The Adventure of Kids and Poverty

How can I write a blog about experiencing poverty and not include more about my family?  I think its because we try so hard to protect the children, so that they do not know the full extent of our desperation.  I so want to protect them from all of this.

And yet we are failing.  We are failing even as we try so very hard to hide the truth, the fear, the anxiety.  We see it manifested in the hard set of my twelve-year-old daughter's eyes.  We see it in her failing school work, and her hiding in her room instead of being with the family in the evenings.  We see it when she claims to not want to eat.  We see our failures manifested in our 11-year-old's anger.  We see it when she eats out of stress, we see it when she cries and she doesn't know why.  Even our 8-year-old isn't immune to the problems of the adults.  We see him cling, and try to hold on for hugs and cuddles.  We see his speech impediments, and his attention span leave.

We continually address these problems.  We adapt to the kids' needs.  But it is always hard when we see another faucet of our failure sparkling at us, making us more aware of just how far we've fallen.  Today's sparkle of failure was discovered when we realized that the oldest had been lying and cheating at school--which under the circumstances would be understandable, if she wasn't homeschooled.  But sometimes homeschooling creates a perfect condition for cheating and lying, especially when two parents are splitting the instruction where one did it all before.

When we feel our own anxiety and stress bubbling just under the surface, how can it not occasionally overflow into the children's life?  How do you make poverty and all of its accouterments into an adventure?  How much "character" do you feed your children before they choke on it?  Before we choke on it?

Maybe the worst of it all is that the kids feel abandoned and friendless.  Having forgone joining a co-op this year because I knew I couldn't meet the costs, time and physical requirements, the kids are at a distinct disadvantage.  I cannot commit to field trips, or anything else that requires a financial output, or a physical output on my behalf.  Its something I didn't worry about until I started to see the ramifications for my children.  The middle school friendship is such a fickle creature anyway.  For all of the work and encouragement we put into 4-H, church, and personal relationships, it seems meaningless.  The girls express their disappointment and anxiety by asking to drop out of activities they once loved.  They feel as though their friends don't really like them.  Yet, I wonder how uncomfortable it must make their friends to be around my kids who were once cheerful, happy and unfettered by worries that middle class children don't entertain.  When adults can't face their friends after they've experienced something like this, how can we expect kids to?

Still, when we sit at the table and work on schoolwork together, or when the kids make sure they are nearby to listen to read aloud, there is peace for a moment.  We have each other.