Wine Country Mom

The baseball season is almost over.  Several posts ago I posted a picture of my son’s baseball pants after a game.  If you don’t remember, here’s what they looked like:

Pretty gross, right?  Of course, if your kid is also in baseball (or any sport, really), these pants are not shocking at all.  But the big question, household to household, is “How do you get rid of the stains???”

In a comment on my Laundry blog it was suggested that I give stain removing tips.  Being that I have none (seriously, HOW do you get stains like those out???), I am conducting my own little experiment on stain removal.  And I’m calling it (drumroll please)

THE GREAT STAIN REMOVAL CHALLENGE. 

Yes.  Original.

On the pants above, I conducted my first experiment using bleach.  Oh, and Stain Lifting ALL.  Here are the results:

As you can see, unimpressive.  It appears that the Cheeto stains and the grass stains are gone.  But the dirt refuses to be lifted.  So it’s back to the drawing board. 

Next experiment: OxyClean.

There are only several more games left, so I am limited on the amount of dirt I’ll be removing.  Leave a comment for any ideas on stain lifting agents you’d like me to try out. 

My friend’s dog had puppies today, little black balls of German Shepherd fluff. They whined and struggled against the small box they lay in, trying to get to their mom. The ones that had just been born were already cuddled against her, seeking their nourishment from her in their blind struggle as she licked them clean with every bit of tenderness a mother has for her child. When I had walked in, she had barked at me alarmingly, protecting her young against any stranger that might mean them harm. I went straight to her side, ignoring the puppies despite my eagerness to feel how soft their fur was and how wiggly their small bodies were, how their small bodies might be against my suddenly large hands. Instead I pet her head and crooned how proud I was of her, reassuring her that I was the same old Crissi she had known the whole two years of her life. She settled down and went back to feeding her babies, licking them clean and comforting them as she got ready to give birth to the last two puppies to make a total of 10.

I told my son about the puppies when I came to pick him up from school. He wanted to hear all about them, and was anxious for the time when we were allowed to hold them and help bottle feed them. And I told him about Lulu’s reaction to me when I had walked in the door.

“She probably feels the same way about them as you do about us,” he said in his 8 year old wisdom.

“How so?” I asked him, warmed all through my heart that he could make that kind of correlation.

“She probably loves them so much and wants to make sure they’re safe, and wants to protect them from anything that might hurt them.”

“I think you’re right,” I told him.

We were on our way to a birthday party. He had been excited about going since learning of it two days ago. It was one of the kids from his baseball team, a seasoned player he looked up to. He had been adamant about getting him the best present ever, and we settled on a Super Soaker water gun from Longs Drugs (or CVC, whatever they’re calling it these days). He wanted to get more, but at $20, I told him that was more than enough for a kid he barely knew. When we got home, he wanted to wrap it right then, but I made him do his homework first. He rushed through it, then set about the house looking for wrapping paper. Unfortunately all we had was Christmas wrap. And none of it was perfect. We ended up using one that was designed with red and white stripes like a candy cane, and he decorated it with lots of well wishes and words about the team in permanent black ink to take away from the holiday feel. He wrote birthday greetings in a card he had picked out and taped it with care on the package. He was so proud of his creation!

This morning he was nearly bursting at the seams about the party. And when I came to pick him up after school, he was ready without a fuss, full of excitement for the upcoming party. He talked the whole ride there: about the puppies, about school, and about the party. He was just happy in general, a sharp contrast to the bad mood he usually was in after school when I interrupted his playtime with his friends to take him home.

We arrived there, and he bounced out of his seat to walk with me to the door. One of the dads let us in, introducing us to the adults that were already there. My son walked shyly behind me, crowding my arm as we walked into the unfamiliar setting. I led him to the living room where the other kids were. There was the birthday boy and his brothers and sisters. And there was one more kid who tended to play rough with the other kids, especially to my son. I could feel my son tense up beside me, getting closer as the reality hit him that he didn’t really know anyone.

“Are you going to be ok?” I asked him, and he nodded wide-eyed. I could feel the lump in his throat as it was mirrored in mine. I didn’t want to just abandon him in a house full of strangers. But I had to get back to work and finish my day.

“I’ll just sit over here till more kids come,” he said, pointing to a corner of the house away from the kids that were already there.

“Don’t be silly,” I said, though I understood his feelings perfectly well. I had never done well in strange situations, preferring to sit unnoticed in a corner while I forced myself to mingle and smile. “Sit with your friends.” I looked him in the eye and then gave him a hug. I reminded myself that he has an uncanny ability to let go of his guard and make friends with just about everyone. “Everything will be fine.”

I left my number with the adults in charge, feeling a little piece of my heart pull away from me and stay with him as I walked outside and closed the door behind me. If I were Lulu, I’d be barking at these strangers, holding him close, not letting him leave my side.

We are mothers. We want to protect our children. But we also want to teach them independence. And sometimes, letting go is the hardest part.

When you were younger, and your mother begins to teach you the ins and outs of laundry in preparation for adulthood, there are probably lots of things that she failed to mention, or that you might have missed in the translation.  For instance, I bet she never warned you about this:

This is the true version of my son’s pants after ONE game of baseball.  Even bleach cannot help these stains.  And that mess that those pants are sitting on?  A full laundry basket…..after already finishing several loads of laundry.

Your mom probably never told you that there would be days when the laundry had to be washed faster than you could fold it, resulting in a heap of clean clothes that go straight from floor to being worn to being thrown in the hamper again.  She may have forgotten to tell you that even a baby can fill a hamper in one day, that those cute little onesies will develop the sickening smell of spit up that never quite goes away.  And I bet she missed telling you that white underwear for boys who are still learning the art of successful wiping is probably a poor idea.  She probably never told you that your ex would take the kids to the beach, throw all their wet clothes in a plastic bag, and that you had to shake them free from about a pound of sand before you could wash them.  She also probably failed to mention that your ex might leave some of his own clothing in that bag, and that you would end up washing those too (Intentional?  Probably.).  You may have missed her complaining about how the hamper filled up too fast for her to keep up, the insistence that you wear some of your clothing more than a day to keep the laundry level low, or her threats that the “maid” was going on strike.

But I bet you’re hearing her now….except this time in your own voice.

It was about 9 when my kids and I left our group of friends we have dinner with every Tuesday night and headed home.  We were late for their bedtimes, something that has become the norm as the school year is winding down and the evenings stay lighter, longer.  It was especially true on Tuesdays, but I stopped fighting it.  They still managed to get up in the mornings ok, even if they did need extra nudging.

“Mom?” my son asked from the backseat as I drove and fiddled with the radio at the same time.

“Mmhuh?”

“Mom, what if we got ready early tomorrow morning and then went to Starbucks before school?” he asked hopefully, and completely out of the blue.

I thought about it.  For us to get out the door early would be short of a miracle.  Lately we had been rushing like wild banshees in the morning, trying to get everything done in 45 minutes, and always managing to forget something in the process.  Just that morning we had forgotten my son’s baseball glove for practice that afternoon, and I couldn’t remember if I’d turned off the coffee pot.  We hadn’t left our house till 8 am, and we were supposed to leave by 7:45 am to get them both to school and give them time to play before class.  As it was, they both got there just as the bell rang.  And that was the norm.  In the wake of our rushed mornings, there were papers left on the floor as backpacks were cleaned out last minute, jelly on the counter from PB & J sandwiches, a couple extra sandwich bags that fell on the floor in the process of getting just one, clothes strewn in a trail from the bedroom to the living room……  And the fighting that had ensued between the kids, not to mention between me and the kids over them fighting with each other…..it made every morning a recipe for stress and ulcers.  So it seemed impossible that we could actually get everything done in a shorter amount of time than we already were failing at.  But still, the least we could do was try.

“I’ll tell you what,” I told him and his sister.  “If you can be ready and we can be out the door by 7:30, then it’s a deal.

“What if it’s 7:31?” he asked.

“Then the deal’s off,” I said.  “So you better be sure that you get everything done in time, otherwise we won’t be able to go.”

His young brain started working overtime as he thought about the reality of the deal.

“I’ll never be able to do it,” he muttered.

“Well, what if we get our backpacks together tonight?” my daughter asked.  I nodded.  There was another baseball game the next day, and not having to search for pieces of his uniform would save a ton of time.

“You could even get some of your lunch done tonight too,” I told her.

When we got home, they set about getting all their things in order.  My son grabbed what he could find of his uniform, I helped him locate the rest (Sidenote: When he first started baseball, I vowed to keep all his uniform and equipment in one area only.  For the most part, this has been a success thanks to a backpack that we housed everything in.  But on practice days he would relocate what he needed to his school backpack, weekends would scatter baseballs all over the house, and the mandatory laundry due to dirt stains from slides he would perform at each base whether necessary or not would spread his uniform from dryer to couch to his drawers.  Some mornings before practice or games would result in losing 20 minutes or more to just trying to find white pants that had been washed, or both of his cleats.  So as you can see from our example, it is definitely a smart idea to dedicate an area to sports equipment and uniforms.  And then stick to it.).  I prepped the crockpot for the next night’s dinner and set up the coffee pot for the morning.  My daughter picked out her clothes for the next day, then made her whole entire lunch, saving her sandwich to be made in the morning.  My son put out a granola bar on the table and said he was done.  They were both pretty pleased with themselves, reminding me to wake them up a little early in the morning so they could get a headstart.

This morning I woke them up 10 minutes early.  They barely moved until I reminded them about our deal.  They were both up in moments as I set about getting myself ready.  I let them be responsible for themselves, refraining from reminding them too much to be on task.  They needed little prompting, as it was.  My daughter was done by 7:10.  My son was a little more behind, but was steady in his diligence to get ready.  He put on his favorite yellow polo shirt, asking me to help him with the collar.  Then he made his lunch, getting jam all down the front of it.  His sister was surprisingly kind in telling him that he only needed to change his shirt, that it would only take a moment.  He even thanked me for washing the jam off while he ran upstairs to get a new one (apparently being on task improves manners and promotes niceties, as well). 

We were done by 7:25.

Well, they were.  I still had to finish my hair and get my lunch made.  But in favor of rewarding them for time well spent, I put my hair in a messy bun and saved making my lunch to after I dropped them off.  And over comics and news stories at a little round table in Starbucks, we enjoyed chocolate milk, a decaf mocha, sticky buns for them, and a half-caf coffee for me. 

In essence, the concept of setting up the night before for the next day is not a new one.  It seems so silly that I don’t make this a regular habit.  The kids made mention that if we did this all the time, we would be out of the house on time more, and we wouldn’t have to rush at all.  And it’s very true.  Even with only a week left of school (oh my gosh, seriously?!?), I think we can still do this and make it a late habit. 

In honor of our “newfound” organization, what are some other ways that you save time or make things easier to accomplish?

I drove down the freeway, switching lanes to avoid the holiday traffic that clogged the roads, and taking the now familiar exit to where my kids were.  It was the end of a 4 day weekend without kids.  I had started it tense and uptight, having settled one too many fights between them, and ignoring one too many whines about chores and errands.  I had been at my wit’s end and needed some time to regroup and collect myself.  Thank goodness their dad had asked if they could spend the whole weekend with him.  When he asked how long he could have them, I told him “for as long as you want them.”  But now I missed them.  The several days away left me relaxed, calm in the absence of responsibility and need.

Once there, their dad told me about their weekend, and the kids went on and on about how cool it was at the beach house they stayed at and how great it was to play with all their friends.  Their clothes were still wet, stuffed in a bag and full of sand.  They had cuts and bruises all over them from sword fights with sticks to marshmallow casualties.  They probably hadn’t brushed their teeth all weekend.  They were stuffed with every kind of food you can BBQ.  They had bags under their eyes from late nights and their hair was sticky from sea water and not being washed in days. 

They’d had a really good time.

“Thank you for watching them,” I told my ex as I gathered up the kids and their things.

“Mom, did you even miss us?” my son asked.

“Of course I did, baby!” I said.  “Why would you even ask?”

“Because you just thanked Dad for watching us,” he said.

And I realized my slip.

5 years ago my ex and I got divorced.  And it soon became apparent that I was the main guardian for the kids.  He tried to be a dad, but ultimately it ended up that I became the only parent.  For years it was just me signing them up for sports, taking them to school, buying their clothes, feeding them, taking them to the doctor, holding them when they cried, cheering for them at soccer games, worrying about their well-being……  In turn, he missed his daughter’s first soccer goal, and comforting her on her first ride in an ambulance after breaking her arm.  He missed his son’s first lost tooth and the transition from toddlerhood to being a grown up kid.  When I wasn’t too busy to notice, I missed my freedom.  But he missed a whole lot more.  And a year ago, we started back on the road to him being their dad again.  It wasn’t easy.  A lot of trust had been broken between him and the kids, and between me and him.   I had a hard time letting go and allowing him to come back in their lives.  But through patience and time, things are normalizing to where they should be.  He wants to see the kids.  He ASKS to be with the kids.  And we are now on this path where the kids can spend a whole weekend at their dad’s house, and I don’t hyperventilate (yes, it has happened).

Also, I was thanking him for watching his kids like he was just a babysitter. 

I just wasn’t used to it yet.  It still felt abnormal, like my kids were being taken care of while I got some R & R, and I was picking them up when I was ready to be done with my mini vacation.  But they aren’t MY kids.  They are OUR kids.  Many years ago we had been in love enough to make them.  And years later, the fact that they were OURS, pieces of him and me, that did not change.  He was not watching his kids as if it were a burden to him.  That was not at all what he was doing.  Looking at them with their sticky grins and disheveled hair, the way they bearhugged him goodbye as we got ready to leave, it was much more than just being watched.

“I’m sorry, honey,” I said.  “I meant to say that your dad was spending time with you.”

My son’s favorite word is “sarcastic”.  Like this morning, when he said he couldn’t believe how fast the school year had gone by.  I agreed enthusiastically.

“Are you just being sarcastic?” he asked me, suspiciously.  I had to convince him I wasn’t. 

Or like when he used it even earlier this morning.  Last night I was tripping over toys on the way to kiss him goodnight.  And I lamented over the messy room, though in a sort of more nagging voice than a lamentful voice.  And he told me not to worry about it, to wake him up 10 minutes early and he would clean it up.

“10 minutes?!?” his sister said incredulously.  “That’s all you’re going to need?”

“That’s it,” he said.  “Trust me Mom, just wake me up early and I’ll get it done.

This morning, true to my word, I crept into his room at 6:50 am to wake him up.  He stirred a little as I shook his shoulder.

“Time to get up honey,”  I said.  “You have cleaning to do.”

“Mom, don’t you know I was being sarcastic?” he said without even opening his eyes. 

Boys are funny.

What’s also funny is he’s growing up.  My 8 year old boy is not a baby anymore.  Tonight was his Open House at his school.  I watched him as he took off with his friends, my little boy who likes to hold my hand occasionally when we go places was suddenly too independent to hang with me.  Instead he was off, rough and tumbling with the other boys.  And it’s funny watching him with his friends.  The whine that he saves for me is totally gone.  In its place is a voice that’s a little bit deeper and stronger.  It’s obvious that he’s in charge out on the playing field, instead of letting me be the alpha dog when it’s just the two of us.

After perusing all the classrooms and letting him get in one more game of ball, we all went out for ice cream.  He ended up with most of the ice cream on his face and clothes.  I got some napkins to wipe his mouth for him, and instead of holding his face still while I cleaned, he put up a major fight.

“Mom!  I got it!” he said as he wiped a crumpled napkin over his mouth, missing every single dirty spot.

“Come on, just let me do it.  Hold still,” I said, dying to do the lick and spit mom technique to get the chocolate stain completely off.  We fought about it till I won, and I got the very last of the stickiness off his face.  He sat there scowling, totally wounded from losing the battle.

“Mom, you totally embarassed me in front of that girl,” he said, nodding in the direction of a cute little 8 year old girl licking an ice cream cone.

Oops.

Well, that was sudden.  It happened almost overnight.  But when?  When did my baby get too old to baby?  And when did I become the mom that embarasses her kids to death? 

The day could not have been going better.  After a morning workout, I woke the kids up right on time.  And they got up without a fuss.  I made their breakfast, and by 7:05 they were already in their chairs, dressed, and eating Cream of Wheat.  I worked on getting my hair and make-up done.  Without having to be asked, they cleared their places, and then made their own lunches.  We got out the door early, all backpacks packed up and my son’s baseball gear all together.  I dropped them each off at school and made it to work a little early.  I had a busy day in store for me, and I mentally went over each task to prepare myself in what needed to be done.  After a morning meeting, I delved into all tasks at once. I was on par.  I was in a great mood.  Nothing could bring me down.

Of course, this is where the story always changes, doesn’t it?

As I was on the phone with one colleague, my cell phone rang.  It was a number I didn’t recognize.  I ignored it and let it go to voicemail.  Then my office phone rang.  I ignored that too, but was aware by now that it was probably my daughter calling for forgotten homework or lunch as usual.  She is infamous for calling every phone I have until I eventually pick up.  My cell phone rang again, and I finally told my colleague to hold on while I answered it.

“Hello?” I asked.

“Ms. Dillon?  This is your daughter’s teacher.”

“Hi,” I said tentatively, caught off-guard.

“Your daughter is in the office right now.  She has a really bad pain in her side and is crying.”

My attention was all hers.  For my daughter to cry over pain to her teacher meant that she was seriously hurt.  I thought back to the pain she had been feeling over the weekend, the same pain that I had dismissed as a pulled muscle from a back bend she had attempted, or possibly a premenstrual cramp since she was getting to that age, or even just plain old growing pains.  And I suddenly felt ashamed as her teacher went on.

“I think she might have a kidney infection, and should probably go to the emergency room.”

This is my accident prone daughter.   She has had her head sliced open by a wagon, two near concussions, a broken arm at school, cuts, bruises, sprains……  In her 11 years, she has seen the ER 4 times, and been in an ambulance once.  So a call from her teacher that was warranting another visit to the ER was not shocking.  But it was overwhelming.  I was suddenly aware of how alone I was in getting everything done and also be able to be at her side when she needed me.  This pain that she had, it had subsided over the weekend.  And to know that it was suddenly worse scared me.  And what made me feel like an awful mother was the thought that was rising above the rest.

Why now?

I had so much work to do, so much that was on deadline.  And I was torn.  I knew where I needed to be – with my daughter.  But I also knew that I had a lot that needed to be done.  My phone was ringing off the hook, papers were piling up, time was slipping away.  And my daughter was laying down in an office at school, in pain, and waiting for her mom to make her feel safe.

If I could have torn myself in a million pieces to allow me to go in a million different directions, I would have.

I called the hospital and described her symptoms.  The nurse asked me a lot of questions that I was able to answer, and even more that I couldn’t since I wasn’t with my daughter.  She then voiced her concern over appendicitis. 

What????

My head was swimming.  Appendicitis.  If that were really the case, and she had been in pain all weekend, that mean that it could burst.  So it could be an almost ruptured appendix, or a kidney infection, or growing pains, or a pulled muscle, or premenstrual cramps.  In that moment of not being able to see straight, of thinking about all the work I had to finish, the baseball snacks I still needed to buy to get to the game that evening, all the deadlines that were looming and slipping away, and with my daughter possibly getting worse by the minute, there was nothing left to do but march straight into my boss’ office. 

And cry. 

Ugh, yes.  I melted down.  I had an ugly, messy, unapologetic (mostly) cry as she stared at me in wonder.  She then grabbed a pen and paper to see what needed to be done.  Together we went over every task of my day and doled them out to the various people who could get it done.  And then she told me to leave.

When I got to my daughter’s side, she smiled weakly at me.  I gave her a hug, signed her out and got her into the car.  I drove in the direction of the hospital as I dialed the Advice Nurse again on speakerphone.  Together, we went over her symptoms, this time with much more clear information.  We were able to rule out appendicitis (thank god!), and narrowed it down to possibly a kidney infection, and maybe just a pulled muscle.  It was then that my daughter interrupted with an observation of her own.

“Well, I was running at the time that the pain came back.”

Suddenly it all made sense.  And the nurse and I realized at the same time that this was most definitely a case of a pulled muscle.  Just in case, we set up an appointment for later that afternoon.  I brought her home to rest on the couch, and I was able to return to work and finish up before taking her to the appointment.  $30 in co-pays and x-rays, and an hour later, an amused doctor told us what we already knew – pulled muscle.  We were free to go and were able to get to the game in time to see my son play, soccer snacks in our possession thanks to my caring boyfriend who bought them for me, and my son already up to bat thanks to an ex-husband who is getting better and better at the dad role.

Were lessons learned?  You bet.  First off – ASK LOTS OF QUESTION, “What were you doing when you felt that pain?” being the primary question.  And “Where exactly does it hurt?” (I didn’t know if it hurt from the front or the back, up high, or down low.  That kind of makes a huge difference in the prognosis.).  Get all information before you overreact.  If I had known she had been running, and I had already suspected a pulled muscle, I would have told her to lie down in the office and I would get her when I was done, or she could just go back to class and take it easy for the rest of the day.  But even still, when it comes to our kids it is never wrong to play it safe and react with caution. 

The other lesson I learned is what phone numbers I really needed in my phone.  The number of our doctor, of the Advice Nurse, and of Admissions to the ER.  The number of all co-workers who could have come to work and filled in for me.  And the number to the school office (I did have this, though they called from a different line upon trying to reach me).  Upon having to research the number to the Advice Nurse while driving down the freeway, you better believe that I have THAT number now programmed into my phone!

She’s fine today, Emergency Room averted…..this time!  And she is armed with a note excusing her from P.E. for the rest of the week to ensure healing.   The morning went a lot slower than yesterday, and my daughter even left her lunch in the car when I dropped her off.  I had to go back to her school in my slippers since I hadn’t finished getting ready for work yet.  But maybe that means that the rest of the day will be calmer.

Do you have an accident prone child?  What are your tips and lessons learned?  And have they named a ward after your precious child yet (I’m still waiting on the plaque)?

(Connected to Working and Motherhood and Working and SINGLE Motherhood)

what kind of help is available for a struggling single mother???

Luckily, there are services to help, should you be in a situation that requires more than you have.  Please note: this is only a short list, a “Cliff’s Notes” version of the resources available.  For a full list of services, please call the number at the bottom of this post, or visit CA Dept of Social Services.

If you are pregnant and do not have health insurance, the first thing that needs to be done is to apply for Emergency Medi-Cal.  This is only a temporary fix, as you MUST get medical insurance to cover the costs of prenatal visits and care, labor and delivery, and well baby appointments.  Thing is, by the time you are pregnant, there are little, if any, insurance companies that will take on an expectant mother.  But Medi-Cal will.  Problem is, it takes time for an application to be processed, and time is NOT what an expectant mother has.  That is why Emergency Medi-Cal is in place.  For a family without a baby on the way, Medi-Cal is important to be sure that each child is receiving their check-ups and immunizations, and that there is a safeguard in place in case the worst happens. 

The next thing that needs to be done is to find out if you qualify for Cash Aid, Food Aid, and WIC.  CA Dept of Social Services has various links for programs that will help.  But the best advice is just to visit your local office and get all the information in person.  They will help you find all the outlets that will help you to get on your feet.  In general, and especially in these tight times, qualifying for these programs can be very difficult.  The process is long and tedious, the offices are crowded with those in need, and the forms ask for every single detail of your life.  This process is designed to be difficult and excruciating.  But stick with it, work with the social workers, and soon you will have some help in making ends meet.  Along with Cash Aid, Social Services will enroll you in CalWorks, a program that helps in various ways to find you a decent job.  And another little known reason to get on Cash Aid is that you cannot receive financial help with childcare unless you have received Cash Aid for at least one month.  Well, you can, but the process is so long that your child might be a teenager before the paperwork goes through.  If you are on Cash Aid, that is proof enough that you qualify for the various childcare assistance programs out there, and it will speed the process up considerably.   

Before I end this, I want to address the common perception of single mothers receiving Financial Aid.  There is no shame in needing help.  The jokes I have heard, the prejudices and judgements over a single mother who must rely on the county to feed her child and house her family, it sickens me.  The County Assistance system was put in place for people who need it.  Are there people who abuse this system?  Of course.  Give out “free” money, and watch all sorts come out of the woodworks.  But go to a county office and you will see those in real need: the mother holding her sleeping child in her lap, the father who has been out of work for months due to an economy that failed him, the very people who need the help of the system to drag them out of the doldrums and get them back on their feet again where they no longer need the help of the state.  To have come that far, my friends, to be able to no longer need assistance in standing, it is absolutely gratifying.  And it is completely possible.  And that is the ultimate reason why these programs exist.

To talk to a live person about Economic Assistance, please call 707-565-5266 and/or go to the offices located at 2550 Paulin Dr. in Santa Rosa.  This is for Sonoma County only.  For County offices in other California counties, click here.

(A prologue to yesterday’s post, Working and Motherhood)

What can a single mother do?

1.  Rely on family and friends.  Now is not the time to be too proud to ask for help.  When they say it takes a village to raise a child, they weren’t kidding.  Ask friends for childcare trades, take turns eating meals at each other’s homes, and accept any hand-me-down clothing that comes your way.  Move in with your parents, share a home with another single mother, or find a (safe!) roommate situation so that the rent will not be too steep.

2.  Plan your meals out for the week.  Then plan your shopping list accordingly.  This will not only save you time, but it will save you a bundle of money.  It will prevent you from grabbing frivolous items that you “might” use for meals, and will curb spending money on meals out since you already have dinner planned out at home.  Not only that, it’s healthier for you and your child.  And remember, a lot of generic brands are actually name-brand items in disguise.

3.  Budget, budget, budget!  Write down all your expenses for the month.  Those are your first priorities.  Before each paycheck hits your account, sit down with the bills and write a check out for each one that is due before the following pay period.  Make sure your checkbook is accurately balanced every week to ensure that no surprises come your way.  For every charge that goes against a negative balance, an additional $35 or more will be subtracted.  If you bounce 4 items, that is over $100 in charges.  That is money being thrown away.  Avoid going in the red at all costs!  I find that the best way to do this is to leave a little cushion in there that is untouched, and that I vow to never go under.  And beyond that, put a little in your savings every chance you get.  Even better, plan a savings deposit in your monthly budget.  Christmas will be here before you know it, birthday season is around the corner, your kid just shot up a foot overnight and needs new pants, your insurance only covers 80% of the bill and you need oral surgery at the same time your daughter needs braces (maybe I’m speaking from experience on that one….).    You never know when an emergency might arise, and it is always better to be prepared for it.   This money could even become a new car to replace your battered vehicle, college tuition for your bright child, even a down payment on a new house one day.

4.  Utilize the Freebies section in the newspaper, Craigslist, garage sales, Salvation Army, and Goodwill for deals on gently used clothing, furniture, and anything else you might need.  Avoid buying new if you can help it.  You might get a better deal getting a used item than you can getting something new!  Put the word out to your friends that you are looking for certain items so that they can ask around.  My whole condo is furnished with donated items thanks to a bunch of my friends who gathered items from their friends.  As a single mom moving into my own place for the first time, I had nothing.  They ensured that my house did not remain empty, and that it became a home.

5.  Think about what you want to do with your life, and start making it a reality.  It is never too late.  Look into scholarships and Federal aid for college, and start taking courses that will bring you closer to that goal.  Furthering your education will open more doors for you than anything else, will ensure your future, and will provide your child with a lasting example to live by.

6.  In the meantime, what are you good at?  Make a list of your talents and interests, and begin brainstorming ways to make more money for the household.  Whether it be babysitting, housecleaning, sewing alterations, canning, jewelry making, painting, freelance writing, catering parties, becoming a personal shopper for the elderly, or walking the dogs in your neighborhood, there are many ways to create a little extra income.

7.  Connect with other moms, especially single moms.  And then ask them how YOU can help.  Why am I telling you this?  You are the one who needs help.  So why are you to look for someone else to help?  Because of this – for some reason, helping someone else brings you up further than you were before.  Helping others connects you with people who can help you in turn.  And giving your time and energy to bring up someone else who desperately needs it, even just needs it a little, feels amazing. 

But what if, after all this….

What if after you’ve tried everything…..

What if the situation is just too bleak….

What if it still isn’t enough?

                                    To be continued……

“So, are you coming back to work?” someone asked me for the umpteenth time.  I was 7 months pregnant and counting down the days until maternity leave started.  My back ached, my feet were swollen, I felt like one huge marshmallow.  Working retail and standing for 7 hours out of the day was taking its toll on my whole body.  And I was determined to work all the way to the end so I could have that much longer to stay home with the baby.  I was most definitely coming back to work.  Hey, the bills needed to be paid!  But the closer I got to her due date, the more I was weakening in my stance.

As luck would have it, I was pulled into maternity leave a lot sooner than I wanted.  At 34 weeks, I got a call from the doctor at work that the baby was taking in meconium (fetal stool) shown by a shadow on her lungs in the ultrasound.  This was my first baby, and the call jarred me.  I was helping a customer when the tears came unexpectedly.  Something was wrong with my daughter!  An appointment was set up immediately in San Francisco for a 3D Ultrasound, and my future ex-husband and I rushed down there early the next morning to find out what was going on.  The ultrasound showed every single hair on her body (I was giving birth to an ape), the curve of her mouth, the motion of her swallowing, the features of her face and her tiny hands…..  It showed everything except for any meconium in her lungs.  The emergency, thank goodness, ended up being a false alarm.  But by then I had already given notice of my leave.  I was only several weeks early, and I figured I could use a couple weeks of vacation at the end of my leave if I needed to.

My daughter was born in early February.  She had a full head of black hair, a beautiful rose mouth, and tiny hands that grasped my finger tightly.  From day one she would lift her wobbly head off my chest and take in her surroundings, so curious of the world.  She refused to sleep at night, but would nuzzle against me during the day as we napped on the couch.  She was beautiful and precious, by far the best and most brilliant thing I had ever made.  And when the decision came to leave her and go back to work, I couldn’t do it.  I stayed home with her for the whole first year, keeping my benefits with Kaiser through COBRA.  And I would have stayed longer, but the household required a second income.

Three years later when I was pregnant with my son, I was faced with the same dilemma.  I was working healthcare at this point, and had a very strenuous job that involved heavy lifting.  When I finally left this job, I knew I had no intention of going back.   And that brought me great relief.  We were in such a place financially that I didn’t really need to work.  Not only that, but the costs of the kids’ daycare would have been too close to my income.  It just didn’t make sense to go back to work.

But by the time my son was 4 months old, I was DYING sort of itching to go back to work.  I needed to get out of the house!  Anyone who claims being a stay-at-home mom is easy has never tried it.  Your friends are your kids, the very people who are around you constantly asking you “Why?” and needing food at all hours of the day, and making huge messes, and talking babytalk, and spitting up on your clothes, and crying, and crying, and crying, and not sleeping at night or taking naps during the day, and being Miss Finicky and Mr. Fussypants…..  AUGH!!!!  To take a shower meant waiting for my 3 year old daughter to take a nap, and placing my infant son in his carseat by the stall, trying to get the soap rinsed out as he screamed bloody murder.  And no matter how hard I scrubbed, the smell of spit up never completely left my body.  We didn’t know any other families with kids, so I was their constant playmate.  Barney haunted my dreams.  All shopping trips took twice as long as I loaded kids into carseats, unloaded them, chased a 3 year old while keeping my hand on the baby in the shopping cart, soothing a crying baby, then soothing a 3 year old who had reached her limit.  By the time my future ex-husband would get home, I was crawling out of my skin and ready to murder him on the spot for asking me what was for dinner and why half of the cat’s whiskers were missing.

I was lucky.  I got a job right away at an Assisted Living Center, a really wonderful facility, where I worked full time.  I attempted pumping during the day, and gave up in favor of driving home to feed my son midday.  I supplemented his feedings with formula, so he got a mix of both during his first year.  My future ex worked at home on days that I worked, taking the kids with him if he needed to go.  On days that he couldn’t watch him, my wonderful employers allowed me to bring the kids with me. 

For a new mom, working oftentimes means putting the baby in full-time daycare, 5 days a week.  That is 5 full days of the baby bonding with someone other than their mother, and that can be heart-wrenching, and not to mention, EXPENSIVE.  But it does allow for a household to be able to make enough money (hopefully) to live comfortably and save for the future, and allow her to continue on the career path that she put in place before the baby was even a thought.

On the flipside, not working means giving up a degree that was worked hard for, making a household work with less (and diapers cost a fortune!), and the danger of losing one’s sense of identity other than “the baby’s mom”.  But it allows the baby to form a bond with their mother, giving them a sense of security that is so important in that first year of life.  It also allows the household to be better managed.  And the added bonus?  There is no daycare bill.

To work, or not to work.  It’s a hard decision to make once a couple decides to start a family.  Are you a working mother?  Or do you stay home with the kids?  What are some of the reasons for the decision you made, and would you have done anything differently?

Stay tuned for “Working and Single Motherhood” tomorrow.