sweet and sour

I show up for my Karate Internship right on time but he's already gotten started, I walk in and see a bunch of boys, a few girls, and M. Karate Guy looks at me and says I brought her this time, just like that, no warmth and sort of defensive maybe. I look at the clock and inwardly groan. I wonder why Karate Guy is hating already and then I figure I can't really blame him.

I'll help I say and he says okay and points over at a group of boys. Keep them in line he says. So I walk over to the little dudes, boys I think are maybe in the range of 9-12 years old. They are off the hook, karate chopping each other and being generally unruly. I stand between them and give them a look. Dudes, I say. I'm watching you.

They don't seem to care and keep on being little shits so I stand between them and tell one of them to go sit against the wall. The rest of them look at me askance. I'm not messing around I say and one of them sticks out his tongue at me.

I decide boys between the ages of 9-12 can be little fuckers. The only experience I have with kids of multiple ages is from my work, and kids at the shelter could be little creeps too but I suppose I cut them some slack. These kids have it pretty good, being housed and all so I figure there's no going easy. I break up two more going at it and make one of them hold my hand.

That pretty much did it, if a girl wants to completely freak out boys between the ages of 9-12 I suppose you make them hold your hand. So it's working long enough for Karate Guy to get started, he's paying extra attention to M and I can't tell if he's making a point or just being cool because she's the smallest one there. So I figure since I'm here I might as well learn something, I do some of the exercises and frequently position myself between my boy posse breaking up random acts of dumbassery. He puts them through a few paces and things are going well until one of the boys calls another one fat and all heck breaks loose. The kid who was being teased gets really upset and to be honest, the kid who was calling names wasn't super slim himself but whatever, I grab that dude's hand and he shuts his mouth. I do all the regular things one does with the other kid when one's feelings are hurt and he's not really having much of it but did start laughing when I took the other dude's hand so I think we are okay.

It's nearing towards the end and Karate Guy asks me to be a "shark" so the kids can be "fish" or something like that, I don't really know what the hell he's talking about but it involves tagging them as they try and run past me which I can do pretty well but some of these kids are also pretty fast, so maybe they should be called "eels" but whatever.

So the class ends and Karate Guy tells the class that this week was much better than last week and I'm of course thinking it's because he had back up, the hand holding kind of back up and he turns to me and says thanks and asks if I can come again next week. Only if there's beer after I say and I think he takes me serious and you know, maybe I am because as I said before boys between the ages of 9-12 can be little fuckers, but they are also pretty cute and so I tell him I'll come next week. He looks at me and says you know, I didn't realize M was so upset last week, the teachers told me she was crying and I thought about punching him in the arm just because he's being kind of dorky but then he leans down and talks to M and apologizes directly and tells her how good she did and that she has real promise and I don't know that I believe him but I lost the urge anyways because he's really a very nice guy doing something nice for these kids and if I were him I'd want as few kids in the class as possible too.

sugar and spice

My child is lucky. She has plenty of food and a safe home. Two parents who love her and books and books and books. She's learning to hold her own and to embrace her impending girlhood. Today she had a friend over and we walked over to the park. Her friend is a crazy climbing girl. She bounded up a tricky apparatus and looked down while M is looking up.

CCG: What's wrong, M? You scared? Big girls don't get scared. You're not a big girl.
M: I'm not scared and I am a big girl. But big girls can choose the things they want to do and I don't feel like doing this. And she turned and ran and jumped on something else.

And I smiled broadly, you go, precious baby girl. you go.
And realizing this truth, the import of the strength of growing our girls into women made me appreciate all the more reading Three Cups of Tea. I was deeply moved by Greg and his work in Pakistan, all in service of allowing girls to more fully realize their potential. I realize I may be one of the last people on earth who hadn't read it, but if you haven't it's more than worth your while. And it's reminded me again of what I already know: strong girls make for stronger communities.Image courtesy Greg Mortenson, Central Asia Institute.

cracks and fissures

M and I walked merrily into her classroom the other day and as usual, her little posse ran up for the usual viewing and cooing. After a minute all but one girl dance away and she looks up at me and says My mommy hit me between my legs really hard.

So I bend down and look her in the eye. Does it still hurt? She shakes her head no. Well babe, I am so sorry to hear that happened to you. Hitting is never okay. How are you feeling? Sad, she says and M says I'm sorry _____ hitting isn't nice. And looks at me expectantly. Heh.

This little girl is usually there when we arrive and still there when I return. Her hours are long and on the few occasions I've seen her mom she always seems stressed. I've heard her yell at her once, she's a single mom and I am sure her hands are full. I give her a hug and a bit stupified, I look over at the teacher as the kids run off to play.

Quietly I ask her if she heard what was just said. She says she didn't so I repeated it to her and the teacher says Oh. She's said that sort of thing before, but I've talked to her mom and her mom says she makes things up that aren't true. I look at her dumbfounded. And sometimes they say things because they ARE true and then one day they will stop saying them because no one is listening, I reply. She assures me she'll look into it but now I feel a little ill.

I've seen more abused kids in the course of my work than I care to remember. I've seen many good families torn apart by speculation and system failures and troubled families whose troubles got worse. I've seen babies wrenched from their mama's arms and I've seen kids grow up in the system worse off than before. I've also seen kids rescued from horrifying situations and the damage that was done before folks knew to help. None of it is easy and all of it is bad.

There are no good answers and as a sister I am hesitant and as a mother I have no choice. Goddamnit, I say over and over as I drive to work.

I call the Director from work and tell her what happened. I like this woman and she responds exactly the way she needs to and says she'll take it from here. The teacher's comments were news to her and very troubling and I could hear the frustration in her voice. I hung up feeling like I did what was necessary and the sadness stuck with me all day.

When I got home I told J what happened and how it made me feel. He said you know, this is weird because I never usually see her but when I picked M up from school today she was in the parking lot and the mom was yelling at her in a way that made me cringe.

And we both fell silent for a minute, my heart breaking for the little girl and for her mama too.

This was difficult to write, I struggled to bring it here so if it's disjointed I apologize. Today's the last day to send me your Just Posts at girlplustwoATyahooDOTcom. Our Roundtable will feature all of them on the 10th. It's not too late to join us.

the simultaneous destruction of the english language and young minds

There's a routine I go through most days when dropping of M. She's got a mini-posse, the same few friends are faithful most days. Each morning when we show up they run up screeching M's mommy, M's mommy!! and they all prance around and show me their outfits. I'm not sure how it's come to this but it's the only time in my life where fashion advice is sought so I rather enjoy it. They like me, these wee peeps and as such they show off, shoes here, bracelet there look at me look at me and I oooh and aaah and call them lovelies and babies and dudes.

The other day in the midst of our routine the fire alarm starts going off. The teachers look at me it's just a drill but you can't leave they say and cornered, I follow suit. I'm arbitrarily assigned three little ones along with M and we start the toddler journey to the special fire drill location across the complex. It's clear there is no fire and this is just practice but regardless I'm a hostage in the madness but M's happy because I'm along for the ride.

While it's all well and good I'm also a bit annoyed because this is making me really late and the teachers are clearly using it to their advantage by tossing random children my way. So I'm hanging with the little people and after a dozen long minutes of nothing I mutter I'm in the third vortex of the dark side of hell not really realizing I was speaking out loud. So one of my temporary charges says vortex? what's a vortex? and another says dark side of hell, what's that, what's that?

Nice. Fearing the wrath of a dozen preschool parents I say well you know, it's my way of saying I have to go. So one of them starts yelling M's mommy has a vortex, M's mommy has a vortex, I want a vortex too! and I'm mostly pleased they've forgotten about the dark side of hell.

Finally we've been given the green light, the long journey back to the room commences. I get to the door and say dudes, this has been rocking but I gotta bounce and my little cohort starts bouncing, literally bouncing their way back to their class. Bounce, they say I gotta bounce!

babies

First, Hetha shared this post with me today and while it'll be part of next month's Roundtable, it deserves a read now too. It's unconscionable that children grow up in these conditions.

Second, the rest of my heart and soul is sitting over at Mad's today.

We are all mothers here.

morning has broken (pt. 4)

I headed back to the site yesterday morning and immediately spotted the mom, sitting up and looking okay. Apparently she was in some sort of distress related to the stressful conditions she's been living with but she and the baby were okay and they sent her back. I speculate as to whether she'd have been released had she had insurance but perhaps all was simply okay. Relieved, we turned to the task at hand, finding a better place for them to live. I had placed a few calls over the weekend and one of them called back a little while later, offering an interview and if they were accepted, a room. A room that others desperately needed too, this family was not the only one. The woman on the other end made a point of explaining that but also listened to their story, the difficult conditions, the baby, the little girl. There was less surprise than compassion, for them or for my pleading, I'd take either one if it helped.

She told me they needed to arrive in a couple hours, if they were late they'd miss their chance and they'd go to the next in line. I frantically called till I found them and knowing the bus was a tricky option for folks who didn't know their way around, negotiated a ride. The beauty of that was the folks who stepped up, a couple of old timers volunteered their battered cars to transport them, one with the family and one with their belongings, a jalopy caravan of strangers meandering across town.

I got a call just after the scheduled time, the woman who set the appointment called to let me know they arrived and then her boss, the one I'd appealed to earlier called me back to let me know they'd been accepted and brought into the warmth of their program with a spanish speaking counselor and an open day care slot for the little girl. Mom needs to rest awhile, we'll take care of her the woman said and I could tell this family moved her as they'd moved me, the simple essence of their need spoke volumes. I gave an inappropriate Whoohoo! Hell Yes Thank you! to a peer that I've mostly sat across from in community meetings, woeing the state of funding and yet for a moment we shared some of the juice, the reason we both are here. That little girl didn't need to be sleeping beside all your bums, she said, hey now, woman, I replied and she laughed and we hung up smiling.

So it's over for us but not for them, their journey is far from done but in our business small victories mean a lot. When I picked M up last night she wanted to go see her new friend but I told her she was gone. Why, she whined, I wanted to play with her again. I remind her this is good news, they are in a better place now and she says that's good mommy, that's good.

trouble (pt. 3)

I brought M to work with me late in the afternoon. We'd selected a Spanish book of hers to share as well as some snacks, we'll make this a playdate if it kills me. We walk in the door and it's crowded but through the mass of people I saw them sitting in the spot we reserve for families. I notice the little girl is fast asleep and then I see her mother. Something is wrong.

I pick M up and walk over fast, mom is sitting on the floor, she's crying and wrapped in a blanket. As I get closer the blanket falls down and I realize she's holding her stomach. I go to her and she motions to her belly, a man nearby says it's hurting her a lot but it's not the baby, it can't be, she's only seven months. Men, I think as I grab my phone because who knows what month it really is and what does that matter anyways. Ambulancia? I ask and she nods so I call 911 and within minutes they arrive. In the meantime we lay her down and put a pillow under her head. All the while her daughter is still sleeping and I am wondering how she'll wake, during or after her mom is already gone. Shortly paramedics flood the room and start peppering her with questions: how far apart, at how many weeks did you deliver last time, has your water broken? She's looking at me and I stop them. Spanish. They need to speak Spanish but none of them do so a client steps forward and translates. By this time they've loaded her on the stretcher, her husband has to stay behind because kids can't ride in the ambulance. Her daughter wakes up as she's being wheeled out of the building, I see her sleepily watching the tail end of the action and wonder if she'll cry.

I hand the paramedic my card and ask him to give it to the doctor. She won't know how to get back and her husband won't know how to find her. You must have them call us. They nod, eager to go.

The little girl is awake now, she sees M and gives her a shy smile. M looks at me and smiles and tugs me over. She sits on her mat and opens the bag she brought and brings out a book. She hands it to her and they start reading side by side. One of the staff brings them some chips and I want to interfere but I don't. M realizes immediately chips, she says and beams at me. Just one, I say, futilely and I know it. Three, she replies and turns back to her new friend, mouth already full. Her father is standing in the corner, two countries and an ambulance between him and everyone else. I realize then mom is the rock and without her there, I worry even more. He doesn't even know where the hospital is and he's not asking. I realize he's staying here and she's on her own.

We stayed for another hour and then came home, the girls giving each other shy hugs as we leave and M asking to come back tomorrow, this chips still fresh on her mind. There's been no word since, no word on if the baby's coming or if it's something worse but no matter what she's lying somewhere alone in a hospital while the rest of her family is on the floor. If there's no news this morning I'll go to the hospital, either way the story goes on.

Today's the last day to send your Just Posts to me at girlplustwoATyahooDOTcom. There's still time to join us at the Roundtable as we celebrate the first year of Just Posts.

where do the children play (part 2)

I was haunted by the little girl I mentioned yesterday so I went back to see what we could do. I walk in and see them immediately, mom sitting watchful over the sleeping toddler on a mat on the floor. I quietly inquire and learn that one of the staff found them on a street panhandling and hungry, and they can't speak english. I round up an old timer who's able to translate and go and sit on the floor next to the mom. After some back and forth I learn that the husband had work for a while but it's gone with the weather, they are unable to get any sort of governmental assistance as no one has papers and they have literally no money at all.

The little girl wakes up while we are talking, she is radiantly beautiful with thick black hair and chocolate eyes. I smile at her as she clings to her mama, a shy smile peeking through. After obtaining her permission to see if we can find room at a family shelter we make some calls and come up empty but weekends are tough like that and I wasn't surprised. I then ask if they need anything and the mother says they have no diapers or warm clothes beyond what is on their backs. That's easier to manage so we quickly call a co-worker and arrange delivery for all of it (thankfully with holiday generosity our supply closets are full). I can't help but notice the little girl's fingernails, they need trimming and they are black with dirt. I can't imagine how she keeps her kids clean the way they are living and even though I've seen it a thousand times I am getting soft in my old age, or better said my mothering age and I feel lost sitting there because it's still going to take a few days to find something else and this is no place for kids.

The mom stands up and as she does I realize she's not only pregnant but hugely so. She already looks young, terrified as can be, and now this. The old timer translating didn't know either, he looked at me as she stood and his eyes widened. Shit, he said in english. Embarazada, in Spanish. She nods quickly and looks at the floor and my mind is reeling. I ask her how far along and she says seven months so I ask if she's seen a doctor and she shakes her head no. I am gripped by this, this young woman terrified and homeless, about to give birth without any prenatal care sitting in the pouring rain with her child and a hundred street folks. I gently ask if she'd like to see a doctor and she nods her head yes.

Her daughter is two but acts much older. She doesn't leave her mama's lap, she doesn't fidget or complain. She sits that way for over two hours, something M could never do in a million years. She's so well behaved it breaks your heart, as if she's learned to expect so much less in such a short time. Her mom is so good with her, tender in the best sort of way, a way I fear I might not be able to muster if I were in her shoes. I am curious to know how they ended up here, how or if they crossed the border as a family, how they've survived till now but it's a dangerous topic and besides, we've only just met. I tell her in broken spanish that I have a little girl too, perhaps her daughter would like someone to play with and she nods her head yes, a smile on her face. She tells her daughter and she smiles broadly at that so I promise to return with M tomorrow and let the girls play.

I leave shortly after, on the way home I remember I need to stop at the store. I am standing in the produce section mindlessly choosing organic fruit over the other when all of a sudden I start to cry. I am looking at bananas in tears because it's fucking audacious and incomprehensible that I drive away while she sits with her daughter on her lap in a cold room on the floor and I get to choose fruit without thinking of the price. I almost want to do something crazy like throw myself on the floor and wail amidst the tomatoes, the vine ripened and the romas, the fancier ones that were probably imported from a million miles away but instead I finish, head down and purchase things we could most likely do without while a woman just like me has absolutely nothing, and I mean nothing in this world to call her own but the family around her.

Occasionally some of you ask me how I do it and today I don't know. Today I am haunted by this woman, this girl. Today I hate poverty and I hate the unfairness of money and chance and luck and lineage. I hate borders and hunger and the priorities of our nation. Today I am shamed that our house only has three people in it and we have money in the bank and food in the fridge. Today I will bring my child to a play date at a shelter because I don't know what else to do.

winds of change

There is a little girl in M's school (one of the aforementioned purse holders) who appears to have had a rocky road in her three years. She's been living with her auntie for the last year and a half while her mom has been away (either rehab or jail, haven't quite understood which). She only sees her mom very sporadically, every few months for a day or two (some sort of visitation). Lately when I drop M off or pick her up D runs to me and hugs me, and not only hugs me but holds on tight and I have to pry her fingers from around my neck when it's time to go.

It's interesting watching M in those moments, she watches D fling herself at me and sometimes then needs to be held as well, other times watches silently, and sometimes reacts strongly, telling D that this is HER mommy. Mostly though, she just watches.

Her auntie walked two days ago when D was clinging to my neck. She saw D in my arms and paused, then said quietly that D's mom was getting custody back in a month and that it was a very difficult time for everyone. I can only imagine what that must be like for D, her life has undoubtedly been uprooted before, and now after so long, she's facing it again.

As I untangled D's arms from my neck she looked at her auntie and said i want to go home with her. I want to go home with her NOW. She started crying and wouldn't go to her auntie and I saw tears in her eyes as well. I am not a significant person in D's life, I've done little more but hold her when she asks me to. And I don't have a relationship with her aunt.

It was awkward, and me being new at all of this said something about them coming over soon so M and D can play. Her auntie agreed, we are both aware of how close the two have become. But D was adamant. It needed to be now. It didn't seem to be about playing as much as coming from a place of sadness and uncertainty. Of wanting, maybe, to hurt her auntie because she is feeling confused and scared (see. Jen. project.) In the moment it continued to be awkward, but we left with a plan for them to come over.

Yesterday when I dropped M off D ran to me and clung. She said again that she wanted to come home with me, and put her head on my shoulder. She didn't move for several minutes, and the day care person finally came over and tried to take her, and there was an awkwardness again as if she didn't want D to impose on me. I told D in front of the day care person that I could tell she has a lot on her mind, that a lot was happening in her life right now. And that sometimes we need extra hugs and that was okay. She continued to hold on.

I feel for her; the confusion and uncertainty must be driving this, but as I am not friends with her auntie I am hesitant about what to do. I am sure it's a very difficult time for her, too. I am touched by the little person, her quiet eyes and sad embrace. I have invited them to come over, but I know it's short lived; once her mom gets her back all of this will disappear and D will be thrust into a new world full of changes. And she has no say in the matter. I might be looking for someone to save me, too.

I don't have any experience with this outside of the families I've worked with over the years, and in those cases my role has been defined. Here it is not, so I don't know what the best way to treat her and this for the next few weeks is. I am not trying to sound plaintive so much as asking for thoughts from those of you who've been through big transitions with toddlers (that aren't your own). It seems like an opportunity to do something right.

the other chromosome

I've never spent much time around little boys; the few friends outside of school that M has are girls. But this weekend I spent some time with The Mayor when I visited Jess and if I am honest, I left with a bit of a crush on him and of course the House of Joy in general. I was amazed at how truly effortless it felt to spend time in a home of a fellow blogger for the first time. K cooks fabulously. And Rooster Girl is delicious. But The Mayor stole my heart. Thanks Jess, for so warmly welcoming me into your home and giving me a slice of Joy.

And then last night we were sitting outside when a neighbor of ours stopped by, a mom with two kids, the boy a year older than M. We don't spend much time together but like each other a lot, so we hung out for an hour or so as the day winded down watching M and A chase each other around. A is a quiet kid, very polite and shy, in fact in all the times I've seen him he's barely uttered two sentences so yesterday was terrific, watching them have fun. But the best part was when they were leaving; all the requisite goodbyes and then as A got on his bike he turned back and yelled See ya, fuckers! Mom was mortified, J and I were quietly hysterical.

It was so ironic, and so perfect. And of course, so true. We couldn't stop laughing about it for at least an hour. It's very good to be home.

Little boys. I had no idea how delicious they are.

if you cut me i could shine

Lat night I sat in on a focus group of homeless women who gathered around to talk about their difficulties in clothing their kids, and how the lack of suitable (read: popular, expensive, hip) attire causes issues in their homes. (or shelter housing at the moment)

I wasn't sure what I was expecting, but I found the whole thing fascinating. The women had kids ranging from 5-20 years of age, and had from 1-6 kids each. All spoke of the same pressure - not having enough money to clothe their kids and the frustrations that caused them at home, and the humiliation the kids suffered at school.

dirty shelter kids. white-trash. loser. ghetto. fat, ugly, stupid.

It was appalling to hear the way their kids were spoken to. And it's not just about having new clothes, it's about labels and brands. Specific stores. One mom said her eight year old was upset because her friends had underwear from Victoria's Secret. Um, seriously? At age eight?

Others spoke of the expense of bras, and how kids at nine or ten were requiring them. Again, I was floored. I can't remember when I got my first bra, but I know I was in my teens.

Kids who, due to years of poor nutrition, were overweight and unable to find clothes their size. And are humiliated for it.

Kids who only had hand me downs, and would go to school and keep their jackets on no matter how hot it gets. Kids that cried and begged to stay home from school because they were too ashamed to face the others.

The moms talked about how painful this is for them - they want more than anything to keep their kids similar to others, but simply unable. About how they cry at night, blame themselves. The guilt. And it's not like these lovely women don't have bigger fish to fry, either. And yet it matters. We are all moms here. No one loves their kids any more or less. It matters the same.

When asked who was responsible, almost every mom said the media. That the media is so harmful in it's pressure to look a certain way, to be thin, to have the right clothes. And how far away from that reality they are, and yet it's in their face all the time.

The whole thing terrified me. I came home and told J we need to get the hell out of this country before M starts school. We need to raise her in the jungle. Without TV. She cannot ever be in the position to feel ashamed of how she looks. We must do this now. He nodded solemnly (no doubt thinking but kindly enough not saying that no matter what we do this will still happen) and we spent another endless conversation around how we can get to Belize, and how fast. And how it's not fast enough.

Because while this population had a specific set of extra challenges, the pain and suffering exists on some level for most kids. It's almost as if babies are born right next to god, go very far away after a while, and then spend the rest of our lives trying to find our way back.

How do we keep our kids from caring about superficial things when the rest of the world insists that they do? What can be done for kids who are defined by their appearance, and treated horribly if they don't meet the standard? My focus group reminded me of Julie and the fascinating discussion that spawned from her In defense of vanity post a couple days ago. I know it's not just the poor kids. I know it's the grown ups too.

But I still wish they got a free pass, because god knows they've got enough extra things to worry about as is.

(i stole the title to this post from a poem Em posted yesterday).