20s and 30s, not 50 like me. Where are the Grandmommy Meet-ups, the Mom-Again Meet-ups?

I have not yet found a support group for kinship caregivers in my area (Columbus, Ohio). My husband's advice--start one.

More about this later. In the meantime, if you know of a support group for Kinship Caregivers in Columbus, send me a lifeline--uh, I mean an email.

I am an Older Mocha, Mom Again

Replacement Babies?

2008-06-12T15:25:00.006-04:00

Recently, on the same day, three people asked me the same question: Is it the same raising Sun and Raine as it was raising your first two? They ask this because I had two children, a boy and then a girl, when I was in my 20s. Now, 50, I have two children, a boy and a girl. So, it's a natural question to ask.

People who know me also know that last year (2007), our son--my oldest child--was shot and killed. When it happened, one of my best friends said to me, "Maybe God gave you these little two because He knew--."

At the time, I thought, "How cruel." How cruel to take away a beloved son (and a beloved daughter who is struggling with mental illness) and also give me two more--at my age! I did not think I could do it--I did not think I could go on and take care of Sun and Raine. I did not WANT to be responsible for two more lives. I did not want to even go on with my own.

Now, I realize that I could not have gone on very well, if at all, if it weren't for Sun and Raine. They are the reason I get up in the morning. Everyday I think of my son, and the thought stabs me in the heart every time. Sometimes, I think about him as soon as I wake up, but most of the time, it hits me in the middle of the day. Until it does, I'm busy changing diapers, fixing meals, reading books, playing with puzzles, going to this Appointment or that, taking them to the park, etc. etc. I have to be "okay" for these two children. I don't have the "luxury" of not going on. And I am ever grateful to God for Sun and Raine.

To answer the question: No, it is not the same. It is not the same, first of all, because I am not the same. I am not the ambitious, career-driven 20-something I was. Before, when I stayed home with my babies, I was always itching to get back into the rat race. I was a professional, after all, a college professor, and I loved my work. I did not think about being a stay-at-home Mom, not only because I was ambitious, but also because we needed my income. Really needed--not just wanted--a second income. Now, I am a stay-at-home Mom Again, and we're living on much less. I still work--still have to. But it's part time and I work from home. I do not want to get back into my previous career nor pursue the second-career I had started (law). And while I am still ambitious (meaning, I still want to be a writer; I can't tamp down that instinct), I devote much more of my time to them than I do to writing. That may spell doom for any profitable writing career, but that's just the way it is now.

I am different because I have lost a child. I am different because I have a child struggling. I am different because I am in a different marriage. I am different because I have been through divorce and have moved several times and have lived in three different states. I am different because I have published several novels and have written and directed several plays. I am different because I don't have to prove myself (as much) now. I am heavier, grayer, older, more settled, and I have my priorities straight.

And, of course, Sun and Raine are different people from my two. And the world is different. When my son was born, there was no world wide web, for instance, and cell phones were nowhere near as ubiquitous as they are now. We were not at war. We did not have Bush. We did not have Obama. We had Newt and Clinton and people of that ilk. (I was, for the record, never a Bill Clinton fan, nor did I ever buy that he was the first Black president.) I had never worked on a campaign before--now I have.

So--no. It's not the same. I will never be the same. It's all new. But thankfully, I can bring some of my creativity, experience, triumphs, sorrows, and wisdom to being a parent the second-time around. This time, I know I have an angel on my side.

Schedules: Part 1

2008-05-17T12:25:00.012-04:00

The key to managing two children under two, I read somewhere, is being organized. I must schedule our days' activities. I have a problem with this. I am an impromptu person, adverse to schedules. I'm not a 9-to-5, two-weeks-vacation kind of person. I do things differently, a recent psychological test told me. I USED TO BE ORGANIZED, somewhere in the far reaches of my pre-Mom Again days. I used to be a project manager. So, if I can just take that kind of approach to scheduling daily, weekly, and monthly activities for two children under two--. Forget it.

My problem with scheduling is that so many things get in the way of plans I have made. Someone will return a call, a person I really need to talk to about Something--and there goes my reading time in the morning with the children. An Appointment I made at what seemed to be a convenient time when I made it suddenly looms, leaving me scrambling and stealing time I had planned for something else. Just when I've been lulled into believing the children will sleep for a good hour (my Golden Hour) around this time, 12:00-12:30, one of them decides to stay up and scream his/her head off until I accept that he/she is not going to nap, no matter how little I promise it has to be. The other stealer of planned time is exhaustion. Sometimes I just don't have the energy to keep up with my demands.

But if I'm going to be the best grandmom/mom I can be, I will have to try. So, here is my first attempt at making and following a daily schedule.

Wake up: 8:00-9:00: This is optimistic. Most of the time I'm up before this, and for a spell there, Raine would sleep until 9:30 or even 10:00 if I let her (which I would sometimes do, just for the rare pleasure of having some one-on-one with Sun). Still, nowadays, we're mostly up by 9:00.

8:30-9:30: Morning meal: First there are the sippy cups of Pediasure. In Raine's case, this is still a bottle, but that will soon end, and she'll be taking this wake-up cocktail in a cup like her big brother. Somewhere between 9:30 and 10:30, I give them something more--oatmeal, scrambled eggs, fruit, etc.--which Sun will sometimes eat and most times not. Raine, on the other hand, would stuff everything into her mouth with her hands if I let her.

9:30-10:30: Bath or wash-up, diapers, clothes. I'm not a morning person, and I usually stay up late working or writing, so I admit, sometimes I don't change their clothes until the afternoon. I DO CHANGE THE DIAPERS, people. But sometimes they stay in their pajamas until after their nap. And I stay in mine. We clean up nicely, though.

I'm potty training Sun, and he is resisting, so sometimes we have to wait for his potty sitting (productive or unproductive) to end before he gets into fresh clothes. So, this part of the schedule is a crap shoot at best, no pun

1:30: Okay, it's a good hour since I stopped the paragraph above mid-sentence. Sun, who according to the Schedule is supposed to be asleep anyway, comes up to me with his hand smeared in poop. He smears some on me and I rush him to the bathtub where we clean up and then I have to trace his travels through the house to see if he left poop anywhere else. And now that I'm back trying to schedule the rest of the day, Raine is awake and crying , and no doubt must be changed as well.

So much for having time to keep a blog. So much for scheduling...

Mother's Day Tripping

2008-05-11T23:00:00.006-04:00

Friday, I decided to beat the traffic and drive to my mother's house to celebrate Mother's Day early. My plan was to make the hour and a half trip, go to restaurant row and get some Boston Market, and have dinner with her. It was all I could manage with the two babies and moving into our new place just five days before. So, five hours before time to leave the house, I start getting the three of us ready to go.

As I'm cleaning them, dressing them, combing their hair, feeding them before we leave, packing up the diaper bag, trying to make my own self presentable (I've got baby locs), checking to make sure they didn't poop in the diaper I just changed them into--it happens--a feeling comes upon me and goes straight to my head: What if this is the day? What if this is our last trip?

I think about death often. Those who know me can understand why. This day, I think about crashing on the highway. I bought this new (used) van. I feel more comfortable driving two babies in it than I did my little sedan. My car was too small and nearly ten years old. It needed work. It was starting to sound and feel rickety. The van is big and roomy, and feels more sturdy. I think the babies are more protected in it. Yet, I know that if today is the day, none of that matters.

It's no use trying to ignore these thought-feelings. I can't. I have to let them rage, go with them along whatever road they take, tough it out. In my sadness, I hug the babies, talk sweetly, sing, make them laugh. Give them toys to take in the car, kiss their cheeks. Stop fussing. Stop rushing. If we have an appointment in Samarra today, we can certainly take our time getting there.

I start to get weak. I think about staying home. Mother's Day is another overhyped holiday. I don't have to buy into it. Mama won't mind. I don't want to have to think about last Mother's Day. It's cloudy outside. There have been killer tornadoes in the country. I should stay in the house. Hunker down.

How much worse these thoughts would be if we were heading out to catch a plane somewhere. I hate flying. No, of course, flying is great--it's the crashing out of the sky, that's what I hate. I think, If you will ever be able to get on an airplane with these two babies, to travel with them and show them new places in the world, you'd better get your ass in the car and go see your mother for Mother's Day.

So I load the car. Load the babies into their car seats, feeling so sad for them. Beautiful little souls, surely God will not let anything happen to you. I start the car and drive onto the street, pull onto the freeway, thinking of Susan Smith. How could she let herself get that desperate? God, don't ever let me be that desperate because I'm a Mom Again. What a horrid way for those two little souls to die, two babies strapped in their car seats, sunk into the lake while their mother crawled out of the mud and concocted a story about a black man with a weapon.

The thoughts of death and untimely death and unjust death and my own death deepen and I feel dreadful, on edge, hypervigilent driving down the expressway, looking suspiciously at every moving vehicle. If this is it, if this is it... God, if this is it, let the babies be okay. But if I am not here, who will take care of them? God, don't let this be it.

Eventually, the sun comes out from the clouds. And the babies laugh. Sun says, "It's light outside, Mama." And Raine wiggles and kicks her legs and shouts "Aaaaaa!" It works like a fast-acting pain killer, and like a mild headache, the dreadful thought feelings starts to fade. I forget about death. I am left with the two of them and the radio and what turns out to be a lovely drive to my mother's house. And back. Safely. This time.

When you are parent to your grandchildren, you know you have potentially less time to raise them, to watch them grow and develop, than their young parents have. You do not expect to be around long for their children, for instance. My husband and I have sole custody of these two babies. We are their grandparent/parents. We are middle aged; they are 1 and 2. We are Baby Boomers raising Millennials. What a gap in time. I do not fear death. I just want to live-- to a hundred or more, so I can be here for them.

I have a plaque that reads: "The best thing about the future is that it comes one day at a time." Abraham Lincoln said that. Sometimes, it helps.

Hundreds of thousands of grandparent are raising their grandchildren. Some of you Second-Timers are on the Net. How do you handle these thoughts? Do you have them? Hello, is there anybody out there? (That's Pink Floyd, you non-Boomers.)

Alive so far, I am, gratefully, a

Mom Again