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
Friday, June 27, 2008
Monday, June 16, 2008
Some of the Six Million*
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
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
Thursday, June 12, 2008
Day Care, Part 1
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
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?
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.
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.
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