Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star

Summer, 2002: With only the youngest of my eight children still at home, I called my mother. The conversation went something like this: "Mother, I am so glad I still have Angela at home. I'm just not ready to not have children." I had always loved being a mother, even when all eight of my kids lived at home. Raising a large family had been a continual juggling act, but now I had the time and energy to be the perfect mother to one easy, sweet-natured teenager. Angela was just starting high school, so I had three years before facing the empty nest syndrome I preferred would never happen. In June of that year I remarried. With Angela at her father's for the summer, I was carefree with few concerns. I went dancing with my new husband, enjoyed site-seeing on his Harley, and settled into his home, all while doing a lot of reorganizing to make room for Angela and myself in his home. I was apprehensive about being in someone else's space, but it was a nice home and I was optimistic about our future.

Yet, change was in the air. I could feel it; I could smell it; I could almost touch it. Then in late August, my daughter Kayla gave birth in Texas to Grace who was premature and weighed only two pounds. I flew to Houston to help take care of siblings Myah, eighteen months old, and Lindsey, four years old, for a couple of weeks until I found ladies from a church group to help Kayla with the children. I will never forget the first time I saw Grace, sleeping in an incubator in the neonatal intensive care unit (NICU), hooked to tubes and by then weighing only 1 ½ lbs. Grace was fragile and looked breakable. I was afraid to even touch her for fear of hurting her. "It's really not scary Mom," Kayla had said, as she gently reached in and touched Grace's hand. But every time I tried to touch the newborn treasure, I felt panic and couldn't breathe.

I had never seen such a tiny baby, so I just watched this most amazing twinkling little star who became a most precious diamond in my world. After two weeks, I returned home. Angela was starting a new high school and I was certain she needed her mother.

October, 2002: The simplicity of being a mother to one child was about to change. The phone rang; it was Kayla. The course of my life was about to change for the next several years. Due to unfortunate circumstances, Kayla needed my help with the girls. Grace was now two months old and finally ready to leave the hospital. I immediately left home and drove from Virginia to Texas and brought back with me three little granddaughters: Grace, almost five pounds and on a heart monitor, two-year-old Myah, and four-year-old Lindsey. Kayla, holding back the tears from a breaking heart, helped me load the children and their belongings into my car. Lindsey got off to a rough start. After we finished loading, Kayla headed back to her apartment, desperately needing to get out of sight. Lindsey insisted, "Mommy did not give me a bye kiss. I want a hug and a kiss. I want Mommy to give me a bye kiss." I assured Lindsey, "Your Mommy gave you kisses and hugs." She insisted she didn't get a bye kiss. I insisted she did. We could not have forgotten hugs and kisses. I felt certain we must have remembered the necessary and proper good-byes amidst the feeling of chaos. As I did not want to redo all of the painful good-byes, we started the drive with Lindsey in tears. Frequent stops were required to feed and change Grace, along with changing pull-ups for Myah and Lindsey. Myah spoke not a word the entire trip. In fact, I didn't even know she could already talk. She also did not cry at all. She was just eerily silent. I didn't quite know what to make of it. I did not know then that her total silence was the sign of a traumatized child. Meanwhile, Lindsey talked non-stop, repeating the same incomplete sentence about her daddy the entire three day trip. I didn't want to tell her to be quiet because I knew she was deeply traumatized. Even if I had tried to quiet her, I would not have succeeded in controlling her obsession with her daddy. We stopped frequently; and every time we did, it always took at least an hour, even just to get gas. After three long days of fast food, motels, and gas stations, my nerves were rattled as I pulled into my driveway, totally exhausted. However, the hard part had just begun; I had no idea how I was going to manage everything, but like other grandparents who faced the same situation, I did not hesitate. Kayla had been diligent in providing me with a power of attorney for the children, the children's birth certificates, and their social security cards. She wanted to make sure I had everything I needed to properly care for the children and to get all possible services that might be available for them.

The first year was the most difficult for everyone. Initially, I had to get the children signed up for Medicaid. Because we were grandparents, the children qualified for Medicaid. At least that was the case in Virginia. It was very important that I applied immediately, as the hospital in Houston would not even release Grace to me until they were certain that I had made a doctor's appointment for her. She needed to be seen immediately upon arriving at her new home. The first medical appointment was with our family practitioner, who was wonderful. This was followed by many appointments for Grace with a neonatologist, a pediatric cardiologist, and even with a pediatric ophthalmologist. Throughout a blistery cold winter, an infant carrier in my right hand and the heart monitor in my left, bundled up, I trudged from the house to the car, from the car to the hospital, and home again, sometimes with Lindsey and Myah in tow. Tucked away in the diaper bag was the power of attorney that gave me permission to do all of this. Eventually, I provided all medical providers with the legal custody papers; but until then, they accepted what I had. Feeding Grace every three hours 24/7 for a year took its toll, as I was going through menopause at the same time. Many nights I woke up to the screaming of the heart monitor. I would get up, make sure Grace was breathing properly, reset the monitor, change my nightgown because it was soaked from night sweats, and go back to sleep - until I needed to feed her again. Often I strapped the baby to me in a front infant sling and carried the monitor on my left shoulder as I took care of Myah and Lindsey. Even after the heart monitor was discontinued, Grace was often attached to me with the baby sling.

For obvious reasons, I was not sleeping well. When I did sleep, I had nightmares. I dreamt I was missing my plane, riding backwards on a bus, or was simply lost. I was exhausted. I had a hard time keeping up with my home-based business, which required extensive computer use, the normal tedious chores of housework, and helping the little ones adjust to a new life without their mother. This proved particularly difficult for Lindsey.

During one of Grace's visits to the pediatric cardiologist when she was about seven months old, I placed her on the patient bed and stepped back while the doctor listened to her heart. As I backed away, she started to cry. My instinct was to immediately reach for her, but I resisted and stood back. The doctor was actually pleased that she cried. What? Maybe he was interested in the strength of her lungs. I didn't know. I questioned his pleasure. "This is good to see," he explained. "Premature babies sometimes do not bond with their caregivers, even their own mothers, after having spent so much time in the hospital. It is obvious that she has developed a strong bond with you. I am glad to see that." I had not thought of that, but then I had never had a premature baby before.

After the first few months, Myah and Lindsey went to daycare, and Lindsey went two days a week to the public school Project 4 program (a pre-kindergarten program). I was fortunate to live in a county that provided daycare for grandparents who were raising grandchildren. Because the children qualified for Medicaid and a child-only TANF grant (Temporary Assistance for Needy Families), they also qualified for daycare. A child-only TANF grant is based on the children's income, not the grandparents. Since the children had no income, we qualified for a small monthly grant, along with daycare, Medicaid, and the Women, Infant, and Children (WIC) Supplemental Nutrition Program, which provided formula for the baby along with other healthy food for Myah and Lindsey. I later learned how fortunate we were as not all counties in Virginia provided daycare. Grace did not go to daycare; she stayed home with me until she was four because of a weak immune system. When she turned four, she started the public school's Project 4 program as Lindsey and Myah had done. Again, I was fortunate as not all counties in Virginia even had the Project 4 program. In fact, most didn't (Additional possible resources are addressed in Part Two of this book).

Becoming a full-time "mommy" to babies and toddlers had been natural for me when I had my own children, but I had never been a fifty-year-old menopausal woman with babies. Regardless of the colossal difficulties, I loved living with these little girls. They truly were my twinkling little stars as I rocked and sang to them daily, building an unbreakable bond between us. It did not take long for the girls to choose their favorite bedtime songs, usually the longest ones.

Six months after the children arrived in Virginia, we filed for custody. By law, the children needed to be in the state for six months before we could proceed. I wanted to make sure that Kayla was in a position to finish raising her children before I gave them back to her. Without a legal custody order there would be no assurance of that. I knew a simple Power of Attorney could be revoked at any time, and I had no legal rights as a grandparent, except those given to me by a judge. This move for custody upset Kayla terribly, as she believed I was over-reacting. I did not think I was, but then I often think I'm not overreacting, even when I am. Kayla asked if I would agree to joint legal custody with her, while my husband and I had sole physical custody of the children. This meant that she had a right to be involved in all decision making with regard to the children, but they resided solely with us. I agreed. Visitation was also addressed and was set to be as agreed upon between us, as needs dictated and not as a carved in stone schedule. Even though it was not a complicated custody order, it still cost us thousands of dollars in legal fees and was a humiliating and hurtful experience for Kayla. Legally, everything seemed to proceed smoothly - until we clashed over the agreement a few years later.

During that first year, Kayla left Texas and asked to move in with us in Virginia. My husband and I, with the advice of our attorney, decided that she could not for two reason. First, my new marriage had become very complicated, and we lived in his house. And second, I was advised that all of the state and county assistance we received for the children would cease if their mother also lived with us. So, we said no and Kayla moved in with friends, four hours away. I have no doubt that, had I been single at the time, I would have handled this differently. Being within a workable, although not convenient, driving distance, Kayla was able to visit her children in our home, and we occasionally took them to her. It was not ideal, but we all dealt with it as best we knew how. Now, years later, my perspective on many things has changed. During those early years, it was hard to see clearly when I was smack in the middle of a constant crisis and living on adrenaline.

Rub a dub, dub, 3 girls in a tub And who do you think they be? Lindsey, Myah, and Baby Girl Grace And all of them lived with me.

2003: By the second year, Myah changed from calling me Nana to Mama. A year after that, Lindsey switched to simply Mom. Kayla's feelings were hurt tremendously. She felt as though I was shoving her out of her children's lives. However, that was not my intention. Letting them call me Mom (which did not originate from me) was to help them feel like their peers. My youngest daughter, Angela, still lived with us and called me Mom. Their friends lived with moms. They understood that I was really their grandmother but they preferred calling me Mom. I have to admit, it was comforting to me as well - I was living the life of a mother, not a grandmother.

While they called me Mom, to add insult to injury, I allowed them to call their mother "Kayla Mommy." That seemed like such a good choice at the time, but in retrospect it was a terrible idea. I wish I had insisted that they simply stick to "Mommy." There are several decisions I made over the years that I would recommend that others not make, but I was in emotionally-charged, uncharted territories without a road map and took detours that I now wish I had not taken. However, taking the children and raising them for those years was not a decision I ever regretted.

Grace was almost a year and a half before she could eat solid foods. She would simply gag and choke on most food. I also took her to a "how to feed a baby" specialist. I do not remember what her real title was and didn't even know there was such a thing. It was a full year before Grace could drink more than 3 ounces of formula at a time. That is why the feedings were so frequent. As she grew, she did outgrow many of our early health concerns and had no permanent damage from her prematurity. She was always small for her age, but she was perfect, except for asthma which she outgrew. Myah adjusted well and made friends easily. She had a bit of the dramatic flair about her, so we dubbed her our drama queen, which she didn't like. I explained that Angela was my drama queen, too, but that did not appease her. When Myah was three, she did a typical thing when she found a pair of scissors – she gave herself a haircut, a very choppy haircut at that. My daughter Katherine, who was living with us at the time, attempted to even it out by cutting it even shorter. In an attempt to make a point to Myah, Katherine told her, "You look like a boy now. I am going to call you Martin." We were not prepared for the fact that Myah would actually like that idea. When she went to daycare, the worker kept trying to get her attention. "Myah, Myah," she called. Finally she looked at her coworker and asked, "Isn't her name Myah?" Myah looked at both of them and responded, "My name is Martin." She went through a phase where she would only answer us if we called her Martin. We all found that hilarious, including Myah. I guess she got the last laugh after all.

Lindsey had a more difficult time adjusting to everything. She remembered details of her past, mostly the bad. This affected how she interacted with her peers, her concentration level, and her fears that a "bad" man was going to break into our house and kidnap her. It took years for her to quit fearing that someone was going to "steal" her. I believe what actually helped her get over that fear was an incident that occurred when she and I came home rather late one evening. Everyone had gone to bed, and we were locked out of the house. Why I didn't have a house key on my key ring I will never know, but I didn't. We tried all of the doors and windows and banged very loudly on the door. We could not get in and no one awoke to open the door for us. Lindsey was able to see that not just any key opened our door. Unless someone had the right key, they could not get into our house. I prepared for us to sleep in the car. I then looked one last time through the glove box and to my surprise found the extra house key. We slept safe and sound in our own beds that night, and Lindsey worried less from that point on about a stranger using his own key to sneak into our house.

Early on, it became apparent that the marriage I had been so hopeful about was strained, terribly strained. We did not argue, fight, or have any contention between us, at least not in the early years. There was just no emotional connection between us except for the children; caring for them was the only thing that brought meaning to our relationship. Beyond that, we were just two adults living in the same household, doing family type things with empty hearts for each other. The only things we talked about were the little ones or my grown children. My husband had two grown sons of his own but had not been very involved in raising them. Raising three little girls was completely new to him. He was more comfortable carrying our dog around the house than helping me with the children. I often heard myself complaining, "Would you please put that dog down and help me with these children." After that first long, difficult winter, we did numerous toddler and baby-friendly activities: trips to the apple orchard, walks around the neighborhood, playing in the sand at our local lake, not to mention the elaborate wooden play equipment we built for them in our backyard. Meanwhile our marriage did not flourish.