I am going to be honest with you like I am talking to one of my close friends. This is the kind of stuff that looks simple from the outside but feels heavy as hell when you are the one living it. When school started, I really tried to find somebody reliable to help me with my kids after school.
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Not somebody perfect, not somebody who was young and fun, just somebody dependable enough to be there when I could not be. That sounds easy until you are the one making calls, checking schedules, asking around, and realizing that reliability is not as common as people make it seem.
At first, I thought I could make it work without
paying for extended care. I thought maybe I could find someone who could help with
that short little window between school letting out and me getting there. However,
that short little window still matters. Forty-five minutes might not sound like
much to somebody else, but when your child needs somewhere safe to be and your
workday is not over yet, those forty-five minutes become a whole damn problem.
So, I ended up having to start paying for extended
care once school started. Let me tell you that payment did not feel small. It
almost felt like I had picked up a daycare bill for another child. Except this
was only to keep my daughter for at least forty-five minutes until I could make
it to her school. Forty-five minutes. That is the part that really had me
sitting there like, damn bruh? I am paying another bill just to survive the gap
between my responsibilities.
I want to add that I am not mad that my daughter has somewhere safe to be. I am grateful for that. I am grateful that she is supervised. I do not have to sit at work with my stomach in knots wondering what is happening. I am also thankful that I do not have to Uber or Lyft there anymore because I have a car now.
That alone makes a big difference when I am trying to
get across town and make it to her school on time. However, I would be lying if
I said the money does not hurt. It does. Every time that payment comes out, I
feel it. It is one more expense stacked on top of everything else I already must
figure out.
What makes it even more frustrating is when child support is not coming in consistently, or not coming at all, and you still must make shit happen. Bills do not care that another parent did not send money. The school does not care. The grocery store does not care.
The extended care
program does not care. Life keeps moving. Plus, somehow you are still expected
to pull money from somewhere, even when that money was supposed to come from
the other parent.
That is the part that will make you tired in a way
sleep cannot fix. It is not just about money. It is about the lack of effort.
It is about knowing that these are our kids, not just mine when it is
inconvenient. These are not just mine when school starts, not just mine when
somebody needs to be picked up, fed, paid for, comforted, or taken care of. When
the other parent does not put in real effort to spend quality time with y’all
kids, but you are still left carrying the financial and emotional weight, that
shit gets old.
I do not expect parenting to be easy. I never did. What I did expect was some kind of shared responsibility. I expected once upon a time that the other parent to understand that showing up is not just about money, even though money matters too.
Showing up is time. Showing up is consistency.
Showing up is helping without needing to be begged. Showing up is making your
kids feel like they matter enough for you to adjust your schedule, make
sacrifices, and be present.
Instead, I find myself budgeting around money I cannot
depend on. Honestly, that changes everything. You stop planning like help is
coming because you have learned the hard way that sometimes it is not. You
start making decisions based on what you can control, even when what you can
control is already stretched thin. You move things around. You pay what must be
paid first. Oh, plus you hope nothing else pops up before the next paycheck.
I know some people will say, “Well, just take them
back to court,” or “Just force them to pay,” as if any of that happens
overnight. Meanwhile, the kids still need to be cared for today. The extended
care still must be paid today. Dinner still must be made today. Shoes,
uniforms, gas, bills, and everything else still need money today. There is no
pause button just because somebody else decided not to do their part.
That is why this extended care bill hit me so hard. It
was not just another charge. It was a reminder that I am often the one making
the final decision. I am the one paying the bill. I am the one rearranging the plan
and carrying the stress. Even though I get it done, because that is what
mothers do. I still get to be frustrated. I still get to say this is unfair. I
still get to admit that sometimes I am tired of being strong because strength
does not pay invoices.
I am also learning not to beat myself up for needing
help, even when that help comes with a price tag. Paying for extended care does
not mean I failed. It means I found a solution. It means my child has a safe
place to be. It means I can finish my workday and still get to her. It means I
am doing what needs to be done, even when it feels like the math is not
mathing.
So, if you are reading this and you are in the same
boat, trying to work, raise your kids, pay for after-school care, and not lose
your damn mind when support does not come through, I see you. I know how
exhausting it is to have to plan around disappointment. I know how heavy it
feels when the person who should be helping makes things harder by doing the
bare minimum or nothing at all.
Still, we figure it out. Not because it is easy, not
because it is fair. Also, not because we should have to do it alone, but
because our kids need us. I hope one day the weight gets lighter. I have faith that
one day the help is consistent. I hope one day the people who should show up do.
Until then, I am going to keep doing what I have to do, cuss a little when I
need to, cry if I have to, and make a way out of no damn way.
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