Motherhood
Mom Blog: On Being a Good (and Bad) Mother
For the past several years, we have run this article on Being a Good (and Bad) Mother on our mommy blog for Mother’s Day. It is a good reminder of why we’re in this together and you are enough. Every year, mothers are celebrated on that one special May day (which is not to be confused with “mayday,” another word with which mamas are familiar). And every year growing up, I remember my mother was consumed with guilt and inadequacy, the very antithesis of what Mother’s Day is supposed to be about. Was she the perfect mom? Of course not. None of us are. But she loved, sacrificed and cared for her children as best she could. A few years ago, I was at a resale children’s clothing store. As I poked around, the shopkeeper asked the age of my son and she confided...
Lending a hand to the sky ~ Musings on mothering a graduating child
The western mountains were sandwiched by clouds this morning. The row of peaks was obscured by chalky grey banks of opaque clouds, no doubt packed with snow. I could see the middle elevations clearly. Along the foothills—the base of mountains—were stark white cloud balls. They looked like the trim on Santa’s hat. It was beautiful and I wished I could have pulled off the road to snap pictures. The shoulder was too saturated. If I stopped, I might never get going again. It’s been raining here for nearly a week and that is highly unusual. When I arrived home, I didn’t go inside right away. The rain stopped briefly, so I decided to survey my front garden. Nothing is blooming yet, but the green leafy parts are thriving. They love this rain. Some of my plants have d...
How are you weeding your garden? Self-care for mom!
I was weeding my garden last weekend and I realized that it used to be a job that brought me satisfaction. I love the smell of the earth and the dirt in my hands. I find joy in the reward of plants growing! But as life’s demands keeping DEMANDING my time and attention, I find myself in the garden less and therefore weeding less. Even if you’re not a gardener you know what that means – more weeds. And not just more weeds, but stronger, more deeply rooted weeds. A task that used to be satisfying is now dreaded because I know the long and tiring time ahead of me will be difficult and more lengthy than necessary. Gardening has been exhausted as an analogy about life lessons and my observation is not designed to rock your world, but simply to get you thinking: how are you weeding your own prove...
Blogger’s Block and the Evolution of Motherhood
When I started writing my blog back in 2011 my kids were 5 months and 3 years old. It was an isolating time and I wanted to reach out to all the other parents of tiny children who were most likely feeling alone too. I was striving to connect for my own sanity but also in the hopes I could reach someone like me who was scouring the internet in between feedings or grasping at random hints of the outside world in an effort to pry sleep deprived eyes open. I fell in love with blogging because it provided that connection when I needed it most. It also kept me motivated to try new things so I could share them with anyone who was interested. During that time my daughter was old enough to have dropped her naps and my son was napping all the live long day. My daughter was also young enough to need ...
To The Friend I Never Called
Dear Friend, I’m not even sure you remember that time a few months ago when we ran into each other at the store. Had it been six months, two years, five years since we had seen each other? We hugged. We chatted. We shared stories about how our kids are growing up too fast. Our mouths gaped when we realized the kids were so much older than we remembered them. It was a lovely ten minutes of my day. I’m quite sure you felt the same. Our parting words went something like this, “It was so great to see you! What a fun surprise! I’ll call you and we can go out for coffee or go to the park with the kids!” I don’t know who promised the phone call. It was probably me. And I didn’t call. On the other hand, maybe it was you who flippantly suggested a phone call follow-up to our incidental meeting. And...
The Day My Mom Saved My Life and Managed Not to Kill Me Afterward
When I was a little girl, my grandparents owned a guest ranch in the mountains outside of Creede, Colorado. It was called the S Lazy U Guest Ranch and it was one of my favorite places in the world. I have countless memories of exploring and adventuring with my brother, cousins, and kids from the families who visited there. I also have a vivid memory of the day my mom saved my life and managed not to kill me afterward. Note to reader: This is an unverified account of events, as I have never dared to bring it up again until now. We’ll see if she agrees with my recollection when she reads it. 🙂 My mom often helped my grandparents at the guest ranch by cleaning cabins between guests. One evening, I was enlisted to help her. I don’t recall my exact age, old enough to help and young enough to be...
The Early Mom Catches the Child
My mother never slept in. Or, maybe I just woke up incredibly and unreasonably late. That probably describes me when I was in high school, when I’d wake on summer mornings just in time for my dad to arrive home for his lunch break. But it doesn’t explain away my childhood memories. Every morning, my mom greeted me already coffee’d and dressed. It didn’t matter if it was a Monday morning in January or a Saturday morning in June, she was up, she was smiling. My mom may have been a bit nutty in her quest to outshine the sun but I rarely woke to silence or emptiness. Except once. I still bear the mark of that morning in the form of a nose that looks like it was sculpted by a precocious moose. It was a Sunday. I know this because I got out of going to church that day. My...
Reminder to all Working Parents: You’re doing a great job!
Today I wanted to give a shout out to all of the working moms and dads out there that are making it happen every. single. day. Here’s to you busting your hump at work then getting home to do the same there too. Here’s to taking crap on the job (figuratively) and the parents of babies cleaning up crap at home (literally). Here’s to long hours, unrealistic demands, and crappy pay. Oh, and the same goes for at work too. Here’s to the grind… Early alarm seeming like a cruel joke, get everyone out the door, daycare drop off, commute, zombie at work masterly productive at work, daycare pickup, commute home, dinner, countdown to bedtime, small window for rest, lights out. Rinse and Repeat. Here’s to kissing your spouse goodbye and wish...
My parenting strategy: sometimes you’ve gotta be cruel to be kind
If my son forgets to wear a coat on a chilly day, he experiences cold. If my daughter forgets to bring the lunch I pack for her, she experiences hunger. Neither experience will cause lasting damage (well, maybe a little for the teachers who have to deal with them). In fact, my hope is that such lessons will leave lasting impressions. I want my children to pay consequences they can afford. Like the time Tessa left her brand new Thumbelina on a playground swing, and we weren’t able to find it when we went back the next day. Tuition for this lesson? About $20 and a bucket of tears. Or when Reed didn’t have enough money to buy the Power Ranger costume he wanted (we kicked in the first $10) because he shot his piggy bank wad in a manic spree at Chuck E Cheese. Tuition for this lesso...
A lesson in gratitude: a touching post on how to live in the moment as a mom
The cup of juice slips, crashes, splashes… juice splatters on every conceivable surface. The muddy boots of small feet hurriedly romp onto the living room carpet just seconds before you yell, “Take those shoes off!” The home-office is piled high with an assortment of children’s drawings, miscellaneous receipts, junk mail and last week’s newspaper. You think the folder containing the plan for the school carnival will balance on top, but you’re wrong. The entire pile spills like a waterfall over the edge and onto the floor. The husband comes home… 30 minutes late. I feel quite sure that you can add your own annoyances and mishaps to the list. (I could fill a book.) These types of daily incidents are the stuff of life. This “stuff” makes me want to pull my hair out, or on a more dramatic day,...
Mom on the move: Relocating with baby from England to Denver
After ten amazing years living in London, I recently moved with my husband and baby daughter to the suburbs of Denver. My husband and I have always had this dream to move to America. We moved from London to Denver in September 2013 when little Maya was six months old. When you have lived in a certain place for over a decade and then you move somewhere new there would inevitably be a cultural shock when faced with the social and physical differences between one place and the other, especially if there is a baby involved. The first thing that hit me hard when we arrived in Denver was distance. Walking around is not as easy and common as it is in an urban environment like London. Basically here you need a car. Without one you can’t even go to the shop to get necessary baby essentials. I am us...
15 (Funny) Ways to Make Infant Simulators the Real Deal
Home economics didn’t prepare me for motherhood. I’ve never sewn any aprons or pillows. I don’t sift flour. The closest I’ve ever come to baking biscuits is making a run to Krispy Kreme. The curriculum should’ve taught me how to clean vomit off my child’s favorite lovey bear at 3 a.m. That’s useful. The whole child development portion of home economics was the most useless, because it involved egg babies. This is kind of misleading since eggs don’t need to be changed, burped, fed or otherwise interacted with. We had to blow the yolk out of the egg—because having a baby is pretty much like this—then construct a homemade container to carry it around in. Ultimately preventing the eggshell from cracking or breaking.
