Miracles Do Happen

As promised. See? I wasn't kidding.

Hard Times

You might already know that I'm a housing counselor. When I started this job in August, I wasn't sure what a housing counselor did, exactly, but I knew the mini job description was intriguing to me. I was looking for a sort of advocacy job where the direct service would be not about personal counseling but about concrete goals, and where I could get there at 8:30am and leave by 4:30pm and not have any emotional energy required outside of those hours. In some ways I got the perfect job. I'm advocating for people with very concrete goals in mind. I'm helping navigate a world my clients do not understand. But about that 9-5pm thing, and that commitment to an emotional energy cap didn't really work out so well.

On the whole, I am thankful I have a job. The recession, and namely the latest housing bill signed by Obama, have nearly guaranteed me security in my position. Sure the salary is low, but at least it's a salary. And I'm thankful for that. And most days I think I like my job.

But not yesterday. And not today.

Man, today sucked. And so did yesterday. I am so tired of not closing up these damn cases. I have like 25 open foreclosure or pending foreclosure cases right now. The ones I think are going well and on the right track, suddenly there's this crazy wrench thrown in. Or a work out is pending then BAM, lender says client isn't eligible for a workout. Yesterday I called Chase simply to ask for a fax number and ended up with a guy telling me to get a pen so I could draw a diagram about how he calculates a work out and why my proposal just would not fly. "Draw 75% and circle it, then underneath draw 1 then 2 then 3..." It makes me nuts. To be more honest, I think it is making me depressed.

I can't decide if getting volunteer attorneys involved is helpful or not. They get SO nit-picky, there's ALWAYS something tricky they find, and they make me feel like I'm a total idiot for wanting to just accept a loan mod that seems to be fine and manageable in my eyes but they find 100 things to argue about. Who has that kind of time?? So the principle balance is off by $2000. Who freakin' cares? $110,000 is such an unbelievable amount of money, what's so different about $112,000? It's not worth the stress on me OR my client. Ugh. So I'm tired of going to court every Thursday (a special Foreclosure Diversion Program sanctioned by the Civil Courts in Philly) trying to dress up like a lawyer and feign being a lawyer and do all this negotiating like a lawyer without getting PAID like a lawyer. I am NOT a lawyer, I am a social worker. Today in the back of the courtroom, the some of us housing counselors almost started a riot-- we were all so fired up about the lousy salaries we get when we are the ones being put in charge of helping push this Obama plan. We were talking about how we used to be community organizers, why can't we pull it together and put on some old hats and advocate for ourselves? You shoulda heard us. That was the bright spot of my day.

Then to top it all off, one of the heads of the City agency that contracts with mine had the nerve to ask me where I'm was going when I was leaving court after this morning's cases were done. I told him I didn't have cases that afternoon and he insisted that I stay and take walk-ins for the afternoon. He said, "You don't have enough cases." I looked at him like he was joking. He's usually pretty cool and generous. He was not joking. He handed me $10, told me to go get lunch and come back. I was seething. But I came back and sat there for an hour, then I left when it was clear that no one else was going to show up and he told me I could go. I went back to my office for an hour, then ranted the whole way home when the boys picked me up, curled up and fell asleep on the couch in my coat when we got home and was pretty lifeless with my kids and mean to my husband for the rest of the evening. This is not how I want to live my life. Something has got to give. Something has got to work out here. I don't want to watch my clients to Sheriff's Sale. I'm tired of mean people. Enough about me.

Stay tuned for the next post, entitled "Miracle." (Seriously.)

On Kindred, Age Four

There are countless stories I could tell about daily life with my oldest son, Kindred. His humor and wit, his creativity, his kindness, his temper, his influence, his big-brotherness, his observations, and his general countenance provide me with many insights on who he is as a person, and give me lots of notes from which to pull blog post ideas. I will share some of those with you.

I will begin with Spaceman Kindred. Spaceman Kindred has his own rocket suit which he wears over his clothes any chance he gets. Grandma Carol and PopPop found this treasure and presented it to him a few weeks ago, along with matching NASA hat (a ballcap, not a helmet). He hangs it neatly in his closet every night. He explained to Elias this morning that his wide collar is for car accidents. It protects him from getting hurt if a car hits him. Elias accepted this answer without question.


Kindred had 2 birthday parties this year: One with grown-up friends on a weekday evening and one with family and little friends the Sunday after his birthday. (He actually thought he was 5 for a few days since he had so many celebrations!) Michael has promised to post about the party, so all I will share is my personal masterpiece of the day, the Rocketship Cake:


A few snippets of Life with Kindred:

Ever since the Clean Green Machine, Kindred and Elias both have run around the house singing all of the songs from the show (interspersed, of course, with Angels We Have Heard On High). One of the lines from a particular song goes, "Get off your knees, Man, have some pride!" and Kindred loudly sings, "...Man, have some fries!"

On the same topic, I was returning Elias back into his bed after he fell asleep in mine. It was close to midnight. Michael and I both were stunned to hear Kindred, while lying in his own bed, sing, "Na-ture ROCKS!" full voice. We thought we'd woken him until we realized he was singing the musical while fast asleep.

Kindred has a funny relationship with his older (by 6 months) cousin, Caden. They play well together usually, but Caden's energy sometimes takes them to places that Kindred would not necessarily go on his own. One of Caden's mischievous delights is to tell another child, usually his little brother, to do something "naughty" and break some sort of rule and then giggle when a grown-up corrects the offending child. Caden rarely gets away with this (he hasn't really learned the art of subtlety), but it hasn't stopped him from trying. When Caden came up from Maryland to see the musical with his parents, we all went out to eat afterwards. Kindred requested to sit next to his cousin and his grandma, and we agreed. At some point in the meal, Caden, grinning, advised Kindred to tell Grandma that they weren't going to obey anyone, and Kindred, grinning, did so. I was told about this later, and I pulled Kindred aside to speak with him about the matter. The thing is, he doesn't know what the word "obey" means. We don't use it. We ask him to be a good listener. So I asked him if he knew what "obey" meant, and he of course did not. I explained the definition and the essence of what he had said to his Grandma. Then I asked him what he was going to do if the same thing were to happen again. His straight-faced and very serious reply was, "I will say, 'Caden, I have to obey', and if he doesn't listen, I'll fight 'im." Then he nodded solemnly, waiting for my approval. I don't think I could say anything, actually, right at that moment. (I pulled it together to give him more appropriate ideas for his plan of action later, I'm sure.)

It's not like Kindred doesn't have his own set of mischievous delights. I had made dinner-- well, I heated up leftovers-- and told the boys if they ate a certain percentage of their food (about 90%) they could have a special dessert. Kindred was downing some pierogies, and he demanded the last one. I obliged him and went into the laundry room to turn off the dryer. When I returned, Kindred's food container was closed and he announced that he was finished and ready for his treat. He got his remaining birthday cake and a small scoop of ice cream. It wasn't until I was cleaning up that I discovered most of the last pierogie still in the container. I pointed it out to Kindred. "You didn't finish," I said. He looked at me innocently. "Were you trying to hide this from me?" I asked suspiciously.

Instead of answering, he perked up, wide eyed. "Oh, do you want it, Mom? 'Cause you could have it if you want it," he said, smiling sweetly, as though this was a most generous gesture.

And finally, tonight when I was running the "Big Zoomie" in the playroom while Kindred hid safely away in the kitchen, he called to me and implored me to turn the loud machine off for a second. When I did, he ran in and asked if I was going to need to use the "hewper." (pronouced: HUE-purr) When I looked at him funny, he pulled out the long thin tool that attaches to the vacuum hose. "This is the hewper, mom, and I can help you if you need to use it. Kay?" I thanked him and he returned to his perch.

This last set of pictures was taken before Christmas. I thought it was a great sequence between Kindred and our friends' new baby, Alliyah. Kindred is enthralled with her, but he hadn't had much opportunity to do more than just peer at her through blankets while she slept in her infant seat. But one evening Alliyah and her parents came for dinner. Alliyah was well-fed, pleasant and awake for a time before the boys went to bed. This series demonstrates that Kindred, well, he likes babies.







That's my big boy. I love him love him love him, and am very honored to be his mother.

Oh the Slacking

Hey all, I realize all too well that I haven't posted anything in an unacceptably long time. However, I would like to share the news that Michael has posted a blog and you should go look at it. There you shall find a report of the most recent Snow Day complete with short video. I am hoping it will tide you over until I can get myself together....

Four

Ahem. Guess who is four today? FOUR!