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Foster mom:squirrel monkey and night monkey

I have been many kinds of mother – a single mother, raising my son from scratch, a single foster mother for a daughter and a son, a step-mother.  Now I am 64, and with my husband I am raising my eight-year old granddaughter, Amanda. Click here

I was a lawyer for 28 years, always focused on poverty.  I still am.  It’s not just a job; it’s a chronic condition.  I retired to write, and wrote three novels.  I helped start the HOME Van and nine years later we’re still going strong, carrying food and friendship to the people who live in the woods. Click here

When grandparents raise grandchildren there is usually a sad story behind it, but I’m not going to tell it.  That one belongs to my daughter and granddaughter.  Instead I’ll write about my friends and family, past and present.  I’ll write about an old woman raising a young child, a feminist struggling with traditional women’s roles, a writer who is suddenly a mother again.  It all sounds terribly serious, but everything has its lighter side.  I'll try to keep my professorial self under control.

When my son was growing up, I felt inadequate as a mother, and overwhelmed doing it alone.  In the1968 edition Dr. Spock included single mothers and “working” mothers in his  chapter on special problems.  I was both.  I used to read that passage to my family law students to show them how dramatically times had changed.  Yet people still speak of “working mothers,” a ridiculous phrase that implies mothering is not work.   

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                                                  Is motherhood work?  Vandmoderen by Kai Nielsen                                    
                                    

Now, for the first time, I have a partner, and I can do the job thoroughly.  I take Amanda to soccer and gymnastics and therapy.  I meet with her teacher, volunteer at the school, keep her at home when she’s sick.  I see that she tidies her room and brushes her teeth. 

I don’t feel inadequate.  But like any mother I come to the end of a busy day and can't understand what I did with my time.  Like any writer I struggle for discipline and focus, idle time to let my thoughts wander, work time to put the writing front and center.  Like any stay-at-home wife I negotiate jobs with my husband, and wonder if he understands what I do all day.

When Amanda came to live with us I put my fourth novel aside.  I’m not ready to pick it up yet; it’s simmering on the back of the stove.  Instead, now that she is settled and happy, no longer bouncing off and knocking down walls, I will write these mini-essays, send them out in my blog, and hope you will read and respond.

 

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