Messed Up School System

My apologies beforehand but this will be a long post. I got enough exercise today to last me the rest of the week all because the administrators of my kids’ schools are a bunch of bozos. Each Monday Dolly brings home a homework calendar of what homework is due each day. Along with the sheet are the worksheets she has to do for Monday. When she’s done with the worksheets I look at the calendar to see what homework she needs to do in her notebook. I do this every day and I generally only read the calendar for that specific day. This past Monday, however, I actually read the entire calendar for the week and found that, on Wednesday, there was a note written that her school was having its Christmas concert for Pre-K and K at 10:00 in the morning. Had I not read Wednesday’s homework on Monday I would not have known about the concert. I was pissed. Not only did it put a crimp in my already-planned weekly schedule, but I didn’t like not being given any notice. What was done was done, though, and there wasn’t anything I could do about it. I let it go.

Tuesday I was helping the kids with their homework and looking through their folders when I found a notice from Ty’s teacher – and this story doesn’t have anything to do with today’s exercise but it leads up to it and it a part of my gripe. The notice was telling me that the class will be making gingerbread houses in class, today, and that I had to get a list of supplies for him to bring to school: graham crackers, frosting, grapes, oranges, apples, pretzels, tree cookies, and gingerbread man cookies. I got the notice yesterday that the supplies were needed today. Are you fucking kidding me? So I had to get the kids to quickly do their homework and rush them out the door. See, Zach has wrestling practice on Tuesdays, Thursdays and Saturdays and we had to get there by 6:00 after picking up three other boys who attend. After practice last night we had a Christmas dinner to attend. Lots to do and no time to do it.

Anyway, I rushed the kids out of the house to go to the supermarket before going to my friend’s house to pick up the other boys for wrestling. We got all the supplies Ty needed and went on to Kia’s house. Since we were early we went inside and visited for a few minutes before time to leave for practice. As we’re talking Kia was telling me that the boys, the ones who attend MLK – Ty, Zach, and her son KJ – were having their Christmas concert today. Dolly and Kia’s younger son Keon attend LFH. Both schools are in the same huge building with a very long and winding hallway separating them. So she’s telling me that MLK was having their Christmas concert at 9:00 this morning. Now, I’d called the school yesterday morning to ask when MLK was having their concert. Since I had no notice of Dolly’s I didn’t want to be surprised about the other school. Believe it or not the school secretary had no idea when the concert was. That, to me, seems unbelievable. She’s at that desk all day every day and had no clue when the school was having a concert.

So Kia was telling me that the concert was this morning. I asked KJ if he’d gotten a notice from school and he said that he didn’t but that the music teacher had told him when it was. I asked Zach if he knew about it and he said that he was told it was at 9:00 this morning but didn’t know anything else. Ty said that he was told it was today at 10:00. That really ticked me off because there was no notice from the school and the boys were all told different times. Okay. I had to call the schools this morning to find out times. Guess what. LFH’s concert, Dolly’s, was this morning at 10:00; MLK’s, Ty and Zach’s, was at 9:45. I blew a fucking gasket! How in the world do the administrators of two schools that are housed in the same building schedule their Christmas concerts for the same day at the same time?! Do they not realize that there might be a parent or two who has kids in both schools? Apparently not. I was fuming!!

I called MLK to speak to the principal but she wasn’t in yet. I explained the problem to the secretary, the same one I spoke with yesterday, even telling her that I called yesterday and nobody had any clue about the concert. I guess she didn’t remember me. I told her that I was very unhappy that I wasn’t given any notice of the concert, and that neither of the principals conferred with one another when they scheduled these events. I also wanted the principal to explain to me how I was going to be in two places at once, or what I was supposed to tell the child or children who didn’t get to have me at their concert when they asked why I wasn’t there. I told the secretary I’d call back when the principal was at the school.

Then I called LFH and asked the secretary there the same questions. She was a little more sympathetic and even apologized for the mix-up and for the parents not having more notice. I didn’t get any further with her than I did with the other secretary and decided not to even speak to the principal. I’m just going to write a letter to both of them explaining my displeasure. This isn’t the first school event that’s been fucked up because of them and I’m sure it won’t be the last. Maybe I’ll even send the letter to the Superintendent so he can see what’s going on in his school.

Jump to the concerts. Zach was going to be playing the recorder in his concert so I certainly didn’t want to miss it. Dolly would be singing at her first Kindergarten concert so I didn’t want to miss that either. Ty would be singing and I didn’t want to miss that. A sacrifice had to be made and I didn’t know what to do so I decided to be in two places at once. I arrived at Dolly’s school with another resident from here whose daughter is also in Kindergarten at LFH. We got there and the parents were being led into the cafeteria until the classes were ready to start their concert. So I ran, or I’d be better saying I sprinted, down that long hallway to MLK to get to the gym to see all the classes entering the gym and taking their seats on the floor. Zach was sitting at the front of the gym with all the other recorder and instrument players. I was chatting with a teacher who was keeping watch of them until time to perform. They weren’t ready so I sprinted back to LFH. Still not ready. Another sprint back to MLK.

Get back to MLK and Zach is getting ready to perform. The teacher I was talking to told me to go to the back of the gym and that she would move Zach right out in the open so I could get some good video. That she did.  They played three songs; I got all three on video, they took their bows, I yelled for Zach’s attention, blew him a kiss, and sprinted back to LFH. Still not ready. I took a seat to catch my breath. Still waiting so I sprinted back to MLK to see if there was any singing. Not yet. Back to LFH and they were moving into the auditorium, late but finally getting started. Thank goodness because I was getting tired. Then I got annoyed again. They were singing by class – either one or two at a time – and I was going to have to wait for Dolly’s class to sing. I didn’t have time, however, to sprint back to MLK because the Pre-K and K were only singing one song each and they only lasted about a minute and a half each. FUCK!! I was missing the other school concert.

So Dolly’s class finally got up to sing and they did great. I got some good video, blew her a kiss after her bow, and sprinted back to MLK again. Mother fucker! The gym was empty, the kids all returned to their classes – the concert was over. I was almost in tears. I ran back to LFH so I wouldn’t miss the entire group singing together. Got that on video, watched the last class sing and was done. I stopped in the LFH office to take care of some business and went back to MLK to speak to the principal who was on the phone at the time. I never got to talk to her. It was then that I decided to write the aforementioned letter rather than speak to anyone. I walked home really upset that Ty was going to be disappointed that I didn’t get to see him singing. Then I got a bit of grace.

When the boys got home from school Ty told me that, after the recorders were done, the group practiced a couple of songs while sitting on the floor waiting for the third grade to take their seats on the floor. When they all got seated the school band began to play and that was it. It wasn’t a concert with singing, it was just instrumental, and neither of the boys was singing so I didn’t miss anything. Bonus! Now I don’t feel as bad since I got Zach on the recorder and Dolly singing. I got it all even after all those trips back and forth between the schools. Now my legs are hurting and I’m limping but I got in a good deal of exercise today.

I’m still pissed that the principals of both schools fucked up so badly and they will be getting a letter from me. I doubt it will change anything but at least I’ll have my say. This school district really sucks. It’s poor and most of the parents don’t give a shit about their kids’ academic progress or any school functions. There are still some of us who do, though, and I think it’s really unfair to screw the rest of us because the majority don’t care. But it is what it is and I can’t change it. With some positive energy my kids and I will be back in Missouri before we know it and we can put all of this behind us. Hopefully it won’t be that much longer. Fingers crossed.

Until next time…peace to all.

More Rules, Empty Tummy

I want a snack but I can’t have one because it’s after 10:00p.m. What does that have to do with anything? I’ll tell you. One of the rules here is that the kitchen closes at 10:00 every night. The kids go to bed at 9:00 and the kitchen is still open for the adults to have snacks if we want but I wasn’t hungry before. I’m just sitting here and my stomach started growling. It’s growling now, as a matter of fact. And I can’t have anything to eat. It sucks!!

When I had my own place I could get up at 10:00 at night, go to the kitchen, and get a snack if I wanted one. I could get up any time of the day or night and eat when I was hungry. Here I have one hour every day to prepare dinner, eat, and clean up afterward before the next unit’s dinner hour starts. The kitchen is only open from 8:00-10:00 in the mornings for breakfast; until 11:00 on the weekends. And for lunch it’s open from 12:00-2:00 during the week and until 3:00 on the weekends. For the past six months I’ve been living under these restrictions. My kids and I have to follow these rules every day and it’s not easy to do.

I bring snacks down to our room, in sealed packages, so they can have after-school snacks, which they eat outside because I already told you that we can’t eat in our rooms. The kids run in after school, grab a snack and stand outside in the cold eating a quick snack. If they want a snack before bedtime I have to run upstairs quickly, grab something for them, and they stand outside and eat it. I usually try to bring something down to our room when we leave the kitchen after dinner so I don’t have to run back up there later in the evening.

No, I’m not lazy; we’re not supposed to be in the kitchen during another family’s dinner hour. Dinner is considered “family time” around here and one of the endless rules is that we have to stay out of the kitchen when it isn’t our dinner hour. Breakfast and lunch don’t follow that rule but dinner is almost considered sacred. The kids and I combine resources with Lisa and her daughter so we eat together almost every night. Arrangements like that are fine, we just can’t invade anyone’s dinner hour if we haven’t been invited. Most of the current tenants don’t really care but we still try to keep to the format.

Anyway, I’ll grab snacks for the kids at dinner hour so they can have something before bedtime because the last dinner hour over here is from 8:00-9:00. We eat at 5:00 so the kids want a little something a couple of hours later. They get a snack and I always forget to get something for myself so I get to sit here watching TV and all the food commercials and I get hungry for something and can’t have it. I guess that’s for the best, though. At least I’m not packing on empty calories before I go to bed. If I really can’t take it I’ll get a glass of water, otherwise I’ll just hang out watching TV and go to bed with an empty tummy. Breakfast will get here soon enough. {sigh}

Until next time…peace to all.

Breakdown of Family Rules

One of the serious drawbacks of shelter life is the breakdown of the family system. My family is still intact but any system I had to run my family is now gone – not completely, but that doesn’t seem too far away right now. When I had my own home I had chores for the kids to do and discipline tactics that I used that worked pretty well. I also had a schedule in my own home and control over what went on during the day. Now, in the shelter, all of that is gone.

The children don’t have chores here because they’re not allowed to do anything around the house. Sure, they have to help me keep our room clean but in a room that’s only about 12’ X 14’ and contains a set of twin beds, a trundle bed, and two dressers there isn’t a lot of space left over to be cleaned. When their dad moved to Indiana back in July I took all the bins from him that had the kids’ toys in them so that gave us even less space in our room. The bins are stackable and all sit against the walls but they still take up space. Very little floor space to be cleaned and their stuff all goes in the bins. Room cleaned. Done. That’s the end of their chores.

They can’t help cook because they’re not allowed to use the stove/oven or the microwave, although they’d love to be able to help me like they used to. They can’t help me prepare dinner because they’re not allowed to use knives for chopping and they’re not supposed to be in the fridges AT ALL. I shit you not. Even with me standing there I’m supposed to be the one going into the fridge for anything we need. They are allowed to help me with my daily chore but it’s not worth the effort. My chore, depending on the week, consists of either sweeping and mopping a common room floor and the kids don’t sweep all that well and can barely push the huge string mop; or cleaning the kitchen or one of the bathrooms and they’re not allowed to spray the cleaning chemicals so I have to do that anyway. Besides that, my morning chore is generally done after they go to school and my evening chore is done after they go to bed.

They used to have their own chores to do, when we had our own place, but those chores are now gone, out the window, long forgotten. That’s what happens when you live with people who don’t give their own kids chores, then we moved in here and there aren’t any for the kids – according to the rules. It really bugs me that they – the owners of the shelter and the ones who make the rules – don’t care that these children have lost what I worked so hard to teach them. There had to be a change in discipline too.

When I had my own place I used Love and Logic as much as possible. I can still use it here but it’s less effective because there is only so much I can take away from my kids. It used to be that I could give them choices and send them to their own rooms when they made a bad choice. The worst thing my kids had to face was the fact that Mom didn’t want to be around them for a while because of the bad choice they made. They’d get sent to their individual room or to my room if I wanted them to be completely alone. Can’t do that here because we’ve only got one room. Because the rules state that the kids have to be wherever I am I can’t even send them to a room where they’ll be separated from the rest of us because it’s not allowed.

I have nothing to take away from them as a discipline measure because they don’t have anything for me to take. Sure, I can take away TV but my kids don’t watch a lot of TV. They never did. Even staff here notices that my kids spend more time outside playing than any of the kids who’ve ever stayed here. I could take away the boys’ DSes but they’d only find something else to do. Dolly doesn’t even have a DS for me to take so that’s a moot point. I don’t hit my kids other than the occasional swat on the butt so that’s not even an option for me. I’m literally at a loss here. Staff and residents alike listen to Dolly throw her tantrums – and she screams LOUD – and they keep telling me that I have to be consistent with my discipline but I can’t get any more consistent with putting her in our room. It’s my only option!!

I can’t deny the kids trips or visits to special places because if I deny one, I have to deny all. Why? you may ask. I’ll tell you why. Because I can’t leave the site without the kids, at all, for any reason whatsoever. It’s fucking ridiculous. I have no friends here who can watch my kids for me and nobody in the shelter is allowed to babysit for me. The reason: “because if there’s an emergency, if something happens to them, you’re not here and we can’t be held responsible and neither can any of the other residents.” This dumbass rule has prevented me from working more, from running errands kid free, or doing anything I need to do without the kids in tow. It’s bullshit. If I need to run out to get a gallon of milk I have to get the kids ready, load them all into the van, run around the corner for the milk, and turn around and come back again – all within ten minutes. If I go, the kids go so denying them anything won’t work because we all have to suffer through the consequence of the kids’ actions.

So there is a serious lack of discipline in my family right now and I can’t stand it anymore. Their dad has created a whole slew of problems that the kids are trying to deal with and I can’t really do anything to help them. It breaks my heart but at the same time it raises my blood pressure because they take their shit out on me. Zach says it’s because I’m the only one here to take the brunt of their anger. They can’t talk to their dad about it because “we’re afraid of Dad. He might get mad at us and yell at us on the phone.” Sad, right? It is, but it’s true.

So chores are out the window, and discipline is out the window. I wonder what they’ll take away from my family structure next. I guess they figure if they make it hard on us we’ll get out of the shelter sooner but they don’t realize it’s not that easy. If it was I wouldn’t be here for six months already. It sucks and there’s nothing I can do about it but I’ll tell you about the housing bullshit another night. Tonight I just wanted to let you know that if you ever end up in a shelter due to circumstances beyond your control know that whatever responsibility you had instilled in your children will be gone and there won’t be any way for you to discipline them without always feeling that you have to walk on eggshells around staff. Residents will criticize you and talk about you behind your back simply because they can, and you’ll want to pull your hair out by the roots because you won’t have control over a damn thing. Oh, I know I’ll get my control back some day, it’s just a matter of time and then I can get my kids back on track the way they used to be. For now I’ll just have to bite my lip until it bleeds and deal with the bullshit that goes on here on a daily basis. Pleh…

Until next time…peace to all.

Reality Check

I’m getting really tired of listening to people complain lately; especially when it’s over something they take for granted. I spent the entire summer reading people’s Facebook posts about how they couldn’t take the boat out over the weekend because something else came up. Or how their barbeque plans got screwed up because of the weather. Or any other number of things that came up on any given day. I spent my summer sitting in the back yard over here with the kids with no place to go because I didn’t have money to spend, and this neighborhood isn’t the safest so roaming the streets wasn’t something we could do. None of my so-called Long Island friends even called to ask us to hang out. Apparently once you move into a homeless shelter you get forgotten by anyone in close proximity who ever knew you. Whatever.

Now I get to sit here and read people’s posts, or complaints, about how they HAVE to have the new ATT phone upgrade but don’t have the time because they got stuck on a line while Christmas shopping; and they HAVE to get so-and-so that specific expensive gift but can’t find it anywhere; and how they were so upset because their favorite $7 cup of coffee wasn’t available this morning. Seriously folks – things could be worse. I can’t get the ATT phone upgrade and don’t care to. I’m just grateful I have a friend in MO who is generous enough to lend me a cell phone for the time being. If I didn’t have her I wouldn’t have a cell phone at all. I don’t have to worry about my favorite cup of coffee not being available because I don’t have the $7 to spend in the first place. Guess it’s a good thing I don’t drink coffee.

And I don’t have to worry about not being able to find that special someone that perfect expensive gift. I can’t even afford to buy my kids anything this year and I’m stressing about that. Just about every penny I have goes to pay for my van and insurance for it because the kids’ dad screwed up royally this time. That’s a seriously long story for blogs on different days. Let’s just say that this Christmas will be unlike any other my kids and I have ever shared. For the first time in their lives, and the first time in mine, we will not have our own Christmas tree. Yes, there will be one in the upper common room that the kids in the house will be permitted to decorate but it won’t have lights because it’s considered a fire hazard. We’re not allowed to have a small tree in our rooms for that same reason.

I have no idea what I’m going to do for gifts for them but I do know that almost every single penny I make working with my friends over the next week and a half will go toward Christmas for my kids. I don’t know what I’ll be able to buy but I know it won’t be top-shelf stuff. It’ll be whatever comes off the discount shelves at whatever stores I visit. I spend my days trying not to cry over this because I know things will work out in the end for our holiday and we’ll all deal with whatever happens, but I have no idea what the kids will do or say when they don’t have much waiting for them from Santa on Christmas morning. I don’t know if their dad is sending them anything or if their grandparents, who still live here on LI, will want to see them for the day.

My situation sucks ass and I can’t help but feel guilty over all of it even though people tell me I have nothing to feel guilty about because I did what I had to do for my kids and me. My mind knows the truth of the situation but my heart breaks every time I think I’ve screwed things up for us. I’m doing the best I can with what I’ve got, and it isn’t much at all. So for all of you out there who are complaining about all the bullshit going on in your lives ask yourselves if it really means all that much in the end. You have homes, you have cars, and you have family and friends all around you. SHUT UP!! I have absolutely nothing right now, my kids have nothing right now, but we’re still getting through every day the best we can. Hell, I don’t even have a winter coat; I’m wearing my spring jacket because it’s all I’ve got; and I bought myself a pair of gloves for $1.50 because it was the best I could do.

As bad as our situation is, my kids and I still have each other and I’m doing all I can to get us out of here. Yes, they complain, and yes, right now I’m complaining, but I think I have that right. Over the past six months I’ve been run over time and time again by people who said they were helping me yet the “we” they promised never arrived. It’s only been “ME” doing what needs to be done. So next time you feel like whining over your stupid crap, think of me and realize that anybody can end up in my situation. All that stuff you take for granted, the same stuff I took for granted but never will again, could disappear as suddenly as it arrived. Get over it and be happy with what you do have. I’m grateful just to have a roof over my head and my kids to hug every day. Find something to smile about and quit your bitchin.

Until next time…peace to all.

Newbies in the House

We got a new family in unit six tonight. They came in about 11:00 Monday night, slept, and got up at 6:30 Tuesday morning to go back to Social Services. See, when they got here Monday night it was only an overnight, emergency stay. They had to go back to the office the next day to get “placed” somewhere. There were so many families in Social Services Tuesday that this family – a mom, a teenaged-son, and three younger children all five an under – was placed in a motel for the night only to have to return to Social Services again on Wednesday to wait for placement. They got back here this afternoon.

I know, you’re asking why they just didn’t stay here when they got placed here Monday night. That’s not the way Social Services works. If the placement is after hours it’s only an overnight stay and the family has to go back to Social Services the next day to get placement during regular business hours. It’s fucked up, I know, but that’s how the system here in NY works. I’m not going into that too much while I’m still living in the shelter because I won’t rock the boat while I’m sitting in it. I’ll go into much more detail about all of that when I’m safely away from the waters.

The family that arrived today is the 16th family that’s been here since I arrived in June. Out of that 16 families I’ve seen eleven of those families move out, some who arrived after I did, some who were already here when I got here. Most of the families were single mothers with anywhere from one to four children in tow. Two of the families were single fathers, each with one child, and one family was actually a couple with two children. The husband was discharged after a month because he kept breaking rules. He wasn’t married to the girl so it was not an issue for staff to discharge him without discharging his girlfriend.

The rapid roll over of residents is how it is in a shelter, this one anyway, although one of the residents who were here when I arrived had been here for almost a year. That’s another story in itself and I can’t really say too much about it since I’ve been here for six months already. I’m actually the senior resident now, been here the longest. No, I’m not proud of it; it’s just the way it is. If the universe would speed things up for me I could get out of here but I’m playing the waiting game.

Anyway, I’ve met some really nice people here and some not-so-nice people. It’s not easy moving into a house with five other families. You don’t know what kind of personality or temperament anyone has, and everyone has a different way of dealing with their kids. We all have to get along, though, because we all live in the same house. Personality conflicts can cause people to get discharged so if we don’t get along we have to just agree to disagree and avoid each other when possible. We’re all here for the same reasons, though, and sometimes residents forget that.

When I first got here I got along with everyone except one woman and it’s not even really that I didn’t get along with her. She just chose not to get along with anybody here. She left shortly after I arrived. Another family moved in, the family with the couple, and I got along great with them and our kids got along really well. Then, out of the blue, two of the other moms here decided they didn’t like me, for whatever their reasons, but I didn’t give a shit. They would warn new residents to stay away from me for this reason or that but the new residents would talk to me and find out I wasn’t the person I was being made out to be. It’s like high school bullshit with some of them.

The two who didn’t like me would sit around talking about me, the things I did, the way I raise my children, etc. Apparently, in their eyes, the fact that I don’t beat my kids’ asses when they’re disrespectful or when they make bad choices makes me a bad parent. See, the majority of the families here are African Americans, as is 99% of Wyandanch. (My kids and I are one of a very small group of white families here.) I’ve been told the constant spankings and belt whippings by the other parents are cultural forms of discipline. So be it. I’m not whipping my kids under any circumstances; I don’t believe in it.

Regardless, when the older of the two women was getting ready to move into her own place she actually called me aside and apologized to me for the way she’d been treating me for a couple of months, explaining that she had problems in her life and took them out on me. Funny thing is that I never had any negative feelings toward her and didn’t let her attitude and comments toward or about me affect me in any way. I just ignored it and did what I had to do. Once she left, the second woman, who was barely in her twenties, had a complete change of attitude toward me and acted as if she’d never turned on me in the first place. Whatever. I’m still going to be nice to people whether they like me or not.

The rest of the residents who’ve lived here have been really nice people and I’m actually still friends with three of the families who were here and have since left. The kids and I even spend Thanksgiving with one of the families. I did have a run-in with one girl here because of an issue she had with me. See, she moved in with a queen bee attitude saying that nobody was going to tell her when to eat, or when to do her chore, etc. She basically thinks she doesn’t have to follow the rules, and most times doesn’t. Staff is trying to get her discharged but it’s not working for them.

The girl is nice, she’s got a grade-school son, and two toddlers, but she’s really got an attitude about following rules. Problem is, if she gets discharged from here and placed in another shelter, the rules there will be worse than the rules here. We have a 12:00 curfew, the time we have to be in our rooms. Other houses have an 8:00 curfew for children and adults. You’re not even allowed to get a drink without getting permission from the staff. This house has rules but they’re nowhere near as strict as they are in other houses. That’s what we all need to keep in the back of our heads at all times. Follow the rules here or we could be put somewhere where we have no freedom at all.

The woman who moved in tonight seems like a decent, responsible woman. She’s probably in her mid-thirties, as is Lisa who I mentioned the other night. The trouble always starts with the young mothers here, those under 30. They seem to think this is Party Town rather than emergency housing. They form little cliques and spend their time getting loud and ignoring their children. Lisa and I know what life is about and do what we need to do for our kids. The newbie in Unit six seems to be of the same mind frame of Lisa and me, but I only got to chat with her for a short while so there’s no way for me to really tell until I get to know here better. My daughter already made friends with Newbie’s kids. Dolly is five and so is the new little girl. She’s also got a three-year-old brother and a two-year-old sister. The fourteen-year-old son probably won’t spend much time playing with all the little kids around here. Lisa has a fourteen-year-old daughter but she likes hanging out with the younger kids.

Other than the two teens, all the other kids in the house, and there are eight including mine, are ten and under. That makes for a lot of noise when all the kids are in the house and playing. The house is huge, too, with vaulted ceilings upstairs so the acoustics in here make for stadium-like conditions at times. That’s okay, though. At least we’re all safe and our kids are happy. Now we need to do our best to help the new family settle in and make them feel welcome. We also need to help them adjust to shelter life. It’s the least we can do. We were all new here at one time and it’s pretty scary at first. Once we fell into the routine, though, we were all fine. Now we’ll help Newbie and her brood with the adjustment. She’s just a new member of our family and she needs a guiding hand. We’ll help her and all will be well. It always is.

Until next time…peace to all.

A Dog Tale

I have to tell you what happened the other night over here but I’ll set up the scene for you first. I just hope I can describe it well enough for you to picture it correctly. The house here has a decent sized back yard that runs the entire width of the house and up each side with stockade fencing surrounding it. On one side the fence butts up against the side of the house and on the other side, the side where the driveway is, there is an opening in the fence where a gate used to be at the butt end of the driveway. All the residents enter and exit the house via the back door and we walk around to the front and down the driveway.

In the back yard, running in line with the driveway, we have a picnic table that sits under a small tree. Lisa, a friend here, and I sit there when we go out to have a smoke. We’re not allowed to smoke in the house. Anyway, we sit on the ends of the benches and face out into the yard, she on one bench, I on the other, and we just chat across the table. The only view we have of the street is whatever we can see through the small gate opening, and what isn’t obscured by the car of whatever staff member is here at the time.

One night Lisa and I were sitting out there relaxing. The back porch light was on, but the back flood light had gone off as per its timer so it was relatively dark back there. The flood on the side of the house goes on and off with regularity but doesn’t stay on for more than ten seconds or so. Before I continue I feel the need to tell you that I am not afraid of dogs. Just remember that when you read the story. I am not afraid of dogs, never have been. And as you read don’t think “Cujo” think Lucy and Ethel from “I Love Lucy.” Ready? Ready.

So, it was night, before 9:00 because all the kids were still in the lower common room watching TV and Miss Staff was in the office, which is just off the LCR. Lisa and I were sitting in our usual spots at the picnic table. I was leaning forward, elbows on knees, just thinking about stuff and Lisa was texting a friend. Very casually she looked up and asked, “Is that a cat?” Then she went back to her phone. I slowly looked up and, at first, didn’t see anything. Then the side flood light came on and I saw a dog. A big dog. A big brown dog. A big brown dog with a red collar. And the dog was walking very slowly right toward us. Flood light out.

Again, I am not afraid of dogs – until I saw that one. I saw that dog and was suddenly terrified, don’t ask me why. I very slowly started raising myself off the bench, backing up with my right foot on the bench and my left foot on the ground of the outer side of the bench. I was actually trying to raise myself onto the table. At the exact same time I was moving I responded to Lisa’s question with, “No, that’s a dog.” As I continued to move so slowly that I don’t think anyone watching would have actually seen me move, a thought popped into my head – “This isn’t going to work. If that dog runs at you he can jump, so being on the table isn’t going to save your sorry ass, doofus!” Mind you, from the time I saw the dog, moved to get on the table, responded to Lisa, and had the DUH thought only about three seconds had passed. I kid you not.

Suddenly Lisa finished with her text, I guess realizing what I’d said, and looked up. When she saw the dog she screamed, loudly but rather pathetically. I don’t think I’ve heard a scream that bad in any B Horror flick. She screamed, then started laughing, but didn’t move a muscle. Meanwhile I sat perched, like an idiot, half on the table, and half on the bench, my right arm balancing me. I stared at the dog; I don’t even think I blinked, and I was trying to think of what to do. “If I run for the door that fucker will make it there before me, he’s got four legs, I’ve only got two. I’d be trapped and he’d laugh at me.” “I could call Miss Staff on my cell but if I make any sudden movements the dog might charge.” “What do I do? Can’t run past him, so I’ll just sit here like an idiot.”

The dog was still walking slowly toward us but when Lisa screamed it actually paused and appeared to start to turn around but then turned to look back at us as if to say, “What’s over there by you? Is it something scary? Why’d you scream? Should I be afraid?” Then it just stopped. I think Lisa said something like, “Shoo! Go away!” I don’t think I said anything. Two grown women, one sitting, one perching, looking ridiculous as we waited for the dog to go away. I still had no idea what I’d do if he began running toward us. In another few seconds the dog turned around and walked back out the gate, toward the left. Picture this sight now: both Lisa and I, from our same positions, leaned to the right as far as we could and trying to peek around the gate to make sure the dog was gone. The bad part is that we both knew damn well that we couldn’t see beyond the end of the fence from where we sat but we leaned anyway. Then I slowly returned to my sitting position, both of us asking the other, “Is it gone?”

Now, that entire incident happened within a span of about 90 seconds or so. We sat there for maybe another 15 seconds before we burst out laughing so hard we had tears rolling and we couldn’t breathe. We could only imagine what we had looked like sitting there, wide-eyed, terrified, and clueless. DUH!! We couldn’t believe that the dog actually came walking into the back yard, nor could we believe that after Lisa screamed, not one person from the house, residents or staff, came to the door to see what was going on in the yard. It was interesting to think that we could’ve been mauled by this dog and nobody would have known about it until we didn’t come inside to put our kids to bed. Go figure.

So we sat there laughing, and talking about the dog and what it thought of us in our petrified states as he stared at us and us at him. He probably wasn’t even dangerous but because it was dark and we only had that quick glimpse of him we’d automatically decided he wasn’t there for a social visit, he was there to hurt one or both of us. Since we weren’t sure whether or not he’d return we made an escape plan in case he returns.

Since Lisa and I both agree that we can’t outrun the dog to the back door, we’ve decided that, when he does return, I’ll jump up the stockade fence and onto the roof of the neighbor’s shed, which butts up against the opposite side of the fence. Once I’m up there I’ll help her get up there. Mr. Dog won’t be able to get us and we can call Miss Staff in the shelter and have her call 911 to get the fire department to get us off the roof since we’re both afraid of heights. Even if we weren’t afraid of heights we don’t want to get down on the neighbor’s side of the fence because we’ve seen a huge raccoon over there. At least we think it was a raccoon. It was either that or a really small-but-fat dog with extremely short legs. And who wants to be around dogs in the dark in this neighborhood? Certainly not us. We’ll pass, thank you.

Until next time…peace to all.

A Bit About Shelter Life

I didn’t blog last night because I’ve been busy trying to get all my photos emailed from my phone to my email and downloaded and organized onto my computer. It’s a long process and I have a lot of photos. I’m just about finished, though, so I can move forward now. I’m also happy that I can now begin taking pictures and videos on my regular digital camera and downloading them rather than having to email them to myself. YAY!! But I’m off track. That’s me, though, if you remember. I tend to run off on tangents; it’s just my thought process. You’ll forgive me, I know.

So I was telling you about shelter life. While it’s not as bad as it could be, it could be worse. Aside from all the rules I, we, the kids and I, have to follow, communal living isn’t all it’s cracked up to be at all. First of all, all three kids and I are sharing the same room, as I’ve already said. It’s not easy at all. Try living with all of your kids in one room for a week and you’ll understand what I mean. We have no privacy amongst ourselves, we have very little storage space, and there isn’t much for the kids to do. We constantly have to pick up around the room, not only because it’s one of the rules, but because it’s a necessity just to make sure we aren’t tripping over things all the time. It’s cramped, and we get on each others’ nerves. We’ve learned to deal with it but none of us can wait to get our own place.

When we got here over the summer all five of the other bedrooms had families in them, people we would have to meet and learn to live with on a daily basis. My kids adjusted more easily than I did because there were kids here for them to play with, and they loved it. They took to the other children quickly. I met the other families – generally a single parent with kids – and we got along well in the beginning. My kids and I tried to just fall in with the already-set routine of the household, trying not to break any of the rules. That’s not so easy to do when all the staff members all have their own ideas about which rules can be broken and which ones can’t, and which families are permitted to do the breaking. That’s beside the point, right now, though.

I already told you we only get an hour for dinner, right? Right. I made sure, when we came here, that I had dishes, cups, pots and pans, utensils, etc., with us since Social Services (DSS) couldn’t tell us what to bring because they didn’t know where we’d be placed – it would either be a hotel or a shelter, blah, blah, blah. There are dishes and cookware here that I didn’t know about when I first arrived but I’m glad that I have my own things. With all the other families using the same stuff on a constant basis it feels kind of gross to use it for my family. Just think of how you’d feel if you suddenly had to live with five families you’d never met and were expected to use the same dishes and cookware not knowing how anybody else actually washes dishes. YUCK right? Well, that’s how I feel. Not only do they not always wash dishes well enough, they also don’t put anything away when they’re finished with it. They just leave dishes on the drain board and wait for whoever has kitchen duty as their chore to put everything away. Lazy, lazy, lazy. I cook and clean up after my family; I wash, dry, and put my dishes and things back in our room. Basically because I don’t want to leave it there to have anyone else use it, but also because it isn’t that fucking difficult to dry a few dishes. Try explaining that to the other parents here, though.

It’s the same with the shower but one of the rules here is that the tub MUST be cleaned after anyone takes a shower, by that person or parent of the child/ren, regardless of whether that bathroom is your chore for the week or not. I’ve actually gone to staff to have them ask the last person to use the shower to return to the bathroom to clean it because they’d left it in disgusting condition. I won’t even go into details about how bad; just suffice it to say that there is no way I’d put a foot in the tub after some of the residents have used it and not cleaned it. BLECH!! Besides, we don’t know who may or may not have any diseases or anything else and I don’t want to take a chance on anything. Trying to schedule showers for the kids and adults isn’t a picnic either.

Right now there is only one little boy who goes to school with my kids that we have to worry about. I’ll just usually wait until his family’s dinner hour and have my kids take showers, and I allot them about 15 minutes each. That’s not really a rule here, it’s more of a courtesy. Right now we have five families here, 14 people, and you never know who may need to use a bathroom. Over the summer we had six families, 19 people, and it was crazy busy at times with people trying to get kids bathed for school, and there was even one mother who would see my kids getting ready to take showers, or would hear me tell them to get ready, and would rush her two kids into the shower before mine – just because. She developed issues against me for whatever her reasons, making an already-tense situation even more tense. That’s another story for another post, though, along with the story of the one family here now that takes forever in the shower regardless of who may need get in there. We’ve already had a couple of close calls with kids needing to pee and both bathrooms being occupied by people who didn’t give a shit that other people lived here. Ugh!!

That’s how it is with communal living, though. There are families who try to work with everyone else to make things run smoothly, and then there are families who think they deserve privileges that nobody else does. We’ve had a few of those families here since June and still have two living on premises now. It sucks, especially when I have to explain to my kids that we have to follow the rules regardless of what other people do. “No, you can’t go make your own chocolate milk (or sandwich or cereal).” No, you have to be in our room by 9:00 and can’t stay out in the common room watching TV.” “I don’t care what the other parents are allowing their kids to do. I’m your parent and we follow the rules.” I feel bad for my kids but I’m not getting a write-up for letting my kids follow the crowd making the wrong choices. My kids don’t like it but that’s okay. I’ve got to do what I’ve got to do for us; and getting written up and discharged from the shelter is not one of them. They’ll get over it, I’m sure.

Anyway, I’ve shed a little light on my situation tonight, and I’ll keep giving you bits and pieces as I continue coming back here. I won’t write about it all the time because that would just get boring but I’ll do my best to keep you entertained in my own special way. No worries.

Until next time…peace to all.

I'M FINALLY BACK :)

Hello everyone, I’m back. I didn’t think this would happen for a while but here I am. Did you miss me? I’ve missed being here and it feels really good to be here again. See, I haven’t had access to a computer for the past few months, since June 1st to be exact. Why? Because my kids and I were forced to move into a homeless shelter that day and one of the rules is “no TVs and no desktop computers allowed in the rooms.” I guess they’re considered too big and are a theft risk. However, laptops, portable DVD players and things like that are permitted. That’s probably because they can be hidden or taken with me when I leave the premises for the day. Still, I didn’t even have a laptop to utilize until this past Wednesday, yesterday. A friend of mine bought herself a new laptop and presented me with her still-young one as an early Christmas present. YAY ME!! Now I can get back to my blog.

I’m still in the shelter, though, and it sucks. Why are we here? Because when Kara decided she needed to sell her house my kids and I were literally stuck for someplace to live. I won’t go into a lot of details about the problems and the system now; I’ll leave that for future posts. Suffice it to say that being in a homeless shelter isn’t great, but it’s also not as bad as most people think it is. We’re not in a gymnasium-type of room with rows and rows of beds where families live right on top of each other and hoard their belongings under their cots. The shelter we’re in is a big house in a residential neighborhood. The first day we arrived I wasn’t sure we were at the correct address. We were.

It’s a split ranch with six large bedrooms, two living rooms, two bathrooms, one kitchen, and the staff office. One family to a bedroom and the living rooms, bathrooms, and kitchen are shared by all. My kids and I are in a bedroom with a set of bunk beds, a trundle bed, two dressers and a closet. We’ve got very few belongings with us because Social Services told us, back in June, not to bring a lot with us because we wouldn’t be here for very long. Guess again. The rest of our belongings are in storage that DSS pays for and I’m prevented from accessing it while we’re in here so we’ve had to replenish many of the items we didn’t have with us, including winter clothing. More on that later.

The first day we arrived I had to fill out paperwork and was given a list of rules that had/have to be followed while we live here. Don’t get me wrong, I’m grateful that we have a roof over our heads, but I’m 44 and haven’t had to follow house rules in a long time. It sucks. All the kids have to be “off the floor” (in their respective rooms), by 9:00 every night, and all the adults have to be off the floor by midnight; 1:00 on Fridays and Saturdays. We’re given one hour for dinner per family, and that hour includes cooking, eating, and clean-up time. One hour isn’t that long, try it and you’ll understand. The two TVs in the house – one in each common room (living room) – have to be shared by everyone in the house, and are supposed to be tuned to news or kid-friendly programming while the kids are on the floor. No soap operas, no talk shows, no music videos, no court TV programs, etc. After 9:00 the adults generally watch whatever we choose.

Our rooms have to be kept clean and the adults have chores to do twice a day. It’s a rotating schedule and changes weekly. For instance, my chore this week is sweeping and mopping the lower common room – once in the morning and once after the kids are in bed for the night. The upper common room, two bathrooms, the front entryway and the kitchen are the other five chores. We have to do housing logs every week which means we have to make 30 phone calls to try to find housing, log them on the required forms and turn them in to staff at the end of the week. More about that later, too.

There is a staff member on site at all times; three shifts: 8:00am-4:00pm, 4:00pm-12:00am, and 12:00am-8:00am. So we get a different staff member on each shift, during each day. Some of the staff is here numerous days a week; others are here one shift in the entire week. We get to know them and some of them are cool while others are complete pricks. Whatever. There is also a security check twice a day. An off-duty police officer stops by, does a walk-through of the house, and signs his appropriate log. And we’ve got cameras in the common rooms, the kitchen and the staff office for 24-hour surveillance. So the house is pretty safe. The neighborhood, on the other hand, is a different story altogether. I’ll get back to that, too.

In any case, the kids and I have been here since June 1st and I’m doing everything I can to get us out; it’s just not going very quickly. There have been ups and downs, problems with the system, problems with the Department of Social Services, problems with the Department of Labor, and more issues, troubles, problems, hang-ups, tie-ups, and bumps in the road than I care to remember. However, over time, I’ll make sure every ugly detail is here for all to read. Please be patient with me on that, it does have to be told, though. For now, I’m just glad I’m back here, getting to bug whoever decides to read me today, tomorrow, or whenever. Now that I have a laptop, I’ll be able to write whenever I want, and I couldn’t be happier.

Until next time…peace to all.