Tales of one woman stumbling her way through motherhood.
I send my husband and my car to you for one short weekend, so he could attend a little convention for work, and this is what I get in return:
Where’s the love, NYC? You’re totally off my Valentine’s Day card list.
Signed,
An Ohioan who is thankful our parking lots aren’t full service and employing blind armless monkeys to move cars.
With the layer of snow still covering the ground, and two little girls with pent-up energy from being cooped up for days, we ventured out to the mall playground yesterday. (OK, so it was also so I could do a little shopping, but that’s beside the point.)
Aaron watched the girls play for about 45 minutes, and then I took over for the last bit. Not long after I sat down, Cordy came up to me and sat on my lap. “Can we go home now?”
Surprised by this request, I said, “Yes, we can go home as soon as daddy comes back.”
At this point a little girl walked up to us and said to Cordy, “Come on! Your red car is back! Come play!” At first I wondered what red car? She doesn’t have a red car with her…
Then Cordy’s face brightened. “OK!” she exclaimed, taking the little girl’s hand as she led Cordy to the other side of the play area. It was such a sweet scene to witness – this little girl was asking Cordy to come play! My heart grew three sizes in that moment as I imagined Cordy someday having lots of friends and charming other kids.
I watched them go up to an older boy in a brown shirt (he looked about 7), and he then produced a shiny red toy car from behind his back. He took off running, holding the car up high. The group of 4 or 5 kids around him ran after him, including Cordy. The other kids looked around 5 or 6, so I wasn’t concerned that an older kid was with the group.
The thought crossed my mind that this older boy might be teasing the other kids a bit, but I quickly let that thought fall away when Mira climbed onto my lap for some attention. Cordy was having fun with friends, so I was happy.
A minute or so later, I checked to see where Cordy was in the play area. At first I didn’t see her, but I saw the group of kids she was with. They all seemed to be leaning in towards something up against a play structure, crowded together and laughing. I saw the older boy lower his hand, with the red car in it, towards the kid I couldn’t see, saying “Here, you want this?” and then yank it back quickly, shouting “NO!” at the kid and laughing. The other kids roared in laughter in response.
I started to get a sinking feeling, which was then confirmed when I heard Cordy’s high-pitched shriek. I shifted my position and across the play area saw Cordy, sitting on the floor and cornered by this group of kids, reaching up and pleading to play with the car as the boy again thrust it in her face, only to pull it away as she touched it, shouting “NO! It’s MINE, dummy!” in her face and laughing at her as she shrieked again, half-covering her face and looking confused. The other kids were egging him on, saying, “Do it again!” and shouting at Cordy, “It’s not your car!”
At that moment my heart shattered into a million pieces.
A moment later, sensing my heart was no longer in any state to put up a fight, my rage began rising from my gut on a conquering march to my brain.
I stormed over there, with what little logic I still had in my head repeating a mantra of Don’t kill the kids…don’t kill the kids… Not trusting myself to say anything to these little monsters, I simply walked past them and scooped Cordy into my arms, saying, “C’mon, let’s go play over there. You don’t need to play with kids who are mean to you.”
The older kid, realizing the jig was up, and thinking himself smooth and savvy with adults, tried to act like nothing was wrong. “She kept asking for her car, but it’s mine. She thought it was hers.”
Again, I didn’t know what to say in that moment. I didn’t want to tell the kids she has autism – they probably have no clue what that means, and I didn’t need to further alienate her from them. In a pinch, I came up with, “Well, she doesn’t always understand that a toy isn’t hers. She’s not as old as you might think she is.”
“Well how old is she?” the little girl who brought her back to the bullying asked me. “Is she six?”
Apparently my Amazon child had fooled people once again. “No, she’s four.”
The little girl seemed unimpressed. “Well, my little sister is four. And she knows that some toys aren’t hers.”
OK, engaging these kids has clearly failed. Time to just make an exit, I thought. But then the older boy – that same chubby little ringleader who thought he was so much older and wiser than other kids, yet was teasing my daughter mercilessly – had to add one more statement to prove that he understood child psychology.
“Oh, I understand!” he cooed at me. “Little kids and babies don’t get that there are toys that don’t belong to them. You know…like dogs! She’s just like a dog – doesn’t know what is hers and what isn’t.”
At that point my rage was screaming in my head One swing! Just let me have one swing at him!! Meanwhile, I had ceased to breathe or move as I stood there and stared at him wide-eyed, as if he had two heads, one of which was a barking dog. Even my logic had given in, pointing out, Someday that kid is going to get his chubby little head knocked into a wall, and he will completely deserve it.
Finally wrestling my voluntary muscles back to my own control, I turned away from the mean kids and carried Cordy back to the other side of the play area. She buried her head in my neck, asking to go home. Aaron wasn’t back yet, so I checked to make sure Mira was still OK and sat Cordy down next to me.
“I want my red car,” she whined.
“Cordy, that car wasn’t yours.” I reminded her.
“It wasn’t? I want to go play with my friends.”
Damn, she didn’t even realize they were teasing her. “Cordy, those kids weren’t your friends. They were being mean to you.”
Cordy looked confused. “They were?”
“Yes, sweetie. They were teasing you and laughing at you. They weren’t being nice.”
“Oh.”
We’re not even to kindergarten yet and I’m already stressed out about bullies. I want Cordy to have friends and be happy, but as it stands her social skills aren’t very strong and kids, who pick up on any weakness, are quick to exploit hers. The only comfort at the moment is that she has no awareness that people are being mean to her – she is spared the hurt and the pain of being rejected by others. (While I currently bear the brunt of it.)
I know I can’t protect her forever, but the social world of children is a harsh and cruel one, often shaping a person for a lifetime. I should know – I was a misfit child who endured being the outcast, and the scars still burn. It’s probably because of my past that I worry so much about my daughter who isn’t always on the same plane of reality as the rest of us. Winning popularity contests isn’t my goal for her, but I do want her to have friends and know how to handle situations where other kids try to hurt her.
At this point in parenting, I feel lost. We’re entering a phase of her life that I didn’t do particularly well with, and she has additional challenges to make it even more difficult. I can’t be there to pull her out of these situations all the time, and I can’t even think of how scenes like this would end without me stepping in.
(And before anyone asks: No, I don’t know where their parents were. A group of parents sitting right by the gang looked on without any concern. The mall play areas lean towards a Lord of the Flies atmosphere on weekends when older kids aren’t in school. The majority of concerned parents have very young children, and hover over them continuously.)
I’ve been watching the financial nosedive of the past few weeks with complete exasperation. Banks are failing one after another due to nothing more than greed and mismanagement, while those who were responsible walk away with multi-million dollar severance packages. I shook my head when Congress dismissed a $700 billion bailout package as being too expensive, then less than a week later passed another bailout package that was nearly identical except that it also included more money for pet projects and unrelated issues.
Now I see that AIG thanked the American public for their $80 billion bailout by sending some executives on a $440,000 spa retreat, paying for pedicures, massages, and all sorts of luxury. And Congress responded by giving them another $37.8 billion yesterday. Ya know, so they don’t run out of margaritas.
Ever wonder what happened to your country?
I think moms of America need to revolt and take over the country. Storm Washington and form a mom brute squad inside the Capital building, forcing lawmakers to listen to us. Just think of what we could accomplish.
When Republicans and Democrats are too involved in partisan bickering to get anything done, we moms can make them sit down together and play nice. We can keep our children from killing each other, so we can certainly make these guys respect each other. If someone tries to tack on a ridiculous pet project that has nothing to do with a bill designed to help the economy, we’ll send them to their office, and tell them to not come out until they can tell us what they’ve done wrong.
Moms can speak directly to the failed bank CEOs, chastizing them for thinking of themselves only and not others. We trusted them to behave with the money they’ve been given, and they betrayed our trust with greed, which requires punishment. Any mom will tell you that you can’t let a child get away with something once, or they’ll keep doing it again and again. We’d take away all of their bonuses, and we’d work out a plan with the banks, making sure any money we lend them is paid back to us in full, possibly with interest.
To investors, the mom squad would grab them by the shoulders and tell them to chill the hell out, reminding them that nothing good ever comes from acting rashly. We’d remind them that it’s OK to be scared, but it’s not OK for that fear to cloud everything they do and say. Moms would hand out cookies, tell them all to take a deep breath, and then make them sleep on it before deciding to sell off everything from fear.
When it comes to AIG, who has proven to be a truly unruly child and is clearly unable to make responsible choices with what it has been given, we moms would have to get tough. We would put them in time-out, freezing any financial hand-outs to them, demanding they work out a plan to pay back the money they blew on their executive spa retreat, and refusing to give them any further help until they prove they can make good choices.
And finally, moms would address the American public to tell them the unpopular truth our leaders won’t say: we’re all going to have to cut back, make some sacrifices, and live within our means. Many of us already are cutting back out of necessity, but others will need to do so to keep from ending up in poverty. Mom always said to not spend more than you earn, and this is the time to put that advice to use.
We moms don’t want to do this. We don’t like being mean mommies. We’d rather be spending time with our families instead of worrying about finances. But when our government and our financial system behave like unruly children, forcing our families to suffer from high food prices, foreclosures, heating costs that may be too much for many families to afford this winter, and a lack of credit for the responsible individuals and small businesses who desperately need it, we moms can only endure so much before we are fed up and feel the need to do something. Maybe it isn’t as extreme as storming the capital, but we can still choose to write our representatives in Washington, vote for who we think will make the best changes, and protect our families by guarding our finances.
Remember Congress, this really does hurt us more than it hurts you.
Have I mentioned how hard it is to dress Cordy? The kid has a long torso, shorter legs, and isn’t lacking in hips or butt. (More proof that she wasn’t switched at birth.) As a result, very few clothes fit her well. Anything that fits her waist and hips is always too long, and if the length is right, chances are it’s skin tight around her middle.
But I still had high hopes that Old Navy would work out. After all, she can wear their shorts and t-shirts without any problem. She’s never been able to wear jeans, but it was time to try the jeans – she’s four years old, and she’s noticed that other kids wear jeans and she doesn’t. Just to be safe, I ordered a pair of boys jeans, which are always looser in fit than girls. I also ordered some knit pants.
My mom paid for the online sale as a birthday gift for Cordy. When the package arrived, it was a disaster. Everything was way too long – far too long to even hem. The size 6 pants fit well in the midsection, but you could fold the extra length back over her feet. The boy jeans were a little too relaxed – not only were they too long, you couldn’t even tell where her legs were in these clown pants. I had to return them.
When I went to Old Navy today, my primary worry was that the store wouldn’t have the same items in a size 5. But I found each item easily, and decided to try two pairs of jeans made for girls instead of boys. I walked up to the register and explained that I needed to exchange two pairs of pants, return one pair of jeans, and buy two pairs of jeans.
“Oh, we no longer do exchanges for online returns,” I was told, “We can only do a return and then you can buy them again.”
“But these were purchased as a gift. Can’t I just switch the sizes? Or get a merchandise credit?”
“No, they must be processed as a return and the money returned to the card it was paid with. If you have the same card, you can charge it back to the card again.”
“I don’t have the card – I told you these were a gift.”
“Well then you’ll have to use another form of payment.”
I was sure she wasn’t understanding me. “Let me get this straight: if someone buys my children a gift online and I need a different size, I have to return the items, and the money will go back to the gift-giver, and then I can then pay for the items with my own money. How does that make sense?”
“I’m sorry, but that’s the policy.”
“Well it’s a stupid policy then.”
I’m more than a little angry with Old Navy over this. Unless you read some fine print written on a different page on the website, you’d never know this was the policy. Instead they advertise their “Returns can be made online or in-store!” making you think it’s all so easy.
While I do like Old Navy’s clothing, this has discouraged me from ever buying from them online. Which means I’ll be buying less from them in general, since how often do I get the chance to go clothes shopping?
And I’ll never again suggest Old Navy if relatives want to buy clothing for the girls online. I don’t care how big the sale is – having to pay for the exchanged items myself and then ask my mom to send me a check when she gets the refund to her credit card is a hassle. Old Navy is unnecessarily complicating the returns process when I only wanted to exchange two size 6 pants for size 5 instead.
Sorry, Old Navy. You need to change your policies or you won’t be seeing me in your store again anytime soon.
We’re *this* close to having insurance for Cordy and Mira. Since Aaron lost his job, we knew it was a possibility we’d run out of insurance before he could find a new one. At first, we hoped that something would appear before the end of July – how naive we were. That whole plan to bring jobs to Ohio isn’t exactly working as quickly as we’d like.
At the end of July, we realized there was no immediate job offer coming, so we applied for state assistance for health insurance for the kids. The SCHIP program has helped so many people, and while I’ve always been a supporter, I never imagined we’d have to take advantage of it. With only our freelance income, we easily qualify for it. The paperwork was submitted, all documentation was submitted and approved, and everything should be in place for my two young daughters to have health insurance to protect them if anything would happen.
I said should be in place, because as of yet it isn’t. We still have one obstacle in our way:
Our case worker.
Now, I have never bought into the stereotype of the lazy government worker. Especially since my husband was just recently a government worker, and would have been fired quickly for poor customer service in his agency. I had the belief that people who worked in government jobs did so because of their desire to help others and make a difference.
Yeah, I know. You can really stop laughing now.
Our case worker has so far been slow and unable to keep his word. Everything was submitted and in order as of the beginning of August for their health insurance. There was some question as to if we might qualify for additional help, so he said he would be in touch with us either the next Monday, or if not then, the Monday morning after that for sure. (He was going on vacation after the first Monday.)
We waited but there was no call the first Monday. We knew it was a possibility, so we crossed our fingers and hoped no one got sick that week. The second Monday morning, there was no call. By late afternoon, Aaron called the agency, and was told they would give him the message that he called, and his case worker would respond within 24 hours.
Somehow I expected a call within 24 hours. But there was no call on Tuesday. On Wednesday afternoon, nearly 2 days after Aaron called, the case worker called back, telling us he didn’t have a chance to do anything yet, but would have everything finalized by the next day. We were told he would call us back “tomorrow before 1pm.” (Thursday)
You can probably guess what happened next. There was no call on Thursday. Or Friday.
So yesterday Aaron called again first thing in the morning, and was again informed that his case worker would be back in touch within 24 hours. No call. He called again today, got the same message.
At this point, it’s been nearly a month since our children were approved for health insurance, but so far no confirmation has been made to get them enrolled.
I’m only glad this guy is dealing with Aaron and not me. I consider myself a patient person, but not where my children’s health is concerned. I’m feeling very mama bear right now, and I would likely have some choice words for him about doing what you say you will do and how damn hard is it to make a 5 minute phone call, asshole? This is about health coverage for kids!
When I worked as a student advisor, there were days when I was busy and had several phone messages waiting for me. If I wasn’t in the office the next day (I worked part-time) I’d stay the extra 5-10 minutes it took to make sure I got back to everyone, even if it was just to acknowledge their call and let them know I was looking into their question and when to expect a response.
I’d be more OK with this situation if there was a hold-up somewhere and he could take the time to let us know what the delay is. Instead, we’re left calling daily with no return call or information about when or if our girls will have health insurance. How can an agency that is dedicated to helping families in a time of need be so far off it’s goal? It seems that when it comes to Family Services in Ohio, customer service is dead.
The one upside to share with you is that Aaron had an interview last week that went very well. He was called back the next day (see? some places can call back!) and has a second interview tomorrow. If this goes well, he might be employed as early as mid-September, and insurance would be back in October. And then hopefully I can put this not-quite-nightmare, more-like-a-bad-dream of a summer behind me.
Tech geek, wife, mom of two, Disney fanatic, woman with ADD, and a complete domestic zero. I still don't know what I want to be when I grow up, but that's not so bad when you get to keep trying new things, right?
This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 2.5 License.