"And it came to pass..."

It is January, 2015. Another holiday season has come and gone. "And it came to pass..." readings, and other family traditions have been repeated, to close out the old year. These first days of a new year give me an opportunity for reflection and time to revisit precious memories while easing into and making plans for the new year, ahead. 

Now about that phrase, "And it came to pass...". Sometimes it comes to stay. And they did. Unexpectedly. In June of 1993, five months before my 49th birthday. Not just one, but a 4-year-old boy, one 2 year-old sister, and their 16-month-old, boy-girl, twin siblings!

My office staff were in a state of disbelief when I told them I'd be at home for a week. To make the event even more interesting, I was training a newly-hired secretary at the office and my boss, the department chairman, was out of the country on business. I was operating under a Power of Attorney for signing documents that required his signature. Translated, that meant that my signature was required on a daily basis. The month of June was Nevada's state fiscal year-end. At the University of Nevada, Reno, that meant that the entire month was an intense time for those of us with responsibility for budgets, finances, payroll, new and renewed contracts and spending from department accounts. There was an unwritten rule dictating that no one was to take leave time during June. If it was an in-session year in the 2-year rotation of The Nevada Legislature, this restriction could sometimes stretch into July or when new fiscal money appeared in our accounts, whichever came first. The only exception for consideration was some unforeseen emergency-like event. I felt sure that the circumstance I found myself in, qualified!

My two adult children had been out of my house and on their own long enough that I'd settled into an empty-nester lifestyle and was loving it. I had been responsible for someone else from the time I was twelve years old. This felt like my first time for having daily routines to myself, free to claim time as my own to organize as I chose. That all changed with one phone call upon my return from a weekend in California, participating in Fremont's version of the fabulous music conference held annually in Salt Lake City, UT. What followed was a whirlwind of spur-of-the-moment preparation with lots of red-tape issues over the next 48 to 72 hours before four of my grandchildren moved into my house, the place they would call "Home" for the next 20 years. It had been 25 years since I had first assumed the role of  "Mom". Most things came back to my mind, quickly. As the saying goes, it was, "Like riding a bicycle." Almost.

There were serious health issues to consider. And allergies, galore. Keeping track of twins was something new to me. But with less than a year between them and their big sister, it felt more like triplets, with all three still in diapers and still expecting to have a bottle at night. Two were addicted to a pacifier, three had no language skills, to speak of, while yet to be developed and fine tuned motor skills rendered them needy and unable to get through a meal without a good deal of help. There was the dressing, the bathing and all the rest. I found that there was a noticeable difference between raising two, as I had already done, and attending to the needs of these three, so close in age. Their four-year-old brother was a regular "Mother Hen", keeping his siblings in his sight at all times and responding to their grunts and body language, their distress signals while interpreting for me during the initial days of our roommate arrangement.

Have you ever tried to find day care for four kids, and keep them all at the same establishment? First of all, I was totally unfamiliar with the "Day Care" concept or the reality of it. This was a time I realized how blessed I had been to be "just" a "stay-at-home" mom, at least until my kids were in school. Emotionally, being faced with no choice but to put yet another separation experience upon them, this "Day Care" thing tugged at my heart strings. And secondly, I found out what a challenge it was to find even tolerable day care in Sparks, Nevada, at that time.

My days, during that week at home, were filled with trips to agency offices or physicians or the State Health Department, catching everybody up on ID documentation, shot records, or treating earaches or asthma, or other young-child ills, always accompanied by my little enterague of tiny tots. While kids were napping, something that happened only occasionally, I continued my search for suitable day care. Demand for service was high. Wages were low. Benefits for the employed were non-existent. All of this appeared to attract and promote hiring of the unskilled and untrained. I found the State regulatory departments inept and inadequate, at best. I don't know that I'll write about the worst. Dealing with State agencies, searching for and evaluating day care as it existed then was a sometimes nightmarish experience. After many attempts via phone calls, sifting through referrals, engaging in interviews and making personal visitations, "Little Rascals" became the only option. On the surface, this operation appeared to be somewhat committed to babies and toddlers, (Miss Betty, Miss Honey). My G-kids enjoyed the last months of a pre-school program orchestrated by pre-K graduate students from UNR. Kindergarten (Joan Ashworth) was available at the day care site, despite the fact that it was not yet a Nevada education requirement  

In the mean time, while sorting the day care issue out, when my week's "vacation" at home ended, my daughter--Dr. Auntie Jenn, as they came to refer to her--rearranged her work schedule. I was home with the babies during the day. Then, precisely at 4 in the afternoon, she met me at my front door and we exchanged lists of needs and wants and/or alerts. I then sped (my alias--Lead Foot--preceded this time but came in handy in this instance) to my office in the Ag. building at UNR, a 15-20 minute drive I could pare down to 6-8 minutes if need be. Every minute before the 5:00 o'clock closing was crucial, to check in with staff, faculty, and students on payroll before they left for the day. My household took to Jenn's Shake and Bake pork chops with applesauce, homemade mac and cheese, and her now famous grilled cheese sandwiches in no time. She took over the evening meal, baths, and bedtime. For any reader who has experienced the last meal of the day and all that comes between the last bite and lights out, you know what a lot of work is involved. I worked until the library directly above my office closed, usually about midnight. The janitor assigned to the second floor always checked in on me, making sure I'd remembered to lock myself in, then before the clock struck 12, he ushered me, library staff, and maybe a few dedicated students out as he closed up shop for the night.

The first day of this first experience with day care, they cried. I cried. And the second day. And beyond but eventually, we all moved forward, with kids dropped off, each with their backpack and instructions for their caregivers for the day, plus a report-of-the-day sheet I created and provided to each of the primary caregivers for each child. That I required them to complete the form and return it to me at each day's end didn't win me any points among the Rascals staff. I felt it was necessary, even with no guarantee that it would be factual.

And Gramma went back to work. While they were still babes, and I had full control, I could feed and dress them all, do the drop off, and be in my office by 8:00 A.M. That didn't last long. But it's all a part of who I am.