Poor People

I am writing this using my phone in the local WIC office. If you didn't already know, it's a government program designed to improve the nutrition of lower income women, infants, and children.  Oh wait, that means you're reading a blog written by (gasp) a poor person.  I love the way people look at me differently when they realize I'm a member lower class.  Poor people aren't supposed to be literate, are they?  We're all supposed to be a bunch of horrible, uneducated parents who dress our children in rags while we buy and sell drugs, get our nails done, drive Escalades, and collect welfare checks.  We're supposed to take advantage of the system and put our kids in daycare even though we're all a bunch of Peg Bundy-esque couch potatoes who have never worked a day in their lives. This may be true for some of us.

The truth is, I'm kind of smart.  I might not have a PhD, but I went to community college, own a home, drive a Taurus (named Boris), and I've never used the TANF system.  My kids might wear rags, but it's only because I choose my battles when they'd rather wear an old and dirty Spiderman costume than the nicer stuff I got from a consignment sale or with gift cards I earned for surveys.  I've always worked, sometimes two full time jobs at once, and was back at work within a couple of days after giving birth to my last two children, baby in a Moby carrier while I packed orders for my ebay store.  Hell, I don't even have cable TV and the thought of fake nails or daycare makes me feel a little queasy.

I've veered off topic again, haven't I?  The WIC system was started with good intentions.  I took advantage of a free breastfeeding class while pregnant with my oldest child.  I was 22 and had never been around breastfeeding, but I knew it was best and wouldn't do anything else.  I was completely clueless and was the only person in attendance.  I learned so much about breastfeeding and how boobs work.  I probably wouldn't have been successful if it weren't for that wonderful, patient teacher.  For years, I thought about going back and thanking her, but I had since moved and couldn't remember her name.  A few years later, our WIC office got a new nutritionist that seemed vaguely familiar.  I knew I had seen her or heard her voice before, but I'm no good with names or faces.  I finally noticed the plaque on her wall from my former county and it clicked.  She had been the teacher! 

Today looks like a slow day, but sometimes this place is has so many examples of bad parenting. Sure, let's fill a sippy cup with Mountain Dew, encourage the kid to drink it, and then hit him for acting like a kid high on a caffeine/sugar/chemical kick. That sounds like a GREAT idea!  Then we can jerk them up by one arm when we're called because we're too busy talking on the phone to pick them up properly.  Let's leave the baby screaming in an infant seat while we text.  Don't get me started on infant seats. That's a whole 'nother rant.  Let's show up and demand to be seen, even though we don't have an appointment or we missed ours by an hour.  I wonder if the WIC employees ever want to hand out vouchers for sour milk.  I know I would.

Homeschool Rant #3: school fundraisers

See those buttons to the right of the page where you can donate a dollar or a penny or a million dollars?  They're not mandatory at all, yet I still catch crap about them.

"You mean you want me to give you money to educate your kids?  Shouldn't that be your responsibility?"

Yes, but I'm constantly being inundated with requests to buy cookie dough, books, bags, delicious doughnuts, candles, candy, raffle tickets, carbonated beverages, and other random crap from your public school child.  Save the soup labels, box tops, and cut the corners off the pancake mix for my child's school!  Doesn't my tax money help pay for their education? 

With our fundraiser, you can get some original one of a kind artwork and maybe even the story behind it.  Or not.  And I'm not going to send my kids over to your house with puppy dog eyes and an order form attached to a clipboard. 

We're going the cheapest route possible, not buying a set curriculum, getting everything used, planning to re-use the same learning materials between children, and DIYing whenever possible, but the first few years can get a little expensive (not to mention stressful) for most homeschooling parents.  Sure, I could do it all myself and put everything together on my own.  I tried that, and between my jobs, three kids, and the actual act of educating the children, I started going a little batty.  A person can only handle so much before she starts thinking about ways to put a saddle on the mutt and using him to raise the children.

And now for the gratuitous cuteness:

 

Homeschool Rant #2

Homeschool kids are weird.  It's true.  If you start typing "homeschool kids are," it pops up.  If Google says something, it has to be true.  Right?

Oh, I see.  So you've met someone who was homeschooled.  They were weird.  That means that all homeschoolers are weird, right?  Of course.

I've met a lot of public schooled children who were ignorant little selfish twits.  That must mean that all public schoolers are ignorant little selfish twits. 

Harsh generalizations are. . . well, harsh.  For lack of a better word, they're harsh.  

My kids are weird.  Not because they're homeschooled, but because they're mine.  I'm weird.  By your standards, at least.  

Cafe Press has some pretty funny stuff down there, you know.
 

Why is she so happy?

My youngest child, Tanith, is such a happy baby.  People tell me I don't know how lucky I am.  Believe me, I earned it with two high needs babies.  She sleeps most of the night, usually barely waking once to nurse and then peacefully and immediately drifting back to sleep while snuggled next to me.  Sometimes she even sleeps all night.  She's done this since birth.  The other two never did this.  For the first year, Kaiya and Ronin were waking every two hours.  Kaiya still wakes and wanders into our room a few nights a week and she is five.

And that's not all she can do!  Tanith basically came out of the womb with a huge grin on her face.  When we pulled her out of the water, she was too busy investigating her surroundings to be bothered with crying.  When she wakes, it's always a good morning.  This morning, she woke up during a giggle fit.  My husband says that each child is a reflection of my mood during labor.  I was pressured to have my first child in a hospital (more on that later), and it was a miserable experience.  I was sad and scared, so Kaiya became my sensitive child.  Ronin's birth was very empowering, my first birth center experience, and I was all like, "I am woman, hear me roar".  And he does, several times a day.  I was almost angry during his birth, taking back my birth experience with Kaiya.  Last Halloween when Tanith came into the world, I was giddy with excitement.  I laughed between contractions, sang along with Hank Williams, and hummed peacefully during contractions.

If all babies were like Tanith, I'd be a tattooed Ma Duggar.

No Karate

My oldest daughter, Kaiya, is five years old, in kindergarten, and a very smart and sensitive child.  She’s a little shy and not very assertive around her peers, so we thought it would be a good idea for her to take karate classes.  Any class that teaches a child respect, responsibility, focus, and how to kick ass is good, right?  She was excited about it.  We all were excited about it.
Until the first class.  We got there, paid our fees, and class began.  It took the child five minutes to remove her shoes.  A child who hates shoes wanted to leave hers on in karate class!  She seemed a little nervous for the first few minutes, then got a little shaky toward the middle.  Then when they were practicing their yells and stances, she burst into tears.  She couldn’t handle the yelling.  She understood that no one was yelling at her, but just couldn’t take the noise.  She can yell and scream and jump around at home, but when she’s told it’s okay to yell, she cries instead.
We stayed to watch the rest of the class, and then left.  That was her first, and probably her last, karate class.