Out with the old, in with the new: Child care providers and attitudes

It costs approximately $2,400 per month to get quality care for 2 kids.

I, or my kids have, to be more accurate, been receiving sub par care---because that is what I can afford. The providers who provide at these rates, who do not bother reading the files for information like food allergies, have equally reduced rates of politeness--probably because they are not appreciated.

My four year old, who is allergic to nuts, was given peanut butter pretzels three weeks ago at the Child Development Center (CDC) where he goes. After requesting a copy of the CDC's food handling policies and procedures, that was ignored, yesterday I received notice that my services there are being terminated. The reason cited being that I was 5 minutes late more than 3 times. God forbid.

My oldest son's summer child care went kablooie last week too. When we showed up on Monday morning, there was no electricity. There was no explanation either.

At this point, I'm thinking along the lines of a live in nanny. For what childcare costs for two kids out of the home (and the stress/penalties) I can have someone just stay at my house.

And I will know that good things come to those who expect good things.

Bad news, then good

So, about 3 months ago, I had a couple of uncomfortable run ins with an overly friendly neighbor of mine, we'll call Joe.

One Sunday, while walking out to the parking lot my sons excitedly asked where we were going. "To the grocery store, " I answered.

"And then where?" Kaden asked.

"And then we are coming right back home."

"Hi there!" said a voice from above. We looked up and there was Joe, calling to us from his apartment window. He told us his name and said that he heard us leave every morning. He asked that we not let the door slam behind us so as not to wake him up. Everyone said "OK." And we got in the car and left.

When we arrived back home, 45 minutes later, Joe had his car parked in my spot, patting it with a dry cloth.

I parked the car behind him, near the apartment door so I could unload the groceries and we all got out of the car. Before I knew it Joe was bent down at eye level, chatting it up with the kids. He asked them their names, how old they were, etc.

I told the kids to follow me and started carrying in the groceries. A few steps behind me, my four year old, Kaden, tripped and fell down. Joe swooped down and picked him up in a matter of seconds. When I turned around after unlocking the door, he was right behind me, holding my son close to his chest. I opened the door, put the groceries down and took my son and asked him if he was OK. I turned back to say goodbye to Joe who was standing at this point right at my door step. I said "Nice to meet you."

"Nice to meet you too!" he replied.

I closed the door and went about the day.

The very next day, Joe had left two sticky notes on my door. They said, 'it was really nice meeting you and your kids yesterday. If you ever need anything just ask. I would love to take you and the boys to a movie sometime.' He left his name and phone number. It looked familiar and when I compared the information to a card that was left on my door handle a few days previous, it matched.

Later at a friend's house I told her about Joe and asked her if she thought he sounded weird, because something didn't feel right. She advised to keep my distance and not let him near the kids. When I went home, I thought about it some more and wondered why any man would want to go to the movies with four and six year old boys--whom he had already observed as rambunctious. So, I looked him up on Megan's List (a very handy tool I recommend)---and found him.

When his picture, name, address and offenses came up I about fainted. This was undoubtedly the same person. His charges were with children under the age of 14 and there were two of them.

After nearly vomiting on the spot and experiencing the head spinning horror of considering what could have happened if I had ignored my gut and not looked him up. If I were a tad more desperate for male attention, or "help" as he had offered, I would have taken him up on his offers.

The panic lead to researching information on sex offenders and laws meant to protect children from them. I realized that sex offenders are protected from having to move on the basis of their offenses and that laws forbidding them to live within a certain number of yards from a school did not stack up against these protections. My landlord confirmed this and said the wouldn't be able to do anything.

So, I made the decision to move, right away. However, a few days later, after packing a few boxes I realized I really was not in a position to move.

I stayed and was comforted by the fact that I had this (disturbing) information, and could avoid him. I stopped parking in the lot under his window and came into the building through a different door -- just to feel safe when I came home.

I called the police and made a report. Nothing much came of it at first, but after several weeks went by an investigator called and said she had talked to "Joe" and that he had said he was going to move out of the building at the end of the month.

I didn't really bank on that happening, but just this past weekend, my landlord introduced me to my new neighbors, who moved into Joe's apartment this past weekend. Tra-la-laaa. Disaster averted.

A Preview of My Post at "A Mom Entrepeneur's" Website

Welcome to my business website. I am thrilled to present to you “Deboxed Living Conversations.” The term deboxed living can mean a number of things and I invite you to come to a definition that suits you. For me, deboxed living means doing what is right for oneself and ones’ children, despite the controversy it might bring about because of differing conventional, religious or other views that people in your life hold fast to.

Specifically, I talk about the complex professional, social and personal implications that emerge for the woman who chooses to end an abusive marriage. The term deboxed living has a connotation of being an empowering process. Based on lived experiences, many of us know that it is also very challenging, in the day to day.

For this reason I have developed “Deboxed Living Conversations.” With a bachelor’s and a master’s degree in public policy, I use my blog to make powerful connections between the daily joys and challenges that come with being a single mother to a larger public policy framework and back again. This unique perspective allows my audiences to gain big picture insights, becoming aware of what political influences are driving their options or lack thereof, and identify what they can do to overcome challenges.

Through bogging, public speaking and managing community campaigns and purposeful events I work towards my vision of building a safer and friendlier place in the world for single head of household women.

I package my expertise into facilitated conversations that are meaningful to various individual and collective audiences.

I can facilitate conversations and craft communications for:

1.) Individuals who have launched, or who are on the cusp of launching, a deboxed life for themselves (with or without children)

2.) A main-stream audience, with the intention of shaping public debate

3.) Legislators and organizations who want to be informed on the way laws impact the single mothers they represent or serve--who make up a significant proportion of their constituencies, across the board

I hope that other single mothers, of all walks of life will feel welcomed to enrich the conversation by leaving their comments and questions.

Being a single parent isn't half bad with el exo out of my hair. I have Alameda County to thank for my stay away order - that does not seem to have an expiration date.

Yay!

Revolutionary Friends: 3 M's Stepping Up For Me - Fierce and Compassionate

Below I describe 3 synchroneous gestures, that helped me to get to the next place on my journey in this de-boxing adventure.

I have been confiding in a friend about the latest debacles with de-boxing and to my surprise one day she came in and said that we were going to the police station to make a report. We went.
Why I couldn't do it on my own was because of my disillusionment with the court system, but lo and behold -- this time it actually got me somewhere.

One place it got me was in a mediation session in Alameda County. I went to the Alameda County Administrative Offices and met with a very bright, educated, pleasant, and serious mediator ("Huh?" you mights say if you've been through mediation). My friend M was by my side.

When I told my mediator about my problems with el exo, she took off her glasses, leaned forward in her seat with one elbow on her knee and said, "Alameda County judges do not play. If he wants to play, he should go to an arcade, and that is what I am going tell him. I mean no disrespect, but we do not play." She sat back up and folded her arms and held her head back.

I was comforted.

Another revolutionary friend, the officer I most recently made a report to, D.M., called me tonight to see how things were going. She said she would drop off my report to my apartment so I wouldn't have to come down and pay for it!!!!!!!!!

I feel so blessed.

At last.

MLK Day

On the way home from school Nathan said something about a really bad story about John McCain. He said he didn't want to tell me because it was scary and had a gun in it. I was intrigued and told him I wanted to know. He proceeded. "John McCain was a good person and somebody didn't like him and so they shot him and killed him."
I had to think for a minute.
"You mean MLK?"
"Yeah, Martin Luther King!"
McCain, MLK, they sound similar enough.
"Yeah, that's why I don't like guns. It makes me sad when you guys play with them."
"Maybe we should throw our toy guns in the garbage, mom. Or in a pond."
"I think the garbage is a perfect place."
Then we went into a whole discussion about good guys and bad guys and the police. I couldn't help but introduce the fact that not all police are good. Oscar Grant was killed this week in Oakland by a Transit Officer. Nathan's first reaction was that the bad officer needs to go to jail. He asked where he was. Good question.
We came home and after dinner Nathan put his plastic gun in the trash.

Exchanges

This post is about three different interactions that came about today. All three were with complete strangers.

The boys and I were out and about tonight on Piedmont Avenue in Oakland. After we had been seated at our table for a few minutes and had started eating, an older woman walked by, with a slight limp. She looked at the boys and at me and said to me, "Two boys. You are a rich woman." Then she sat down kitty corner to where we were sitting. She opened her book and proceeded to read, tuning the rest of the world out. She didn't look up when the boys giggled or got up and danced. Clearly focused, she read and waited for her food.

I was on the BART today coming home from work, reading Borderlands/La Frontera. A man sat down across from me. I sensed him looking in my direction so I looked up. He was indiscretely reading the title on the cover of my book. When I looked up at him, he did not look away. He was struggling to make out the title and would not give up until he did.
I said, "Have you read this book?"
"What is it?" I held it forward for him to see.
"No, I haven't." His eyes followed the book as I moved it closer to him.
"It's half in English, half in Spanish."
"What do you mean?" He took the book in his hands.
I looked on the seat next to him and recognized the book he was reading, Outliers.
"I just read Blink."
"Was it good?" He handed my book back to me.
"Yes. I liked it. Did you read it?"
"No. I read the 0ther one, The Tipping Point. It was good. My friend recommended this one to me, so."
"Oh."
We both opened our books and read.
When my stop came up I stood up and looked down at him. I smiled with my mouth closed, gave a slight nod, as if to say goodbye, without speaking.

Walking down the street, awkwardly looking for the familiar face. I hadn't seen him in 3 weeks, and only briefly then. I wondered how he would appear. I did not know if I would feel attracted, ambivalent, or repulsed.

Walking towards each other, through a crowd, past phone poles and newspaper stands, our eyes met when we were a few feet away from each other. He looked a little bit crazy to me. If I had not known him I may have thought he was homeless or high by the way that he walked. But he was coming from work to meet me. His clothes were dirty, his hair greasy and when we started walking side by side I noticed there was dandruff on his jacket, shirt and in his ears. His face was kind of red and his expression nervous. "Is he OK?" I thought.

There wasn't much conversation. I didn't have anything to say. He gave me a cell phone that he had found at the club (he works at "the club"). It was your basic, used cell phone, with an improvised, duct taped charger.

"I had to rig something up for your charger. Here you go."

"Thanks." I flipped it open. "Look, there is a message. Is it for you?"

"Hells no." "Just call up your phone company and tell the fuckers to make the switch."
I smiled. "Ok." "Look, it has a dog on it. I even get a little pet."

"That thing has all kinds of shit on it." "You going home now?"

"Yes."

We walked back to the BART station together, and then parted on separate trains, mine going east, his west.