Diamond? What Diamond?

I am a believer in dressing yourself properly.  As a mostly stay-at-home-mom this means I am often in sweats with a tiny ponytail jutting out the back of my head.  But no matter what your weight I think it is nice to have clothing that fits and looks nice...until now.  

When my first child was a newborn I became a huge fan of the show "What Not to Wear."  I would sit and watch it so often my tiny baby began to turn her head toward the TV whenever she heard the theme song.  I loved watching the powerful transformations of these previously ill dressed, insecure women blossoming in to their best selves.  Motivated by this TV show I walked into my closet one day and decided that rather than try on each and every item of clothing to see if it was too tight on my postpartum body, I chose to deposit everything in a trash bag and take it to my local consignment store.

For a while, I had no clothes.  Eventually, I earned some decent money from my clothings' sale and used it to buy new clothes.  So, gleaning from the television show, I forced myself to try on each item and only buy things that were flattering making my clothing options fewer but of higher quality.

Since the birth of my second child I've occasionally been inspired to step out of the sweats and into some of my more flattering clothing I purchased to remind myself of the previously sexy woman I used to be.  I know I was sexy enough at some point to get pregnant twice right? ;)

Sometimes I try to consciously put on make up, find a neglected accessory and some heels just to go the grocery store.  It makes me feel feminine, I carry myself with more confidence and I think my high heels get lonely if I don't wear them every once in a while.  

The day of my first appointment at the WIC office I thought about what I was going to wear.  I couldn't fit into my jeans yet and I had some skirts...but they look better with heels-which is not an option since my back is still sore from being pregnant.  I settled on my favorite cargo style pants.  They aren't gorgeous, and were actually bought from a donations store but the drawstring doesn't cut into my baby belly to give me a "muffin top" and somehow the back pockets seem to be placed in perfect positions to flatter my backside...(who doesn't want the best look possible for their tushie?)  I threw on a nicely tailored white shirt and my red leather sandals.  Not fabulous, but not bad for a woman with a new baby.

WIC stands for Women Infants and Children.  They give assitance to pregnant and nursing mothers along with their children up to age 3.  The process for getting this assistance is different than food stamps or medicaid.  Rather than fill out a form and sending it to an unknown location for a non-English speaking worker to review, you have to physically go to their office.  This is where I decided to go in my cargo pants and red sandals as my first encounter with government aide.

I would like to think of myself as accepting, loving and having a general respect for my fellowman.  But I embarrassingly admit that 5 seconds after opening the door to the WIC clinic I looked down at my left hand and quickly turned my diamond ring around so the stone was not visible.  Part of me turned the ring around because the people in the clinic are "really" poor and I'm "student" poor so I don't want them to feel bad.  Another part of me hid the ring because I really wanted the WIC benefits and I didn't want any of the underpaid workers to see the ring and deny us benefits.  Lastly, and worstly, I saw that I was the only white person in the room, including the employees and didn't want have it stolen.  


Maybe I'm a horrible person for thinking someone would rob me...but after the cop stories my husband brought home I am skeptical of everyone.  If I'm not a horrible person for that reason, I am definitely horrible because while I am sitting behind the two unmarried, teenage, black women and next to the unmarried Mexican woman who does not speak English, I think to myself, "I'm better than they are.  I'm married.  My children have the same father and I was married before I had children.  I'm educated.  I speak English.  I read to my children.  My children are well behaved and clean.  I'm only getting WIC because my husband is in school."  blah, blah, blah, blah.  


In the end, I am in the same office asking for the same help that they are.  No matter how I justify my position, I am at the same level.  I can think of myself as better than them because I know my situation is temporary.  But then I realized what a level of despair they must feel to not have such confidence in a better future. 


 I hate people who abuse the aide system.  Everyone should be required to be a US citizen and have a plan and limit to no longer getting food stamps...but I now have empathy for the people in those offices.  If you had people like me forever saying they are better than you...you just might start to believe it, and with that belief comes the diminished capacity to achieve.  And if you can't achieve--you condemn yourself to a depressing existence waiting in the WIC office until your oldest daughter gets pregnant at age 12 and then you can wait with her.

Don't Kick Me While I'm Down

Anyone who has sat in the waiting room of the DMV knows the government it not a well-oiled machine.  The right hand has no idea what the left hand is doing so all you can do is pray to the paperwork God's that you filled out everything out correctly cuz if you didn't its back to paperwork hell and another line for you!

I completed the paperwork.  I checked and rechecked our applications.  I kept all the information I've been sent and yet, I am still so confused I find myself crying to strangers on a regular basis.  Navigating government aide is so hard I am certain that those who use these programs their entire lives are definitely smart enough to get a job if they can navigate this system.

 I have a wonderful three month old baby.  She is healthy and happy.  This is a great thing because she has not been to the doctor since she was two weeks old.

I haven't taken her in because we were in the process of moving and then I applied for Medicaid.  My caseworker told me over the phone that we do not qualify for Medicaid because we have over $2,000 in savings.  Basically, if I wanted to qualify for Medicaid I had to be irresponsible with our money and blow it all, put the money in someone else's name or I could pull it out of our bank account and hide it as cash.  

Changing the name on the money or pulling it out in cash would be illegal and wrong so I decided against that and found that we don't qualify.  But I think there are a lot of people I have sat with in waiting rooms recently that have lied.  The government seems to have a knack for rewarding those who are stupid with their money.  Crap-why can't my concience let me lie this once?  Oh yeah--it's cuz  I don't want to be a leech forever.


On the bright side, I believe my caseworker said my children may qualify for CHIP (a low cost government insurance that is separate from Medicaid).  At least I think that is what he told me...he didn't speak clear English so I can't be sure.


It's like winning the poor person's lottery when you get a letter saying you qualify for a government program.  Having government health insurance for my kids lifted a huge weight off my shoulders.  I didn't have money to pay for private insurance...but now if the kids get sick I can get them treatment by the graciousness of the taxpayers.  Where should I send the "Thank You" cards?


Each state runs their own CHIP program.  In my state you are sent a packet containing information on 3 different insurance "plans" you can choose from.  You pick a program and then a doctor within that program who will be your primary care physician or your "PCP".  Your co-pays and other expenses are based on your income.  We have nearly no income so we have no co-pays for doc visits and a $3 co-pay for the ER or hospital.  And the maximum we will pay in a 12 month period is $41. 


Being the dutiful mom, I asked my neighbors who the good doctors were and called them up to see if they took the CHIP program I'd chosen.  Most didn't. 


Eventually, I found a doctor and got an appointment.  My daughter would only be a few weeks behind schedule on checkups and immunizations.  Whew!  Then I got another letter.


The next letter said my infant was denied CHIP because she was already on Medicaid.  Huh?  I had not received anything from Medicaid and had been told we were denied Medicaid.  I called CHIP.  They didn't know what it meant.  Then I got a another letter from Medicaid saying if I did not choose a health plan and doctor for my daughter within 7 days they would tell me which doctor I had to go to.  I thought I didn't have Medicaid?  I was so confused.


Finally, I got hold of Medicaid.  A nice woman helped me get my youngest child enrolled in a Medicaid program and said she would help me search for a doc.  She used her computer system and searched for doctors in the area that would take my chosen Medicaid plan.  She came up with a great one near our house.  I canceled the original appointment with the doctor who took CHIP and called the new Medicaid approved doc.


I once worked for a pediatrician.  It was a lot of fun.  I loved the kids and helping people and I now want to be a pediatric nurse practitioner.  Part of my job was taking co-payments and insurance information at the beginning of patient visits.  Before I even took your blood pressure, I had to know how you were going to be paying the office.  That is how I got to know the "Medicaid mom's".  


Stereotypes are not nice...but they exist because they are true.   Medicaid moms were the women with either too little or too much makeup and rowdy, disrespectful kids who all had different fathers.  Some were clean, but the majority of our "stinky" patients were offspring of medicaid mom's.  They were also the first to complain and the last to say "thank you."  It's a different culture.


Because of this stereotype I expect to be treated a little differently when I mention to a doctors secretary that my child is on Medicaid.  Even though I expect it...it is still hard to take. 


I called the office that took my new Medicaid plan to get an appointment.  She was nice at first.  Then she asked which plan I was enrolled in.  I told her and she asked for my daughters Medicaid number.  She searched the system and informed me that even though I had enrolled in a "plan", the process would not be complete for 45 days...so they will not see me daughter until then.  What?  


It's silly, but I began to tear up.  I already felt like a horrible mom for being behind but I thought I had made up for it by being so precise and aggressive with getting CHIP as fast as I could.  Now, despite my efforts, my daughter still could not see a doctor for another 45 days!  The secretary informed me that if I wanted to have her seen I would have to find a doctor that took general Medicaid.  What the hell is general Medicaid?  I'm so confused.


I called the first doctor back and asked if anyone there took general Medicaid.  She told me they didn't and she sounded very annoyed-- so I promptly burst into tears again.  "I'm so sorry." I said, "This is so embarrassing.  We don't have insurance because my husband is in law school and my baby is already a month behind."  I sobbed.  The poor woman didn't know she was gonna talk to a basket case when she answered the phone that day :)  


She became nicer and told me she would have someone call me back.  "I don't mean to be abusing your office," I said.  "I just don't know what to do."  She told me it was ok and I apologized one more time before we hung up.


By this time my three year old had entered the room.  "Why are you crying mommy?"  she asked.  I told her I couldn't find a doctor to help her sister and I wasn't sure of what I was going to do.  She got me a paper towel to wipe my face and told me not to worry anymore.  This, of course, made me cry harder.


Eventually it came down to 3 options.  I can wait another 45 days to take the baby to the doc, I can take her to a doc far away that takes Medicaid but does not speak English very well and then switch to a different doc in 45 days, or I can pay $75 for a well-check at the doc I wanted her to go to and get her immunizations started at the free clinic in the ghetto.  I chose the ghetto.


I don't feel comfortable waiting another 45 days to take her to the doctor.  I wouldn't mind taking her to the far away doc...but I'd have to change docs and records again and I'm not certain they really take Medicaid cuz no one could give me a direct answer.  I really don't want to pay for a visit--but I can find $75 and I hate going to the free ghetto clinic but maybe this time if I get there when they open it won't be too bad. Besides, I've been to the immunization clinic before and they turned me away...which caused me to burst into tears as I tucked my tail and left.  It'll be good to pick up my bootstraps and face them again.


Bright and early Monday morning the little one and I are headed to the ghetto immunization clinic.    I pray they don't kick me while I'm down.  Wish me luck!

I Have How Much?

I went grocery shopping today.  It is a bit stressful with two children in tow.  There is a constant attempt to control the chaos that ensues as it always takes me longer than I expect and children have this nasty tendency to get ornery and tired.  


I consider grocery shopping trips successful if I can stay within budget and somehow manage to get everything on my list.  Therefore, most of my shopping trips are failures.  During my pre-food stamps era, I was the total nerd dragging the calculator with me down each isle, meticulously adding my purchases and always being forced to put things back or just leave without needed ingredients because my budget was spent.  Somehow, I had it reasoned out that if I didn't have the correct ingredients I would certainly be able to find something in my cupboard at home as a substitute.  (This could be the reason why my cooking is not up to par.  Apparently, some recipes require you to have all ingredients and substitutes do NOT work.)


Some people, like my husband, find this process enjoyable.  They slowly peruse down each isle day dreaming of the fantastic concoctions they can create and even the intoxicating smells that a certain ingredient might permeate through their kitchen.  This is not me.  I get so stressed about how much it costs that I get gradually more and more agitated the longer I am there.  Insert a fit-throwing child into the mix and it is a recipe for disaster.


Now that I have a food stamps, I am more agitated than ever.  Before I even embark to the store I plan meticulously my meals for the upcoming days and write a detailed list.  We just moved here -so I am not fully familiar with the locations or sales at each store location making my anxiety exponentially higher.  


The minute I make that turn into the parking my heart rate inrcreases, perspiration begins and my fight-or-flight response tells me to turn around.  I would love to just send my husband to the store in my behalf...but he is working so hard studying so we can someday get off of the food stamps- I cannot bear adding another burden on him.  Besides, if someone happened to check who was supposed to have the card we could get in trouble because I am the one authorized to use it.  My worst nightmare is being accused of  fraudulently using a food stamps card...can you think of anything lower than doing that?  


I find a parking spot next to a cart return (always easier with kids). At this particular store they actually have special parking for parents with small children adjacent to the handicapped parking.  I feel like such a lowlife parasite in using the food stamps card I can't bear the thought of using the special parking space too.  I may not have much...but I have the strength to walk myself and children the same distance everyone else does.  


Before I get out I remember that the food stamps card works like a debit card and must have a pin number associated with it.  I call the number on the paperwork they gave me and follow the automated instruction to set my pin.  Then the female computer voice asks me if I want to know my current balance.  Sure.  I press one and she replies an absurd number.  I wait and press one again.  She says the same number again.  I am baffled.  I call my husband and ask him if this is right.  He says he doesn't know so I call the automated service again and it repeats the same information back to me.  Huh.  


I've been given $685 for this month and a reimbursement of $385 for the previous month in which I applied.  This is a LOT more than I normally spent on groceries AND toiletries combined and I can only spend the food stamp money on food items.  I am beginning to see why people stay on public assistance. 


I tear up my list and walk in the store...ready to leisurely peruse each and every isle.  Wouldn't you if you suddenly had over $1,000 of someone else's money to spend?  It's a strange world we live in.

How I Got Here

You really never know how simple a time childhood is until you become an adult.  You miss the carefree days of climbing trees, playing games, watching the clouds and literally taking the time to smell the roses.


My childhood was great.  An American dream.  My parents provided everything I needed and more.  I had friends, played sports and enjoyed school.  Everything seemed to come easily to me.  I swam in my first race when I was 4 years old and was so proud because I beat the 5 year old in the lane next to me.  Eat that sucka!  I was part of the state champion gymnastics team, a competitive soccer team, member of national champion cheerleading team (rah,rah,rah), sprinter, pole vaulter, top ten in swimming and did my first triathalon the summer between my junior and senior year.  Yea for me!


Good grades came easily and I scored in the top tenth percentile in all the standardized tests and was first chair saxophone in junior high band. I had boyfriends, went to every school dance and usually had a date to the neighboring high school dances too.  Wow, wasn't I cool!  Not really.  


I was an insecure high school gal just like all of my peers.  I hated the way I looked and tried to hide it with personality and an unhealthy obsession with exercising.  I knew I could flirt well and used it to get attention...(I would like to make it clear that I was a very moral gal-I flirted but I didn't deliver).  There were a few close friends I really let get to know me but otherwise I enjoyed having friends in the various existing cliques.  Of course, there were the ones that I hated and the ones that hated me.  Now that I am older I realized the stupidity of it all...but it is just a right of passage.  


During my first year of high school I had an acquaintance inform me that a girl I had never talked to decided she hated me.  Why she hated me?--I don't know. I, of course, had the "logical" teenager reaction and spent the following years hating her back.  She committed suicide three years after we graduated.  Wow.  Dead.  Suicide.  Why did I hate her again?   


Though I didn't really believe in myself, I was able to solidify religious beliefs during my high school years.  I knew there was God.  I knew He loved me.  I knew He had a plan for my life.  I knew He'd help me when He could but I had to help myself first.  I still haven't quite figured out the details yet.


College was okay.  After knee surgery my senior year, my physical therapist had me convinced I should be a physical therapist.  It sounded good to me, so I packed my bags and planned out the four years of college followed by physical therapy school.  It didn't work out that way.


I started out at a relatively prestigious private university an hour or so away from my house.  I hated it.  I made it one semester in the dorms and then left to move back home to my beautiful room in suburbia.  I continued my education at the public University downtown.  Then one night at a bonfire, I met this 21 year old, 6 foot tall, blue-eyed blonde.  I lost my heart that night.  


He and I spent the next two weeks being inseparable.  Then I moved to Washington, D.C. for a congressional internship.  I was so depressed.  The boy I left at home was amazing.  So...I did the best thing I could and got engaged to him on July 4th weekend, two months after we met.  I was 19.  (P.S. Washington was AWESOME...but more about that later)


I can affirm that getting married to this man was the single best decision I ever made. True, I was young, I was nieve, I was inexperienced, and I am now on food stamps because of him and the children we have are on government insurance, but I would still marry him all over again.


We got married four weeks after my semester in D.C., and started our life together.  Education is very important to both of us so we continued school.  Looking back, school had always come so easily to me I had never learned to study.  I still wanted to do something in the medical field but could not figure out why I was getting my first C grades in the sciences.  Instead of realizing I actually had to study, I had a professor tell me I was a great writer and should consider majoring in mass communications.  So...I changed my major and took the easy way out.


During my last year of college I lined up four positive pregnancy tests on the back of the toilet, and deduced that I was probably bound for motherhood.  My husband was in the police academy and we had just signed our first mortgage.  It wasn't the timing we were planning on.


I tried to call my husband after I had taken the pregnancy tests, but I couldn't reach him.  I had no choice to go to class and tell him later.  I picked up two infant T-shirts at the university bookstore to tell him.  When I arrived home I tossed the bag onto the counter and casually told him I'd bought him something.  He opened the bag, saw the T-shirts and thought I had bought matching shirts for the two of us.  Not exactly.  


At my urging he took out the shirts and unfolded them.  I could see the wheels turning in his head when he finally asked if we were pregnant.  I smiled, and told him we were.  He went pale, looked right at me and said,"I need to lay down."  


Eventually, he recovered and our first child arrived the following summer.  Just in time for me to graduate two weeks later.  We spent the next few years trying to get adjusted to being a police family.  It wasn't easy.


After a few years of being a cop, couples are either stronger than they were before, or they are divorced.  A job like that just messes with families.  We had some real tough times but came out of it like married war veterans.  In the end, it is really hard to imagine putting kids through college on police salary of $43,000 a year...so my husband debated if he wanted to go back to school.


There was a lot of thought and prayer that went into the decision.  We talked about me going back to work but we believe in the importance of mothers being home with their children when possible.  Besides, daycare is so expensive, I wouldn't be making enough to make a difference.  We decided that law school was what we should do...and here we are.  In a new state, a new town, with a 3 year old, a new baby, and no money.  


We are starting a new part of our lives.  And I am all together happy.  But I never, ever, imagined I would be driving my kids to the human services office to pick up our food stamps card while mightily praying the meth addict who was there the week before would not be there again. (No one should ever have to smell a meth addict...yuck!)  


For this formerly middle-class white girl...it has been an experience.

This Is Me

During an introductory college course an instructor told me I should be a writer.  So what did I do?  I changed my major and landed myself where I am today...writing a blog in hopes I'll get enough readers to earn my way off food stamps.

I say a little prayer each time I start to write on this blog.  I pray someone will find my words valuable enough I can start to provide for my 3 year old and my newborn daughter sleeping in the next room.

To some it may seem ridiculous to be calling on a higher power to help me with such a matter...but I figure whatever help I can get is surely appreciated (didn't the Israelites pray for manna from heaven? Come to me manna!)

My life is mostly good.  Possibly even great.  I am happily married with two young children not yet in school.  Both my husband and I have college degrees and are living the American dream...or so I thought.

For the last four years I have been the wife of a police officer.  This translates into no longer being myself but instead being known as the "cops wife".  It also results in a jaded view of humanity.  My husband spent a lot of time with the poor, the addicted, the illegal, the uneducated, and the downright lazy.  He came home with bruised knuckles from being attacked by his clientèle.  He saw the disability checks in the kitchens of able-bodied drug dealers and the church donated food in their cabinets.  Stuff like that messes you up.

Though I did not see firsthand what my husband did, I had my own eye-opening experiences.  For a time I taught the youth of low income populations at a treatment facility for criminal teenagers.  Most of these kids came from Native American tribes, the black ghettos of Chicago and D.C., or white trash America.  Taxpayers were footing the bill for their treatment...and too be honest, I am sure that despite my best efforts many of them were back in prison within six months of completing treatment, spending their lives supported by the American dime.  What a tragedy.  What parasites to be living on the government...oh wait...I'm living on the government!  I am officially a parasite.

 

Now fast forward a few years, and you'll find me today.  I am sitting in my fluffy purple robe waiting for my baby to wake while I type and pray to God that allowing the world to know of my humiliating experience will pay off.  I just received my food stamps card and am living my American nightmare.  This is Me…and This is My Story.