moms without blogs

Strength.........you have it.

2009-11-09T05:00:00.000-08:00

Written by Annie, a mom without a blog

A year ago this week on my now retired blog I wrote about a story of a family tragedy. It was hard to write and I literally felt not only like crying, which I was doing, but also very much like retching as I wrote. You see, a year ago, a cousin I'm close to lost her 37-year-old husband to a very freak accident.

My cousin, newly pregnant with her third child, left for work as a teacher and thought nothing of sending her husband off to a routine outpatient rotator cuff surgery with his father. What she didn't expect was a phone call minutes after the surgery informing her that there had been a grave accident. You see, when they began the block of drugs to numb his shoulder, the needle did not go into his muscle, it went directly into his bloodstream pretty much killing him instantly. Although for hours they kept him on bypass and attempted to revive him, he was gone.

And she was left alone. With two little girls under the age of 5 and another on the way.

This post is not about the sadness, the heartache, or the explaining you do to two little girls who do nothing short of idolizing their Dad. This is not the story of how wonderful he was, or how his funeral commanded two thousand people to attend, or how his employer (Budweiser) had a highway banner with his name on it for weeks in honor because he was THAT guy, the one who everyone loved, everyone adored, everyone wanted to be friend with and like. Yes, he was that wonderful, but this is not about him today.

This is about her. About a 37-year-old woman, who although deeply heartbroken and extremely lost, did it when I am not sure I could. I think of her in awe every day. And I wonder where she gets it.

The strength.

I think about her when she comes up with amazing ideas to include her children in his life, even after he has left us physically. How she lets her now first grader write him love notes and puts them in a balloon to send to heaven. How she gave birth without the aid of drugs so no other freak accidents would happen in her family leaving her children orphaned.

This is a story of how she runs and pounds out her grief and anger and lays it all on the pavement in a Nike streak of healing. It is also a story of hand holding and how she gently allows you in to aid her in her need for understanding and healing. It is also the story of how she is not letting anger and revenge, nor all the lawyers knocking on her door, to overrule her right to grieve.

It is a glance into a life of a woman who teaches her children to remember their father every day, so when they age they won't forget because they are so young. About how her daughter says "I feel my Daddy every day, he is all around me. He even helps me when I put on my jammies."

How she just does it. Even though full understanding is not there, and the grief is still so raw.

This is a post about women. About how women just do. They do what they need to do, even when they don't know why or don't know how. Women like her. Women who persevere and keep moving. It is about the strength women have, that she has even though she may not know it. Today I honor her.

Affiliate Friday: Swirl Girl on A Big World Resting on Little Shoulders

2009-11-06T05:00:00.000-08:00

Swirl Girl from Swirl Girl's Pearls lives not far from me. She's basically a Los Angeleno although maybe she doesn't consider herself one. I'm not sure. I know there is only about a 30-40 minute drive that separates us and yet the only place we have connected as of yet is through our blogs. The blogosphere's cool like that. Hopefully we'll share a drink together sometime soon. For now, she is sharing a bit of her heart with us in this Affiliate Friday post. It's a different tone than her usual fare but she always speaks straight and true, in MWOB fashion, and that's why we adore her. Thanks, Swirl Girl for jumping in on this fine Friday.

In our humble town (and not only here,but around the country as of late) there was a tragedy - of epic proportion. A young father facing economic ruin in the throes of a nasty divorce and job loss killed his two young children before taking his own life. Emily Rose, my 10 year old, was asking me if that would ever happen to us. At that point, I wasn't sure if she meant the divorce part or what. So I answer. "Sure Dad and I fight sometimes...but we fight because we care. I think it's important to be open - because if you hold things in - they fester and you wind up resenting the other one."

Then she asked if I had ever contemplated suicide, and she used those very words. I told her that as many times in my life as I have been depressed or angry about anything (and there have been quite a few) I never thought there was no light at the end of the tunnel. I always knew that something would change, whether magical, mystical or spiritual , and I would be okay.

Emily Rose said there was a positive side to this tragic story - She said in her very 10 year old way, that the only good thing to come from this story was that the children don't have to suffer anymore. "Because," she said, "if the father had something genetically wrong with him - at least the cycle stopped because his children wouldn't pass it down to their children."

That my 10 year old even fathoms the concept of depression as a genetic illness scares the crap out of me. Such big words and bigger concepts . I don't think when I was 10, I worried about much - okay, maybe I did. But my worries were more along the line of hoping that nobody outed me for actually liking the chicken fricasse on the hot lunch line at school, or if that boy really 'like-liked' me. Or would I ever get boobs. At 10 years old, you should just not have to be sad for anything other than stuff like that.

It's sad that these young children were yanked from the innocence of childhood and slammed into adulthood. It is sad that some adults are saddled with sadness and depression so great that it crescendoed and culminated in that horrific act of violence. It is sad that our community has been rocked by this tragedy.

So, the next time I complain about our shrinking household economy, or that Hubby has to work late again, or that nobody listens to me when I talk around here - I, for one, will try to remember this conversation I had with my daughter. I hope I can use my words more carefully. She is listening...maybe too much.

If life could only be swirled like a wine glass to release its bouquet or decanted to let the sediment fall to bottom only to savor the best juice intended.

Hallelujuah! An Incentive Chart for Kids that Works! .... At Least For Me

2009-11-04T08:25:00.000-08:00

Written by Lee

I've written about this before. Charts. And how in the past they have mainly been imaginary ones. Where if my kids did something awesome, I would suddenly proclaim "Hooray! I'm giving you a good mark on your chart!" And they would say "Yay!" Even though there was no chart. They were young enough to accept my pretend reward chart games. I guess.

Other times, I would make a chart and start keeping track of their good deeds but due to my fly-by-the-seat-of-my-pants parenting style, I would have trouble sticking with my own chart plan. And I guess I wasn't sure how to end the chart. What the rewards should be. And I think both my kids and I would lose interest in the chart. Too concrete. Too uh, charty.

I like spontaneity. I'm not rigid. I respect schedule and structure but I am not bound by it. I'd like to think that just because I like to blast some tunes and dance around with my kids in the kitchen that they would just want to do nice things for me. For the house. You know, contribute to the family.

Well, I was wrong.

As my girls have gotten older, 7 and 5 now, I have realized that I really needed to find a way to visually let them know that they're actions and behavior and contributions around the house were being acknowledged. And I wanted to give them real incentive to pitch in and help. I wanted to stop listening to my droning voice constantly reminding them to clean their room or brush their teeth.

I wanted help.

So one day I devised and drew up this chart.

I know all of you are like "Whatever Lee. You are so behind the times. I already use charts and I rule."

Well, I know you use charts. Some of my friends use charts but they almost always worked in this way:

The chart listed what was expected of the kid each and every day and the kid was supposed to do it. All of the things on the chart. Or on M, W, F do one set of things, and T and TH, do another set of things.

I'm just not into doing the same things all. the. time. I don't live that way so I realized I shouldn't expect my kids to live that way.

The chart I drew spanned a month of time. I came up with like 15-20 categories where I needed their help. Things like "Making Your Bed," "Putting Clothes Away," and "Listening to Mama." I explained to them that they didn't have to do everything everyday but the more things they did, the more stickers they would get which would mean a big fat reward at the end of the month.

(FYI, I had no real idea what the reward would be. I knew I had a month to figure it out.)

If they really made me mad with their incessant fighting or backtalk or something, I would put a big "X" through a sticker they earned. That would really upset them. Wow. Almost to the point of me wondering whether it was worth it. But I did it anyway.

What I love about this chart is that it has flexibility. I do not need to remind them to do the same. things. day. after. day. Making our lives one big frightening routine. With this chart, one day they can excel in cleaning their plate or cleaning up their toys. The next day they can do their homework without prodding and earn a sticker.

The possibilities and combinations are endless. This chart answers for me what I have had problems with in other charts. It respects the fact that we are not the same people each and every day. We have different moods. We are motivated to do different things. For all kinds of reasons. I dig that about this chart.

At the end of the month, I had decided that cash would be a good reward. My girls are always looking through catalogs asking for the next DS game or the newest My Little Pony toy so I decided I would give them 10 cents for every sticker earned.

At the end of the month - Claire, 7, earned $6.80 and Phoebe, 5, earned $6.40.

And they were beside themselves with pride and excitement. They even asked when I would be making the next chart.

Now I'm not saying every day is perfect because of this incentive chart. Hell, no. But, it has given me a new way to encourage my girls to jump in and help out around the house and I have to tell you, it has made for one happier mama.

And a happier mama is well worth $13.20.

So what about your chart tricks? Are you wondering what's taken me so long to figure this all out?

Dodge the tots, Dos Equis and more.

2009-11-02T02:00:00.000-08:00

Written by Em

November - a time for hibernation, turning inward, taking stock and most importantly, giving thanks. Kind of like the push for peace and goodwill toward men once December rolls around, I'm afraid thanksgiving (lower-case "t") has the tendency of being somewhat seasonal for the average soul, but not so much for me since entering the bloggy world. You guys know how to smack a girl upside the head and encourage appreciation of the little things.

In an effort to kick off this month correctly by fully embracing my everyday blessings, I present...

The Top 10 Things I'm Truly Thankful for at this Very Moment:

10. The genius writers who continue to crank out original and smart episodes of "Phineas and Ferb" - honest to goodness and sincere, them's some funny folks. Color me pea green.

9. The Most Interesting Man in the World brought to you by Dos Equis. Charlton Heston meets Ernest Hemingway meets Steven Wright. What's not to love about a guy who "lives vicariously through himself?"

8. Mr. Clean Magic Eraser. It makes me happy that investigative journalism is dead, because I'm positive those things are very, very bad for us and/or the environment. But I don't care. My shower door has never looked better. Totally worth the third hand I'm going to sprout.

7. DVR technology. I know I've already gushed, but after some of the comments received on my recent post concerning our switch to Verizon Fios, I feel the need to defend my obsession. You may find me spoiled and entitled, but we can afford the luxury - I don't pass the plate for contributions, have revolving credit card debt or $0 in the savings account. If one day, I must choose between feeding my children or recording "America's Next Top Model," don't worry, I'll choose my children. Eventually. Until then, DVR goes right up there with fire and sliced bread.

6. "Party in the U.S.A." by Miley Cyrus. I challenge you to not "put your hands up." I find it irresistible and optimistic. I appreciate that on so many levels.

5. Nice teenagers. Trick-or-treating brought out the older kids in our neighborhood, and I'd like to offer their parents a shout out - job well done. You've restored some of my faith in the future.

4. Speaking of good trick-or-treating, kudos to you, Mother Nature, for the perfect temperature and full moon of Saturday night. Well done lovely lady. Well done.

3. My oldest son's newest game creation of Dodge the Tots. If you have a Sonic nearby, get yourself some stuffed tater-tot plushes via the kiddie meal and have at it, dodge ball style. The only cardio I'm getting these days.

2. My husband, who just handed me a warm, creamy McDonald's coffee. Love you babe. For so many reasons.

1. Being my boys' mother, because I'm privy to such beautiful rise-and-shine greetings as: "Guess who's outside Mama - Mr. Sun!!!" Good morning indeed.

What random items are you thankful for at this very moment?

2nd Annual Happy Humpin' Pumpky Halloween!

2009-10-30T13:00:00.000-07:00

Last Halloween was a momentous day for this lil' ol' blog. It was the very first time that I received a comment from someone I didn't know. I mean, doesn't everyone remember the first time they got a comment from a bonafide stranger? It was a welcome sight after all of my family and friends leaving comments out of pity. So in honor of that first stranger comment anniversary and because I happen to chuckle every single time I look at these pictures, I am re-posting this Halloween extravaganza.

Boo!

Beware of what you will see below.

It may frighten you on a variety of levels.

I, myself, am still very much frightened by what sits in our front yard this Halloween, and I'm even more frightened when I think what the neighbors might be thinking about it.

Have you ever seen anything quite like this?

Have you ever seen a witch hump a pumpkin?

Can you believe that pumpkin stem????

But the absolutely, most positively, frightening thing of all about this happy witch is that my parents gave it to my kids a few Halloweens ago.

And it seems to me that they aren't seeing what I'm seeing.

Happy Halloween!!

P.S. We have a famous ocean breeze that whips through our street even though we live a couple of miles from the water. Hence, the variety of positions we find our witchy in each Halloween season.

Facing the Fall of Change

2009-10-28T08:00:00.000-07:00

Written by Kath, a mom without a blog

It’s fall across most of our country. The long, warm days of summer have given rise to brisk mornings and evenings; the sun is lower in the sky, and days are shorter. It’s fall out here in the desert as well, but the signs aren’t as obvious. You really have to look for them.

Fall in Phoenix means we open our windows again. Of course, this only happens in the early morning and late evening hours when the temps dip to the 70s or so. But still…we OPEN our WINDOWS. We haven’t done this since, seriously, May. Watching my curtains sway a little in the morning breeze is a little bit of heaven for me.

We don’t have the usual “look” of fall here, either. Our trees (for the most part) don’t turn color and drop their leaves. Oh, sure, a few do. They are scattered among the masses of desert trees (mesquites and palo verdes) and palm trees which pretty much stay green year-round. So the minority of trees that do change get sort of lost in the greenery.

I feel sorry that my kids don’t get to experience the traditional fall. My 5-year old daughter has only seen fall leaves in picture books or Charlie Brown specials. So last weekend, my husband and I packed up our three kids into our SUV and headed north for the weekend.

The usual noise and chatter of conversation and DVDs playing became a hush as we hit the dirt road and started the climb up the mountain. We rolled down our windows and breathed deeply the clean, crisp mountain air. And then, my kids began to see them. Small clusters of yellow and orange at first. But then we saw the maples. Oh, those glorious maples in their pinks, reds, oranges, fuchsias, rusts….so absolutely, breathtakingly beautiful. I turned around and watched my kids’ eyes soaking up the sights. Their “oohs” and “aahhs”, their squeals of delight…it was quite a moment.

We got settled in to our destination and went for a walk. Approaching the first oak tree, my daughter picked up an acorn off the ground.

“What’s this, Mama?”

“That’s an acorn, honey.”

Pause. Turning and examining the acorn in her little hand. “Like the one from Ice Age?”

“Yep, just like it.” Note to self….make this trip EVERY year with the kids.

There was just something so beautiful and comforting in the magnificence of pure nature. The colors were so vibrant. It’s an extraordinary sight to behold, but the trees were just doing what they were SUPPOSED to do—they were changing.

When we returned to Phoenix, I was telling a friend about the beautiful sights up north. Her reply stunned me a bit.

“Oh, I lived on the east coast and HATED fall,” she said. “The leaves changing color always made me depressed and anxious, knowing that the trees would soon be totally bare and that winter would set in.”

Wow. That thought had literally never occurred to me. I guess since I’ve lived in the desert most of my life, I didn’t realize that fall for some people (who live in areas where the winters are brutal) would be so anxiety-provoking.

It reminds me of a time in my life when I saw that things were “changing.” When I anticipated what would come with dread, fear, and anxiety. I know what that feeling is like. It’s scary. The unknown always is.

I’m currently in one of those moments again in my life. The subtle colors are there signaling a change that I know deep down is coming. It makes me frightened of the “barren tree.” I don’t want to think about it.

But here’s the deal. If I spend my days focusing only on the bare tree, I’ll miss the beauty of the fall. I won’t see the rich golds, bright reds, and deep browns. I might miss the very best part of all because I can’t stop thinking about what’s to come.

So, today, I will enjoy the fall. I will soak up the hues and try to imprint the images in my brain, so that I may NEVER forget.

Because when the leaves fall, it’s true the tree becomes bare. But what happens next is that the leaves break down and nourish the tree; for when spring comes, new buds will appear. And the hope of those new leaves…leaves that have been fed by the ones that came before, comforts me.

Spooky Stockings, Happy Pumpkins and I'm Afraid to Say I'm Starting A Real Job Today

2009-10-26T08:25:00.000-07:00

Written by Lee

What a Monday it is over here. Frantic and new. Rushing around like I usually do but with a fresh adventure in my immediate sight. Immediate as in now. Like I shouldn't even be sitting here typing this post. I have to get ready.

I am starting work again after being home with the kids for almost two years.

Yikes.

I'm not gonna ramble on about all that this means to me and how it's affecting me, mainly my heart, but for now I will say that for those of you who don't know, I work freelance in reality/non-fiction television and I am starting work on a show for the Sundance Channel. It's a 22-week project. 4 days a week. For 22 weeks. And then it will be over. And my kids will have me back full-time. Until the next time.

The tv business is like this. I've worked freelance my entire career and I don't know it any other way. My man is a freelance editor in television so this is our life. Jumping from project to project. I actually like what I do when I do it so I thought the time was ripe for jumping into a little television gig. Keep my contacts alive and hopefully kick-start my brain again too.

So more on that later....

For now....

Check this out.

It makes me so friggin' happy and peaceful just looking at it. Taken at a farm about 45 minutes from my West LA home. Just one of the many reasons I really do dig LA. I have the ocean 5 minutes from me and these pumpkins 45 minutes from me.

I feel all fall-y when I look at these pumpkins. And then I start feeling spooky.

And then I start thinking about these.

These are felt Halloween stockings that my crazy, artistic, and crazily-artistic friend Tory designed and sewed on up. Halloween stockings. For your goodies. Aren't they cool?

You know I am all about digging Etsy stuff and in my spare time, I just love to sit around and play with a needle and thread.

But really. I totally appreciate those who can play with a needle and thread and when a needle and thread churns out something as funky and original and happy as these little stocking guys, it makes me feel as happy as when I look at that pumpkin picture.

My friend Tory and I go way back to our partying 20-something days around the walk streets of Venice Beach. We used to hang out, watch the old "90210" and make Femo stuff together. You know Femo? That clay stuff that you bake? Yeah, we were that cool. We would also drive down to Manhattan Beach together on Friday nights and dance to my dude's rockin' tunes when he played in his rock band. Tory and I are soul sisters in many ways and I have always completely admired her artistic way of living.

So now she's launching her own company called "Felt Up." Her little button is over there in my sidebar. I'm gonna link to her website once it's up and running as in soon.

For now, I am showcasing some of her hand-sewn stockings and if you WANT one of these spooky stockings, email me at:

leemwob AT gmail DOT com.

For a price (and they're not cheap 'cause they're like all handmade and sewn with care and love), I can secure you one of these original creations before Tory gets big and famous for her wacky Felt-Up masterpieces. If one of these ghoulish guys hits your spooky-bone, I'll make sure he gets to you by Halloween.

So how's that for a Monday morning smorgasboard of thoughts?

Wish me luck today.

Affiliate Friday: Under the Influence on "What's for Dinner?"

2009-10-23T05:00:00.000-07:00

There are a few blogs that I actually remember reading for the first time and thinking, "Wow. I totally relate to this chick." And that is how I felt when I read Jo from the infamous Under the Influence. She wrote about her love for prescription painkillers and what can I say? I love 'em too. I remember being sent home with Percocet after having my first kid as a true highlight. I'm actually not sure what I was more in love with - my newborn baby girl or my pain meds. Okay, I'm exaggerating. I think. Anyway - Jo is always on my radar and I love her fresh, frank approach to life. She likes to wear sexy red lingerie for her man (right?) and she is responsible for my current love affair with Hanky Panky thong underwear. She's a proud affiliate of MWOB and I'm thrilled she's gracing our space today on "Affiliate Friday." Check her out if you don't already. Happy Friday.

I don't know how it is in your house, but it seems most families have at least one picky eater. I don't mean a little fussy. You know, those kids who don't eat much or try something and don't like it. I mean P-I-C-K-Y. As in refusing to eat anything that is not a piece of breaded, processed chicken meat, pizza or a hamburger. Along with some chips and chocolate. All with ketchup, except the chocolate.

Well, I have that kid. I blame myself, really.

When he was a baby, I think I waited too long to introduce solid food. Shortly after I did, we were out to dinner and he choked on a carrot piece that I had not cooked long enough. Just as my husband and/or I were about to yank him out of his wooden restaurant high chair to perform the baby Heimlich Maneuver, he coughed up the carrot piece and proceeded to vomit all over the restaurant floor. Oh yeah, we were dining with friends who didn't have kids. It was a lovely moment and I quickly developed a fear of him choking. I'm sure had I entered therapy for this, it would now be a real mental disorder with a real name, like "Fear of baby choking" disorder, and my picture would be next to the definition in the medical journals.

Fast forward to age 12, and that kid has got to be the pickiest child I know when it comes to food and eating. The ketchup thing? Ketchup ON.EVERYTHING. My in-laws live in Pittsburgh and every year they buy him a Heinz Ketchup t-shirt so he always has one that fits him. For Halloween, two years in a row, he was a bottle of ketchup. It was perfect.

After years of beating myself up, wanting to beat him up, threatening him with liver and onions (which no one in this house even eats!) and many missed meals on his part because I long ago stopped making a separate dinner to suit his palate, he came up with the idea of once a week allowing a family member to pick the dinner menu for a night. Everyone in the family has to eat what is on the menu. Well, at least taste it. If you don't like it you can choose to sit at the table with the rest of the family and NOT EAT or you can choose to choke it down, but there are no additional foods made.

All three kids loved the idea and hubs and I thought it would be a great way to get them to try some new stuff, with their buy-in since they all agreed to it. It hasn't stopped the griping, complaining and whining, especially since Picky Eater thinks I shouldn't get a menu night since I choose dinner menus 99% of the time anyway. We still hear "I don't like that" or "Yuck, that is gross!" or "This stinks!" or "Who eats this shit?" (that would be me). But it's something we all agreed to do and the griping, complaining and whining and the comments are minimized with a reminder of who wanted to do this in the first place. The one big caveat is if you choose not to taste the food, you forfeit the next time you are supposed to choose a meal.

Let me tell you, people, this picky kid of mine will not hesitate to give up his menu night in order to not have to taste something he THINKS he doesn't like. As for me, if anyone actually ever picked liver and onions, I would be choosing NOT to eat, or even taste, our dinner that evening. I would sit quietly at the table, knowing I was forfeiting my next menu night. Then, after everyone went to bed, I'd eat a bowl of cereal.

On the H1N1 Virus: To Vaccinate or Not to Vaccinate … That is the Question

2009-10-21T07:45:00.000-07:00

Written by Amy, a mom without a blog

The Swine Flu, or using the politically correct term, the H1N1 Virus just hit my kids’ school for the first time. I think the student is going to be OK, but he had a definite near-death struggle and is now home recovering. He had a fever of 105, trouble breathing, and couldn’t talk. It attacked his throat. The whole family has been quarantined for over a week and they still have not returned to school - even the younger sister who is in my son’s kindergarten class (and didn’t even get the virus), has been out of school for over a week in order to keep others safe from exposure. He is looking at a two-month recovery time.

Everyone is panicking. Honestly, I am too.

I grapple with the question of whether or not to vaccinate my children for this virus.

I am generally a person who goes along with all the regular vaccines, but don’t always feel comfortable doing so. I do them, but under duress. I also do them because I don’t feel as if I’m educated enough to be bold enough to choose NOT to do them. And after my son got terribly sick from a flu shot one season, I have lived by the principal that if the vaccine is optional, we’re not doing it. Hence, that’s where I currently sit with the H1N1 vaccine. It’s optional. No thanks.

I was having this discussion with a friend of mine who is leaning toward vaccinating her kids for this newest virus. She said, “It’s the herd mentality.” Immediately, I thought, “Oh yeah, everyone is panicking, everyone is rushing to the doctor to get the vaccine. We are the herd. We do what everyone else does.” Right?

She was quick to disagree. The “Herd Mentality” she was referring to was that since “most of the herd” vaccinate for various illnesses, it keeps those who don’t vaccinate safe. In other words, I should feel obligated to thank all those who do opt for the vaccine, since it’s likely we will not be getting vaccinated for H1N1. I never really thought of it that way. But I think she’s right.

So … for those of you who have been or will be vaccinated in the near future for the H1N1 Virus. Thank you. I guess.

I also know there’s a choice about receiving the live virus via a nasal mist or the “weakened live” or dead virus via vaccine. I read that a person vaccinated with the live virus may be contagious to people with a compromised immune system for up to six weeks post vaccine.

I have Multiple Sclerosis.

I am one of those with a compromised immune system. So come to think of it, if you are one of those who is getting or has gotten the live virus as your protection against the H1N1 Virus, maybe I shouldn’t thank you at all. Maybe YOU are putting ME at risk by getting the vaccine.

Basically, I conclude that there is risk by doing something; and there is risk by doing nothing.

I am very confused. I am very scared.

All of this conflicting information is making my head hurt. I think I need to go gargle with warm salt water and wash my hands.

On Kids and Respect: How Do Your Kids Address Adults???

2009-10-19T09:00:00.000-07:00

Written by Lee

Recently, I was at a birthday party for a friend's daughter who was turning six. I didn't know many of the other moms at the party so I did what I usually do in that kind of situation. I wandered aimlessly trying to help out at the arts and crafts table, I watched the kids jump in the bouncy house, I consoled my girls when they were body-slammed in the bouncy house, and I did my best to start up a meaningful conversation with a few of the other moms.

As I sat alone in a chair outside watching the kids play, two moms stood near me and started chatting about education. They were talking about the schools their kids attended - one public and one private. One mom was saying how much she loved "progressive" education because that is how she was raised in Los Angeles and she believed in this type of teaching. Since I am always intrigued by different methods of education, I asked -

"I don't know much about progressive education. What is it about that type of learning that you love? What do they do differently?"

And the first thing she said was, "What I love is that the kids call their teachers by their first names. When I was in school, I never even knew the last names of my teachers. I love that."

And I was all, huh?

My kids are in Catholic school so calling teachers by their first names is out. Obviously. And actually when I think about it, I'm very cool with that rule.

So cool, in fact, that back when Claire was in kindergarten (she's in 2nd grade now) a group of us moms that hang out had a chat about what our kids should call us adults. I was a huge advocate of using the last names even though some moms initially favored the first name approach. Although we all are mellow moms who work to have an open line of communication with our kids, in the end, we decided to go with the "Mr. and Mrs. insert last name" route.

I don't know about you but to me it seems we live in a time where the boundaries are as blurry as ever between kid and adult. In our home, I see it manifested on a daily basis when my girls talk to me and my husband in a tone that I consider disrespectful. It's the one thing that gets under my skin like no other. This seeming lack of respect.

Now I know that we have a hand in this. We encourage expression in my home and believe you me, my girls have no lack of it. They are loud and spirited and imaginative and all of that is good. But sometimes I feel like it backfires. In the middle of an argument over something that is usually related to my girls not listening or doing one thing I ask them to do, there will be inevitably a moment when their tone reaches what I consider to be the "backtalk" tone. And then I lose it. And it all spirals quickly from there. Yuck.

So when it comes to my kids addressing other adults, I believe in the last name approach. I guess I hang onto it as on outward sign of respect towards the "elders" in a time when these courtesies are simply harder to find. During visits to other families' homes for playdates etc. I find that more and more parents allow all kind of adult/kid integration in the form of kids running through houses, jumping on furniture, and generally yelling and screaming in the middle of adults trying to converse. Now, I don't need the old-fashioned "Kids need to be seen and not heard" approach obviously but I think we've gone too far in the other direction.

Maybe I'm delusional. Maybe calling other adults by their last names is doing nothing to instill respect. But to be honest, I think I need it. I need my kids to be reminded in this small way that they are not on equal par with adults.

So this answer from the progressive school mom reallly confused me. Calling teachers by their first names. I can't imagine it with my kids. The thought actually makes me shudder. Blurring the lines even further. Am I so old-fashioned? What am I missing here?

Enlighten me.

Affiliate Friday: Mama-Face of Blog-Ignoramus on Losing a Friend and Breast Cancer Awareness

2009-10-16T05:30:00.000-07:00

This is Mama-Face from Blog-Ignoramus. I remember when she first discovered our site here and she emailed me a comment saying she felt like she had found home. And that's the stuff that makes this community we've created so worthwhile to me. That through the white space we find each other and reach each other with our words. I am honored that Mama-Face agreed to guest post for us on an "Affiliate Friday" but I feel even more privileged that it was this story that she wanted to tell.

If you are like me you, won’t want to read this post.

If you are like me, pink is not your favorite color just now.

If you are like me, you have been approaching your blog reading a little differently the past couple of weeks.

Because, if you are like me, when you see the words “Breast Cancer Awareness” in the title or in the body of a post, you tell yourself you will have to pass and maybe read it later, when you feel stronger. You’re not quite ready to deal with emotions you have yet to come to terms with.

If you are like me you could be waiting in line in a crowded little gift shop; your gaze traveling around the store, when you see an entire display of Breast Cancer Awareness merchandise. Then you feel a tiny little stab in your heart and find that you must avert your eyes and look anywhere but there.

If you are like me, you want to be ever so careful when writing about this topic because there are so many people suffering in their own different ways from Breast Cancer; either as one with the diagnosis or as someone who loves this person.

Writing this post was much harder than I thought it would be. I struggled with it all day Tuesday; and I even have notes and a letters and plenty of memories to work with. I was fretting and I wondered if I could do it. But, I really felt that this was what I should write about; therefore I was baffled as to why it was turning out to be so difficult.

Then Tuesday night, as I was praying, it came to me what I should do. Instead of writing about Susan, I should write about me. I cannot tell Susan’s story and of her battle with breast cancer because that’s exactly what it was; HER story and HER battle with breast cancer.

I can only write about my battle with losing Susan.

*****

I met Susan when she and her family moved into the house across the street from ours about 13 years ago. I don’t remember when we became friends. I don’t remember when we were not friends. I took it for granted because it came so easily. A friendship comes from shared likenesses; a kindred spirit from shared hearts. Susan became a kindred spirit to me.

And I treasure a kindred spirit.

I liked Susan from the get go. I saw in her our similar interests and our differences.

We belonged to the same church;
thus our core beliefs and values were the same.
We were mothers.
Each of us had a passion for books.

BUT...

Susan was patient and calm.
I was not.
Susan’s hands could create works of art.
Mine could not.
Susan rarely complained.
I complained on a regular basis.
Susan was unique in a sea of ordinary.
I swam in the sea of ordinary.

Perhaps that’s what made my relationship with Susan morph from friend to kindred spirit. Strange as that may seem, our differences endeared her all the more to me.

Because the differences made no difference. We would talk for hours. She was kind to me. She listened. We laughed together. We cried together. Over the years she cried for me and I cried for her. In the past few years I’m pretty sure I trumped Susan in the ‘crying for her’ department. No, come to think of it...I was crying for me.

Most of the time our conversations involved books. Susan and I even had differences in our taste in books; she was well read but leaned towards fantasy and science fiction, she even taught me the difference between the two. I am somewhat well read and lean towards the classics and slice of life fiction. But we both loved reading for reading’s sake and during our ENTIRE friendship we spent hours catching up on what we’d read and what we were reading and what we had on our ‘to be read’ list.

Like a slide show, my memories of Susan flit by; snapshots of a normal friendship:

Her bubbly face...sitting with her on her driveway, talking, while her twins took their naps in the running car...making handmade Christmas cards together...lunch dates...our kids playing in her jungle gym basement...watching her hands deftly maneuver the tools used for making jewelry, creating beautiful bracelets, earrings and necklaces-never to sell-only to give away...her patience while attempting to teach me how to make jewelry...giggling and/or laughing until our sides hurt over the silliest things...watching her enjoy being a mom; something she excelled at...running back and forth from my house to hers...borrowing and loaning groceries...critiquing movies...the happy surprise of learning she was pregnant with twins...the terrible shock of learning she had been diagnosed with breast cancer...and so much more.

During the last 18 months or so of Susan’s life here on earth, I was able to spend some time with her, which I will forever cherish. She never asked for a thing other than that we not talk about cancer. She just wanted our time to be like old times. She told me that she had plenty of people to talk about cancer with; that’s all some people wanted to talk about. I was perfectly fine with pretending.

So, up until the last time I saw her, we tried our upmost to keep things as ‘normal’ as possible. I watched her go from a fair amount of mobility to being completely bed ridden.

The cancer spread from her breast to her bones and ultimately to her brain. I rarely heard her complain. Her husband went to such extreme lengths to make her comfortable, hospice nurses came and went, housekeepers were there at times, neighbors brought in food. What I did was nothing. Just talk and try to giggle and laugh like the old days.

During this time is when she tried her very best to teach me how to make jewelry; I failed miserably. And I could care less. For me it was never about making jewelry. It was about keeping things on as normal a level as we could. Most of the time I just sat or laid down on the floor by her chair; then bed. I haven’t moved the big tote bag of jewelry supplies since the last time I brought it home from her house. I took a catalog out of the bag a week or so ago, and it surprised me that I cried. So, that bag will remain where it is for a while yet.

The last time I saw Susan, two weeks before she passed away, she was pretty out of it. She so very much wanted to not be given morphine, because it knocked her out and she hated missing out on anything; especially time with the children and husband. That day though, morphine wasn’t anywhere near strong enough. She would drift in and out; she was very agitated and fearful. I held her hand while she slept fitfully. I laid my head on her bed. I stroked her hair, it was only a couple of inches long as it had just begun to grow back since the very last round of radiation. I put my face close to hers and gave her a kiss or two. It was very hard to understand what she was saying; but for reasons I can’t say, (simply because they are too private to me), I know that for at least a moment or two she was aware of my being there.

The hospice nurse came during the time I was there that day, and I was in the room when the decision was made to start the drugs that would make Susan comfortable and most importantly, ease her mind. The brain cancer was causing paranoia. One of the drugs that was added was an anti-psychotic. If I had been there even one day later she would not had recognized me. This I treasure for my sake; not hers. I consider every moment I spent with Susan a gift.

A few weeks after Susan’s funeral I was still grieving more than I even expected to. I was so preoccupied with memories that I wasn’t sleeping well, and I was thinking of her more than I did while she was alive. I relived memories like those I’ve shared and so many more, over and over. It’s not like I didn’t know it was inevitable; it wasn’t if, it was when. I think that all of us in these kinds of situations, (and this is probably a good thing), keep hoping that the inevitable won’t happen this time. So, I put my feelings on the back burner, you know, believing that I could wait and think about it later. I thought I was prepared. I wasn’t.

It was then that I made the decision to stop dwelling on Susan and my memories. That sounds so heartless; but I had to do it. I felt a weight lift and I felt lighter than I had in weeks; maybe months.

That is why seeing reminders of Breast Cancer Awareness Month everywhere I look has been so unsettling. Pink ribbons, pink t-shirts, pink jewelry, pink magnets, pink everything; all of it breaks my heart right now. Once again I am surprised by my reaction. Please, I want you to know that I believe that Breast Cancer Awareness is extremely important and that I KNOW there are far too many people dealing with Breast Cancer, as well as other forms of cancer, whether it be themselves or a loved one. Maybe you have a friend and you are trying your very best to support her. My story isn’t unique.

But Susan is.

*****

Susan passed away on August 5, 2009. If you would like to read more about her story and the incredible legacy she left behind, you can find it on her husband’s blog, Fatcyclist. Just search ‘Susan’.

On Grades in School: An "A" for character...

2009-10-14T06:00:00.000-07:00

Written by Annie, a mom without a blog

As I sat at my desk this week sorting through hordes of papers and registering grades for quarter, I couldn't help but think about the kids out there who will undoubtedly be in big fat trouble because their marks don't add up to their parents expectations.

I once had a kid who was in my summer Psychology class who was repeating the course. He wasn't alone, but he was the only kid there who had taken it and passed it with a "B" mark of 87%. However, in his home a B was not acceptable, so his parents made him dole out the $200 and retake the course on his own dollar.

I have had kids who get good grades, but aren't always the best people. I've also had kids in both regular and special education who have worked their tails off, been to class every day, studied hard, participated, and still gotten a "C" grade. Sometimes "A" grades aren't always in the cards.

Now, as a parent myself, I want my first grader to get good grades, and I pretty much do expect them to be "A" grades because I know she is capable. However, I don't think as adults we actually think back to when we were in that desk. When we worked our tail off and still failed a test. When we misread a single word in a sentence and wrote an entire paper on the wrong question. Or when our very best really was just average.

In this day in age, we focus on being the best, and being better, and doing things first and fast. We focus on the tests, and meeting "standards" set up by the government and we compare ourselves to other schools and kids. We do this even though not every kid in every zip code gets the same standard of teaching or has the same opportunities as the kid in the next county.

School just isn't always fair. And it isn't always what you as an adult think it is.

What we lack is the ability to realize that overall, most kids want to do well. Most kids, with support at home and at school, put forth their best foot every day. Kids come in all shapes, sizes, and ability levels. And that should be celebrated, not compared. And honestly, we need to be spending more time on character development and on cultivating life skills and student interests instead of focusing mainly on standardized testing.

I have a student who is severely dyslexic. He is a very bright kid who tries hard and when asked questions orally, knocks them out of the park. On written work, he is a bench warmer. But the better test of what he is truly capable of came this year when a new freshman arrived in our class. The student has major anxiety issues and does not really look like many of the kids in school. His jeans are pulled up high, and he still looks much younger than he is. This kid sat alone at lunch every day for nearly a month. One day, my dyslexic, very cool, popular student, invited him to sit with him at lunch. And he has done that everyday since. When I asked the student with anxiety how lunch was going now, he simply said " It is perfect!" Finally, he was a part of something and he didn't have to feel all alone.

Now, the dyslexic kid may get B's and C's and he may pull off an A or a D every so often, but the true measure of his being is that he is a good human being. He cares about others. He tries his best and as a whole, in school, that makes him an "honor" student to me.

I want my daughter, no matter if she gets A or C grades to do her very best every day. But more importantly, I want her to enjoy school , to find things that interest her, to celebrate the successes of others, to develop character and good morals. I want her to be a bit like Mallory from the video below. I want her to do the right thing, even if it means she sometimes fails.

Class Dismissed,

Moms Without Blogs is 1 TODAY! The Top Ten Things I've Learned in my First Year In The Blogosphere

2009-10-13T06:30:00.000-07:00

I remember it like it was yesterday.

Sitting at our kitchen table last October clicking around Blogger and trying to figure out how to upload the most basic photo to insert into my header. Jotting down my first post without even realizing it was a post. Trying over and over to cut and paste what I had written in "compose" mode and having no clue why it wasn't working.

I had no idea about anything. I just had an idea to start something. And that's where the idea began and ended.

But what I really had no idea about was the vastness of this universe called the blogosphere. That there were so many voices that had come long before I had. Drawn to this white space of creativity and expression for reasons both similar and unlike my own. That there was a vibrant community alive and well within my computer. And the more I clicked around I realized my teeny, tiny, miniscule blog space was just the teeny, tiny, miniscule tip of a massive iceberg.

It was all so mind-blowing. And it still is to me really. But I try not to think about it too much. I try to remain focused on my initial reason for creating this space.

When I dove in headfirst to this scene that I did not know existed, I can honestly say I had no idea I would learn so. damn. much.

So on this one-year anniversary of the creation of Moms Without Blogs, I've decided to embrace the power of the Top 10 List and share with you the....

Top Ten Things I've Learned In My First Year In The Blogosphere

Disclaimer:
I do not claim that any of the things I've learned are universal bloggy truths that we all must learn. This list is a reflection of my personal journey and I'm telling it as I have seen it and experienced it and learned it. I also will say that this list highlights things I've learned around the mommy blogging/women/parenting blogging community because well, that's my general scene.

10. Sitemeter, Google Analytics and Feedburner mess with my mind so I generally don't pay much attention to any one of the evil trinity.
Really though. In the early days when I first found out about Sitemeter, I remember checking it obsessively like logging in on my iPhone while stopped at a red light on my way to pick up my kids from school. In retrospect, this was insanity and the time I wasted doing it makes me laugh. Sure, it was a small thrill to see the details of someone in Kentucky who spent 48 minutes looking at my blog but in the end, it amounts to zippo. Google Analytics is good for something when I'm in the mood for graphs and pie charts. But Feedburner? Nothing but pure evil and still makes no sense to me today. I've learned to ignore most of these number-related tools and it has greatly increased my level of bloggy happiness.

9. Blogs with 1) black backgrounds OR 2) super-cluttered sidebars OR 3) word verification enabled OR God forbid, all three combined, give me a colossal headache and no matter how good the content, I tend to stay away.
This one is tough to admit but I've learned that when things bug me, they bug me. And there are so many little things that can bug me in the blogosphere. I had no idea. I need to visit blogs with as little "bug-factor" as possible to maintain my bloggy happiness.

8. I hate memes.
Sorry I do. I did partake in the beginning, I will admit. When I first heard about them and was asked to participate in one, I was all "Huh. This is weird. This game-playing aspect of blogging. This high-school-esque banter. But I guess I'm supposed to do it. To join in on the fun." Well, memes are generally never fun for me. I guess what's really not fun is doing anything that anyone else is expecting me to do. And where I start feeling obligated to do something. Obligation. I have tried my best to remove it from my blogging journey. So goodbye memes.

7. Holy shit. There are some serious egos cruising around. And big egos love drama.
I'm not surprised that I learned this really. If I think about it for one second, of course there are some serious egos in blogtown. There are serious egos everywhere IRL. And the blogosphere is just a microcosm of the world. But wow. Some of the arguments and drama that I have witnessed about some issues that just come down to personal preference is so wild to me. The ownership so many of these egos feel towards the female/mom blogging community in general baffles me. The need to post and comment and tweet and soap box about every friggin' issue under the sun from ad campaigns to breastfeeding to blogging rules and regulations is fascinating to me. I will admit that the drama is fun to peek into from now and then but really, it's another thing I tend to avoid.

6. No one wants to admit how much money they're making from blogging.
This one kills me. And it was the one huge glaring omission from the blogging conference I paid to attend. I did not start this as any sort of money-making mission. But as I got more involved, the thought did cross my mind of "Huh. I wonder if I could ever make any real money doing this or some variation of it. Maybe I'll pay to go to a conference and learn more about that aspect." But learning it at BlogHer was not to be.

Sure, some blogger will admit that they make a little money here and there from this and that but no one will say "Yes, I make 50K a year from blogging. Or 5K. And this is how I do it." There are so many moms who are starting a blog in the hopes of making some money and it would be great if one of our bloggy leaders would step up and get honest about the money-making aspect of blogging. It all remains a mystery to me. And a number of these conferences, it seems, prey on new bloggers to entice them with the chance to acquire real "business" knowledge. But I'm not sure if the business knowledge attained provides the end result of women and mothers being able to actually make some decent cash from their writing and blogging efforts. It all seems like a big self-perpetuating machine to me. Anyone care to enlighten me on this aspect?

5. Numbers mean jack-shit.
I've said it before and I will say it again. Does the number of followers, comments, subscribers really matter? To me it doesn't. No one has ever been able to tell me why numbers matter. Or why I should care. Except for the feel-good ego-stroking aspect of "Wow, people dig me."

But what I have learned is that people who follow and subscribe don't always really dig me. Or they did for one day. And now they are done with me but they are too busy or too nice to unsubscribe or unfollow. The point is I have learned to not look to numbers to bring me happiness because it's too topsy-turvy of a road. Looking externally for validation doesn't really work for me in the blogosphere. Looking within is where it's at.

4. The blogosphere loves vibrators.
Okay I'll be honest. I have never used a vibrator. And because of that fact, I am in the extreme minority of the blogosphere. Or it would seem that way. I was given a vibrator at BlogHer and I have yet to put it to use. And women were climbing over each other for goody bags with vibrators at BlogHer. Maybe I'll be doing the climbing next time if I ever pull mine out of my drawer.

I have learned that if you use vibrators and write about them or if you don't use vibrators but write about them and try to give one away, people really dig it. Or it would seem that way. I have not been able to jump onto the vibrating bandwagon as of yet but perhaps change is coming. But I most likely still won't feel the need to write about it so I guess you'll never know.

3. The number of sad, tragic stories is staggering and I need to keep my distance.
I cry a lot when it comes to stories of life and people and tragedies and uphill battles of gigantic emotional proportions. I absorb these stories into my soul and I think about them. A lot. These stories affect my daily outlook on life and I can not tell you how many times I have been clearing the kitchen after dinner with tears streaming down my face and my kids asking me "What's wrong, mama?" only to try to explain to them why I'm crying and eventually give up because they're just too young to get it.

I remember after one story early this year that really hammered me emotionally, a good bloggy friend told me that maybe I need to be careful about getting so involved with these types of stories. That was a great piece of advice for me. I want to help. I often give. But I need to limit my emotional involvement with heavy stories of loss and sickness. Within the blogosphere, there is a supportive community ready to reach out and help so it's natural there will be voices seeking that support. I have learned that I can do my part sometimes but not all the time. It's not possible for me. And that's okay.

2. I can meet super cool people online who can and may become some of my dearest friends IRL.
This is a big one for me. I would have never ever thought this could be true one year ago today. Meeting friends online? Oh, that's for desperate people. That's probably what I would have said about the subject one short year ago today. I remember making my first phone call to a bloggy friend and it wasn't weird. at. all. Or desperate. It was completely natural and the beginning of a real friendship.

It's hard to describe the phenomenon that is meeting a friend online through blogging but it happens. And it can be the real deal. And it's happened to me.

And the number one thing I've learned in my year on the bloggy planet is:

1. Trust in the vision.
I had an idea a year ago. Just an idea in its infancy. To create a space that would proclaim to all of the average moms like me that it's cool if you don't have a blog. That it's okay to admit you struggle. And maybe to carve out a little niche of like-minded women who battle with feelings of inadequacy and wonder if we're alone in it all.

I always wanted to have other women involved in this place and I had no idea some of the women would be my closest and oldest friends. And my friends have blown me away with their voices that I did not know they had when it came to the written word. Their stories are always raw and fresh to me and they remain unaffected by the rules of the blogosphere. I love their posts because they remind of what the best of blogging is to me - a place for creative expression and community.

As with most things in life, I've learned that it's so damn easy to get off track and let other voices and influences and insecurities and shiny things distract me from my vision and my intent. But creating this space has been an almost daily reminder for me to trust in the vision. Not only this vision but others that are within me. New ideas and goals and dreams that I plan on trying to chase. This blog has taught me to not be afraid of planting the seed of an idea even if I am not exactly sure where it's going. The path may curve out of sight for a while but I'm getting better at looking within and keeping my eye on the original vision and staying true to the goal.

It's been an awesome year here at Moms Without Blogs. Thank you for reading when you do and for being a part of a community that has become essential in my growth as a mother and a woman and a creative soul.

Our One-Year Anniversary EVE.....and Happy Columbus Day!

2009-10-12T09:15:00.000-07:00

....yep, tomorrow is the big day. One year ago tomorrow MWOB entered the blogosphere without a hint or a clue or a guess or an any ole' friggin' idea of what was to come.

And oh I am so much wiser now... or am I?

In any event, I'm taking today off from a regular post to spend some time contemplating and reflecting and pondering and thinking and deciding exactly how to celebrate this blogging milestone.

One year and we're far from belly up.

We're just hitting our stride.

So in honor of the big blogoversary, and in honor of Columbus Day (we're off school so who's reading blogs today anyway,) and in honor of all you adventurers and discoverers and pioneers, we're enjoying the day off today!

But we'll see you tomorrow for a special Tuesday post.

Because we all have a dream - The Motherhood Muse

2009-10-09T08:30:00.000-07:00

Written by Lee

Sometimes people question me as to why I live in Los Angeles. "It's so crowded, it's so expensive, the freeways are ridiculous, the traffic is suffocating, the public school system is in dire straits, it's dangerous, there's no community...." and the list can go on and on.

But I know exactly why I live here. Because it's a city where most everyone you meet is on their way to somewhere. Not literally. Not in physical space. But in their minds and hearts and souls. They are on their way to achieving the dream.

It's a city robust with a population in transition, searching for opportunity, hanging out on the golden sand with the palm trees swaying overhead and reaching for the stars.

There's an energy here that can not be denied. And I like bumping into people bursting with ideas and doing what they can to make those ideas a reality. This energy feeds me.

So today, I am letting the readers of MWOB know of an affiliate of ours who is in the process of bringing an idea to life. I completely and utterly support anyone who is making concrete steps to realize their dreams 'cause for me, it's one of the reasons we're on the planet.

Kimberly from Zook, Book, Nook is launching an online literary magazine for mothers called:

Kimberly is an avid reader and writer and nature lover and mother of two young girls (her second was just born in June!) and this idea came to her this past summer and it is already becoming a reality. The Motherhood Muse will be a place for mothers to convene and stretch their literary muscles as they explore the essential relationship between motherhood and nature.

I know for me that I dig nature like crazy. But I also don't get out into it nearly enough. Kimberly has some ideas on how to get me back to the dirt by myself or with my kids so nature is not just a distant ideal but a reality interwoven into my daily existence.

Part of her mission statement reads:

"This site will help mother writers find freedom, creativity, and privacy in nature, which will encourage our children to play where the wild things are."

Sounds kinda awesome to me.

So I encourage you to go check out The Motherhood Muse and cruise around and see what she's got brewing. There are plenty of opportunities to get involved, to extend your community of women writers and mothers, and to support another creative soul who is reaching for her stars.

Have a great weekend my friends....

Death and Life and Flying Little Boys

2009-10-07T07:00:00.000-07:00

Written by Lee

He wasn’t my uncle by blood. But it doesn’t matter. He was family. He is the brother of my step-mother-in-law. Is there such a title? She’s been with my father-in-law for over seven years. And she has a brother. And his name is Bill.

When I first met Bill it was like meeting someone I’d known forever. He reminded me of my Polish relatives from Chicago. Open arms and an open heart and feet planted firmly on the ground. A ground that was familiar to me. There was an instant comfort when I met him. And so it began. Family. In the best sense of the word.

This past Saturday, it was my dude’s birthday and in the middle of a mellow evening of kids and ice cream scoops in plastic party dishes with candles burning, we got a phone call.

Bill was gone. He was brain dead, my father-in-law told us. He had been in a motorcycle accident.

No one knows the details of the accident but Bill was alone when it happened. Having just finished a weekly ride with his Harley bike group, he was headed home to his wife, another soul I adore and don’t seen enough of. It was some mystery of an accident where a state trooper found him on the side of the road with his motorcycle 75 feet away from him. Hours earlier he was riding with the wind blowing against his face invigorating his soul and then - he was gone.

After everyone had done all that could be done in a situation as grave as this, Bill passed away in the middle of the night as the sun shone on another part of the world.

I woke up Sunday to the official news of his death and I’ve been feeling sunk. Like I'm living with a blanket over my head. And a surge of feelings swirl within my being and I’m stuck on how abruptly life can leave us. Like a moment in time with happy thoughts in your head and love in your heart and things to look forward to and then…. what? Where?

You know. All of the stuff that you think about if you allow yourself to think about it. Death. And life. And the space where the two meet.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••
I put on my running shoes and grabbed my iPod and left to clear my brain on Sunday afternoon. I cranked the volume up loud, too loud, in my ears and as my feet pounded the pavement and my heart sped up and the tunes played, the tears welled.

“Funny the way it is, if you think about it
Somebody’s going hungry and someone else is eating out
Funny the way it is, not right or wrong
Somebody’s heart is broken and it becomes your favorite song”
- Dave Matthews Band

And the instruments welled with my tears and the words spoke to me and I crunched hard on the thought of “Hell yeah, funny the way it is…..”

Funny the way it is…..

How life can throw you such juxtapositions…like my kids doing a funny dance for a video camera on Sunday afternoon oblivious to the pain that so many were now feeling that Bill was gone. Lives altered. Plans instantly changed. The world felt different just knowing that Bill wasn’t walking on the planet anymore.

But all my kids wanted to do was ride their bikes.

“Funny the way it is, if you think about it
One kid walks 10 miles to school, another’s dropping out
Funny the way it is, not right or wrong
On a soldier’s last breath his baby’s being born”

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Boy, their clothes look colorful, I thought. Bright pinks and deep purples and why does it seem like they’ve always coordinated their outfits even though there is nothing the same in each of their own eclectic ensembles?

Hairbands and homemade necklaces, tights under skirts, winter gloves and bike helmets, a orange dress over a pair of brown and pink patterned pants, freckles, rosy cheeks, wide eyes, and wider smiles.

I sat on the grass alone with their bikes by my side and watched as they ran over to the playground and started climbing. My girls were the most vibrant pictures of life right then and there. In that whole park. Climbing together over a netted bridge, talking and laughing and is anyone else as blinded by their light as I am? Does anyone else see it? How come no one else in the park seems to notice these fluid, alive, colorful, bubbles of love and light climbing over the monkey bars?

And those life feelings within me surge and my heart swells and the tears well and how can this be? Life is so big and it beats huge within my chest and inside I am filled with a million, zillion thoughts and feelings that define just one life. Just one life. Mine. All of this swirling stuff inside is just. me.

Bill had all of that swirling inside of him too. His. And only his. And I am thankful for the time that my life crossed his. In the grand scheme of things, it wasn’t that long. But it was enough. For him to have a real impact on me. He was an exceptional soul.

And then in a flash of color, those pink and purple creatures of light are running toward the tire swing.

And my sorrow is mixed with boundless joy.

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It was in August when I left our week-long extended family vacation on the lake leaving my man and my kids behind as I drove back home to perform in that show I was in. And Bill was with me. We had quite an adventure on our trip down the mountain as I drove him to the airport to catch a flight home. For the first time in my life, I had a tire blow out on me on the freeway and Bill was right there.

It was freaky pulling over onto the shoulder in the middle of the insanely busy I-10 West and waiting there for 45 minutes for help. I told Bill over and over again after the ordeal, “Thank God Bill. Thank GOD you were here. I would have totally freaked if I had been alone.” And that was the truth.

Bill, in his calm and assuring and understated way, did all of the things you are supposed to do when you have a tire blow out forcing you to sit on the shoulder of a busy freeway with big semis looking like they are headed right for you. Bill popped the trunk, set out the orange emergency thing that I guess all trunks have? and started working on changing the tire. I kept yelling through the traffic noise, “Bill, why don’t we just wait for AAA? And “Is there anything I can do Bill except stand here and freak out and pray that something bad does not happen?”

He was cool and calm and collected and I was nervous and scared and useless.

A broken jack and 45 minutes later, AAA arrived and set us up to get back on the road. Within the safety of a driving vehicle again, I laughed and said over and over “Thank God for you Bill. Wow. I am so glad I wasn’t alone.”

I hugged him goodbye at the airport 30 minutes later never thinking for one second I wouldn’t see him again.
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I just couldn’t get out of my damn pajamas today. It was noon and I was still sitting under that figurative blanket and I just couldn’t get excited about anything. I was motivated for nothing. Which is weird for me.

Staring at the muddy paw prints of three dogs drying on my bamboo floors and catching a glimpse of those orange ice-cream sticky hand prints that have been on our back glass doors for a week now – I could do nothing but stare some more.

This isn’t normal for me. I am known to keep myself busy with a never-ending to-do list that can pop out of my brain at any time of the day or night calling me to action but today – nothing.

Just life. Inside our home. With the sun shining brightly outside and the Southern California fall air with a hint of crisp calling me out to play but I stayed inside. In pajamas. With my Tommy boy. My two-year-old devil of love and carnage. Swinging a stuffed USC baseball bat around the house at anything that moves or doesn’t. Boys, I thought. How different than my girls. Swinging a bat and growling.

I put on some tunes, walked into my girls’ bedroom with a basket of clean laundry, dumped it on the floor and started folding. It was motion at least. That felt good.

And as I folded and the minutes passed and the music played, I looked up to the bed to see my heart boy playing with his “bat tub” and his “cage.” Oblivious to my gaze, he played. A joyful play filled with bursting imagination and wonder and just two-year-oldness.

And I stared at him. And the tears started to well. And I grabbed my camera.

I felt life swirling around in the space of that room – in the space that binds us all really. Whether we are breathing or not – or whether we can be seen or not – the life we live and lived is one in the same.

And I peeked out from under my little blanket and smiled.
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Uncle Bill, we love you and we will miss you.

Lake Arrowhead, California - August 2009

On Moms and Marijuana: Am I the only naive mama in this joint?

2009-10-05T06:00:00.000-07:00

Written by Em

If you're a visitor to my home base, you know that I like to throw out a topic and see where it lands. I really dig audience participation versus preaching to the choir, so when I heard a new term last week - "Stiletto Stoners" (major kudos to the Marie Claire copy editor who came up with that catchy title) - I was intrigued, and curious if other moms would be as well.

It seems that there is a "new" (more likely "newly publicized") movement within the young up-and-comers to find relaxation via herbal means instead of the once popular Cosmo. Turns out, those nasty little Carrie Bradshaw-endorsed cocktails are expensive and loaded with empty calories. Two things that the uber successful single women of today abhor.

Can't blame them really. According to the article, just $50/month can support their nightly habit of unwinding with a bong hit or three, with the added benefit of getting all deep and stuff. That same $50 would barely cover one night of bar hopping, and with that you might only get stale conversation with the old guy in the club.

All, OK most, judgment aside for the women who agreed to be interviewed (does the term "Yuppie" need a reboot?), it got me thinking about my usual two-three glasses of wine per week to "unwind." We all joke about it (bloggers in general) - some of my favorite sites have their drink of choice right in their address, not to mention an alcohol shout out in my very own profile, but are there readers who judge our mothering skills based upon our blowing-off-some-steam vice of choice?

Do they have a point? Do I really care?

Is there a Mary Jane mommy blogger circle out there with names like "tokesandtoddlers" or "mamaneedssomepotandimnottalkingpans?" There are places in the world, some right here in the States (shout out to Alaska), where limited recreational marijuana use is legal - but is it something most moms would admit to doing?

If you get a chance, check the comments section of the article - some moms did just that. Interesting. And for me, somewhat convincing of the benefits.

I've only had one experience, and it wasn't pleasant - unintentional consumption via second-hand smoke at the tender age of 15 during a Genesis Invisible Touch concert. I couldn't taste or smell a damn thing for three days. That lesson was burned onto my senses, and I doubt I could partake of the wacky tobaccy by choice today. But if I knew a mom who responsibly lit up, would I have an issue?

The fact is, I probably already do, and no, I don't have a problem with it.

I hear there's a little bill in Washington that needs some serious funding. Hmmm? Maybe it's time to discuss legalizing for some tax benefits. Then again, you take away a massive amount of money from a couple of rather powerful cartels (and no I'm not talking about Big Pharm or the insurance companies), what new contraband will fill the void? Not like those guys will just give up and get a desk job.

So how 'bout it, anyone in your circle partake? Any "friends?" Do you find the whole discussion ridiculous? Tasteless? Baseless?

Since we're dealing with a rather touchy, oh and illegal subject, Anonymous comments are welcomed.

Just keep it nice.

(Extra credit: There's a current Texas Monthly article, "Texas High Ways," that does a pretty good job championing the legal consumption of marijuana. Fascinating historical information as well. Give it a read if you have the chance - I'm thinking this topic will surface a lot during the upcoming 2010 Texas gubernatorial election. Our border violence is a major concern that needs to be addressed. We shall see.)

Affiliate Friday: Heather of the EO on Being a Mama and Recreating the Dream

2009-10-02T07:00:00.000-07:00

Happy Friday!

And it's a happy one indeed.... I am super psyched to kick-off MWOB's brand new feature called "Affiliate Friday" where we feature a blogger who is a devoted affiliate of Moms without Blogs and who supports our mission out here in the blogosphere. We're a virtual community of kindred spirits and in an effort to actually get to know each other a little more, "Affiliate Friday" was born.

Today's first affiliate voice comes from a woman and writer I simply adore. I totally remember when I first read her a few months after I started blogging and I thought "Wow, how come it took me this long to find her?" There is beauty in her writing, and the heart that is always interwoven in her words resonate so deeply within me that when I met her in July at BlogHer '09, I felt like she was an old friend the moment I first met her.

She's the real deal.

Which is all that really matters to me. Being real. I hope if you don't already read her, you will start doing so right after you read her today.

And so here's Heather of The Extraordinary Ordinary - aka Heather of the EO.

The Foundation of a Dream
by Heather of the EO

I'm starting to think there can be more of an ease to my life, coming from a place of contentment. I've never been that good at content, but I'm learning there's an acceptance and perspective that can free my mind of a whole lot of clutter that weighs me down.

This is probably something more seasoned Mamas have known a long time. I'm a bit of a slow learner, so bear with me.

I'm starting to realize that maybe nothing I once thought I needed has to happen in order for me to be content. I'm letting the truth fall fresh on my ears. You are a mother. It's enough. It's huge. It's everything you think you want and more.

I do love being a mother, more than I ever imagined I would. I've been thinking I should let myself really fall into it, to allow myself to change in the biggest way...learning to fully find joy in the selflessness of motherhood. There is joy there. Moving slowly from habits that are focused on serving myself to habits that are more focused on others is a beautiful thing. It took motherhood to start that movement in my life.

There's been a part of me that's been hesitating, trying to grasp at other things, other freedoms, thinking about what I want out of life and worrying that I might be letting something amazing pass me by...writing, traveling, changing lives, making a difference, maybe even famously! I've been trying to figure out how I can do the mom gig and so much more at the same time.

But ever so slowly, a change has been happening in me. As I've taken tiny steps at adjusting to motherhood, I've learned that it's not just a season to weather. It's not just something that covers my path for a time and then clears away and frees me to get back to me.

Motherhood is me. I'm Mom. I don't have to run from that, terrified that I might lose myself. I have been found here. And if other beautiful things fall in my path as I travel this road, that's just icing on the cake. I won't stop allowing other things to fill our lives, but I don't want to be so desperate to make sure I'm not ordinary.

I'm on a journey that has turned me upside-down and inside out. Having babies didn't mean I created a cookie-cutter existence for myself, one that looks the same as all the other families on my street, in my neighborhood, or in our city. We have our own story here, and it holds all the joy and excitement I've been looking for. I knew this, but I didn't really know this, not to the very core of who I am. I was secretly harboring a strange tension, a fight to continue to focus more on myself and anything I might be missing.

Because on this motherhood path I will travel and write, I will change lives and I will make a difference.

If I don't truly see motherhood for what it is, I have lost the chance to show up for my own life.

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Notes on Heather:

The above post is one from her archives that I simply adore because wow. Those are my thoughts written way more eloquently than I could ever even think them. After much back and forth about a topic for her guest appearance, these were the words that found their way here today.

And here is a picture taken probably one hour after we met on the first night at BlogHer in July. Just so you can put a happy face with those beautiful words.

Deb, Lee, and Heather

Perfect Moms, Walking Clichés, and Wal-Mart

2009-09-30T05:00:00.000-07:00

Happy Wednesday MWOB readers!

Today, we are introducing a new voice who contacted me because of our "Join MWOB" tab where I encourage moms without blogs to let me know if they want to write. Even though in the blogosphere it seems EVERY MOM has a blog, Amanda is one of the zillion moms who don't. But she writes. And she has a voice yearning to be heard like the rest of us. She's also a mom of four and a student so she doesn't really have the time to sustain her own blog - for now.

I am thrilled to introduce Amanda writing her first post for MWOB. Thanks for reading her and supporting our mission.

Written by Amanda, a mom without a blog

I am not a perfect mother.

I do pride myself on living a full and interesting life and my kids seem to appreciate it. Having said that, I must admit that I am prone to rambling soapbox speeches about the materialistic and corrupt lifestyle that is modern America. I loathe the feeling of spending a Sunday afternoon in "Babylon" buying crap I don't need and ingesting empty calories masquerading as food. That is why I refuse to indulge in any aforementioned activities whenever possible. I am guilty of people-watching, passing judgment and also contributing to and reinforcing stereotypes (much to my dismay).

I live in the epicenter of two corporate world headquarters (Wal-Mart and Tyson). Here in NW Arkansas we are in a pocket of financial stability and low unemployment rates due to these companies plus the University. Although I must indirectly benefit from this I do not condone many of the big corporate practices. I am of the entitled persuasion that can don a Che t-shirt like the rest of 'em and boycott Wal-Mart all year long - until we need organic raisins. The local organic food co-op thinks that the very same package should cost $3 more!!!

I don't set foot in Wal-Mart for ideological and energetic reasons. Clearly, I purchase a Smart Chicken if I need one. My family eats quinoa and millet, we raise some livestock, vote Democratic or Independent, heat only with a fireplace and cool without A/C. (Ask me about 98* and 98% humidity sometime) We do not drive Suburbans. We do not-repeat- Do.Not.Feed.The.Baby.Fast-Food!!!

Until I found myself in the throngs of a PMS craving for salty fried chicken (never mind that my PSYCH I course just went over the very real possibility that PMS is highly over reported and possibly not based in science). It was Thursday at 2:30 pm, way past lunch for a hypoglycemic nursing mom. On the verge of a killer migraine, I even ordered a Dr.Pepper for caffeine, something I gave up years ago and only indulge in on occasion. Much to my chagrin, I have reached that age where I have one failing organ to fixate on. Gallbladder related topics are heavily googled at my house. But, I was all "gallbladder be damned" and ordered myself and my two-year-old (gasp) a meal. What a hypocrite I am! Leaving the house without snacks for the baby (besides my boobs).

Who did I think I was kidding? I am as mainstream and unhealthy as the next guy and I'm over here feeding it to my little child. The "imaginary" PMS crept over me like a stealth fog and I was assaulted with guilt and melancholia. Holding back tears, I pull up to the window and retrieve my order. "She's never had fast-food before, y'all"! -Dude says "at least it's the best".

Agreed.

Then I am reminded by the beeping cellphone about soccer practice for the older kids. I am responsible for not only hypocrisy but overpopulation- Geesh! So, I'm off to caravan kids like a "good soccer mom" wondering all the while if I really am a walking cliché.

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About Amanda

Greetings from the Ozarks!
I am a mom without a blog who has 4 kids ranging in age from 22 months to 14 years old. My oldest are twins and not only are they amazingly agreeable (my fingers are crossed) but they are also still somehow boyfriend and cell phone-free girls who help with dinner and laundry. My middle child is the consummate middle child and is a real button pusher; she is a competing champion gymnast who loves being the center of attention. My youngest daughter is a real ham and will surely need to be some kind of rock star in order to get all her attention needs met. She is surrounded by big sisters who dote on her and teach her bad tricks. She is highly verbal and recently asked the grocery store cashier "Where's my yogurt, lady"?

I look forward to contributing to the hilarious, touching and insightful posts on MWOB, they are a great break from farm chores (we are raising 20 sheep) and college (I am trying to finish my Education degree). I can't wait to express my mommy concerns in this supportive atmosphere.

A Weekend of A Marine Layer Fog of Mothering with One Breakthrough of A Clear Sunny State of Mind

2009-09-28T05:00:00.000-07:00

Written by Lee

I realize that I spend too much of my mothering days in a haze. A brain fog. A preoccupied state of mind with zillions of lists and to-dos racing through my head. A step away. An inability to live in the moment. With a look in my eyes and a smile on my face that may seem a tad distant.

Am I here?

Can anyone really grasp me as I fluctuate between guiding and ordering and forcing and bribing and smiling and yelling and crying and folding and cleaning and moving? Always moving.

There's no stillness in this gig of motherhood. Except maybe, just maybe, in the middle of a dark night when I'm sitting in my rocker with my 2-year-old dude in my lap while the moonlight streams in around the edges of the shades. And the slow creak of the rocker that has glided and rocked all of my babies for the last seven years seeps into my thick skull and lulls me into the moment. Finally.

Finally.

Maybe that's why I'm still waking up at least once a night with one of my kids. And deep down maybe I'm not that bummed about it. I'm okay with three-thirty AM. Only there is where I find the stillness and when I feel the quiet.

Moments of this weekend challenged my mama soul to the core. Defiance. Disobedience. Irreverence. Attitude. Sending me into my worst state of mamadom. That blood-boiling point where I feel raw with every nerve exposed and any minor thing makes my voice sound like a shriek no matter what I say. A squeal of laughter only sounds like a scream. Each voice yelling "MAAAAA.....MAAAAAA" sends me into a tirade. The stuff left to do crushes me and I stand pissed off at the kitchen sink mumbling under my breath about how damn annoying this mama gig can be.

And the haze thickens. That marine layer fog in my brain drifts in and hovers. And I am gone.

Am I here?

But as the weekend winds to a close and my three spirited souls are now simply my sleeping beauties and my boiling blood has started to simmer down and I'm able to take a few deep breaths and the tightness in my heart relaxes and the good vibes start to circulate once again, my mind decides to go to the sunniest part of our time together where clarity and calm and fun and love and just us broke through the haze and warmed my soul.....

A couple hours spent on the sidewalk with our hearts and eyes wide open and clearly able to see the stuff that truly sustains us through the blurry times.

Here's a glimpse of that sunny sky time. Phoebe's first day riding her bike SANS training wheels. Taken with our new gadget of a video camera that my gadget-obsessed husband bought for us.

Here's to sunny skies!!!!

Full Metal Jacket

2009-09-25T04:45:00.000-07:00

written by Deb

I had an awful feeling before I heard the first bullet fire. Maybe it was the helicopter hovering ominously overhead. Or perhaps it was the lifeless bodies strewn haphazardly on the empty village street. Then suddenly, as the second and third shots rang out, I saw him fall to the ground. The pleading screams and guttural moans began.

"Really? REALLY?! Is it that big of a deal?" I asked, as my son slumped in his chair, letting the video game control drop from his hands. Such a scene, you would have thought he had actually been shot, rather than his macho little character that he had so lovingly created over time to meet exact, true-to-life specifications.

"YES! I was trying to earn an AK-47!!"

"How do you do that?" Did I really want to know the answer?

"By winning the battle and getting 3 close-range kills," he explained.

I couldn't believe what I heard next, coming from my own mouth! "Oh honey, don't worry, I'm sure you'll kill them all next time. Maybe try the bazooka... Or you could even impale them with your bayonet. Remember how excited you were when you earned the bayonet?"

I could see his mood begin to lift. "Yeah, I'll try again later. Do you want to play?"

"Me? But I don't know what to do!" I hesitated.

"C'mon, Mom, it's easy. You just shoot people." I am fairly certain he rolled his eyes.

"Okay, but you can't laugh!" I took the control and kind of punched at the buttons, hoping to miraculously live for longer than 2 seconds. "OH! I think I got that guy!" I exclaimed. I was so proud of myself and felt invigorated by my obviously natural talent to kill. Right as I was aiming at my second victim, out of nowhere, I was mauled by a rabid wild dog. "Ughhhhhhh... I was so close!!!"

"It's alright, Mom. You did okay," he said as he patted me on the shoulder.

Before he took the control back, he leaned over to snuggle with our dog that had been napping at his feet during this whole scene. He kissed the top of her head and jumped back into the game...

Oh, and as I left the room, he must have been too wrapped up in the game to realize what he was saying...

"Love you, Madre."

"I love you, too, sweet boy. Thanks for letting me play."

I know some of you might call me a bad mother, perpetuating violence at best... creating a monster for the next generation, at worst.

Me? I just call it quality time and count my blessings. By morning, we will have fought over homework, breakfast, and whether or not he had actually washed his hair. So to me, a shared defeat in the jungles of Saigon is simply paradise.

Mother's Little Helpers: A Story of Panic Attacks, Loneliness and Drugs

2009-09-23T05:00:00.000-07:00

Okay. I love my friend Karen. For so many reasons. And after reading this post, I love her even more. For always telling like it is and for being so willing to share her struggle and her soul in this space. I hope you take the time to read her post.

Written by Karen, a mom without a blog

What’s a mom to do when she can’t help herself?

It was one of the worst pains I think I’ve ever felt, save for childbirth. It was this searing, clenching, doubled-over kind of pain. It squeezed my heart and absolutely took my breath away. Unfortunately, it wasn’t the first time I felt this, so I knew exactly what to do…

I took a quick second to collect myself, calm my breathing, and lay down on the couch. I forced myself to think peaceful thoughts. But not for too long, just enough for the pain to subside, then I was up and continuing with my day.

No calls to 911, no trips to the ER, not even any panicked text messages to my husband. Because it would pass, just like the hundreds of other times it had happened. I knew I was back to square one with this beast I couldn’t shake…anxiety.

This was March 2008.

I finally came to terms with the inevitable – I needed help. I couldn’t cope with every day life with this kind of pain constantly coming out of nowhere. It was becoming a daily occurrence. I finally went to see my primary doctor for the first time since I moved to Utah in 2001. I told him my symptoms and described my history. His question? Why did I wait so long for help?

Good question.

I was treated for these same symptoms about a year after moving to Utah. Back then, my husband and I thought doctors were going to find something terribly wrong with my heart and that my death could be imminent. So really, we felt a lot of relief when it was diagnosed that my chest pain was from panic attacks! It took a while for me to start to obsess on why I could possibly be suffering from a mental illness for the first time in my life – a mom now, a 35-yr-old responsible for children on a daily basis, why was this happening to me? I didn’t understand it and I couldn’t control it – which terrified me.

A myriad of issues contributed, one of the biggest being major changes in my life – I left my career in television production in Los Angeles to move to Utah. I took a small research job that I could do from home in my newly minted basement office. (I don’t really recommend basement home offices… unless you are ultra organized and are able to provide yourself with nice background music, plenty of plants and peace-inducing zen objects strewn about).

I was NOT organized (we still had many unpacked boxes piled here and there) and I didn’t have the foresight to look after my mental health while stuck in the basement by myself in the winter in Utah. Can you say LONELY?

Anyway, this very nice physician’s assistant prescribed the drug Effexor and revealed to me that there were large percentages of women in Utah being treated for anxiety and depression – more than almost any other state per capita! Now, I never did do the research to confirm this statement, but it made me feel a little scared rather than comforted. Where was I living that all these women were needing drugs to get by? This didn’t help my situation. But miraculously enough the drugs did!

It was hard for me to admit that I was taking a mood-enhancing drug, let alone that it made a difference. I didn’t tell very many folks about it. Of course, I didn’t have any friends or family in Utah, so who was I going to tell anyway?

After about 4-5 months on Effexor, I become pregnant (not planned, of course). I decided to go off of the drug ASAP and weaned way too fast. I couldn’t believe the mind trip I went on while weaning off this drug. It truly feels like you could be undergoing some kind of shock treatment. I called it “brain zaps” – heinous, really. It made me decide NEVER to go on anything like this again.

Fast forward to Winter 2007.

I was in the 3rd winter of being a mom of a child with special respiratory needs - basically house-bound for several months to keep her exposure to germs down. It had been two years since I worked. My life consisted of my husband, my children, my pets and the confines of my 2300 sq. ft. home and the inside of my mom taxi, I mean mini-van. For some reason, the joy in having my sweet miracle daughter with us could not overcome this heavy feeling in my chest. I tried more “dates” with girlfriends (I had a few friends by then, thank God), more exercise, more “me” time – but I couldn’t seem to expel the pain.

I felt like such a failure as I scheduled my doctor’s appointment last spring. That’s what took me so long - I just wanted to try to help myself first. I sucked at it. It pissed me off that I couldn’t fix this – I always was someone who prided myself in my ability to help my friends in need and come up with solutions on the spot. I found no solutions for myself.

In April 2008, I started on Celexa. Within a month, I started feeling better. By 2-3 months later, I hardly had any attacks. And by the end of summer 2008, I was chest pain free! My doc made me commit to the drug for a year, especially over the winter, as this was my trouble spot the year before. I decided to let go and trust his treatment plan. It was worth it to help me shift focus from pain back to what really matters – a quality life with my family.

So here I am. I am looking at my LAST bottle of Celexa. Hopefully. I could get a new prescription, but I feel like I’m ready to be done. I’m ready to take this on myself. I’ve been SLOWLY weaning myself off for about a month. I’ve suffered a few minor “brain zaps” but nothing to temper my resolve to be drug free.

How is it going?

Well, I feel surprisingly good overall. I have to admit, I’ve experienced a couple chest-tightening moments in the past few weeks and that scares me a bit. But I still want to stick with the wean.

Please don’t think I’m discrediting the need for drugs like these in my life or in other people’s lives by saying I can simply quit taking them. I know it is not that simple. Drugs like Celexa work for countless people in our stressed-filled universe, and I would never judge someone’s need for them.

They absolutely worked for me when I couldn’t help myself. My family and I benefited LARGELY from the addition of Celexa to my life. It gave me the leg-up I needed to put me back where I am supposed to be… in the moment with my kids with a grateful and peaceful heart.

But that said, I’d like to try to get back to being me without the assistance of a drug. I truly don’t know if I will succeed. I just want to give it a try. Emphasis on the “TRY.”

I’ll have to keep you posted.

Especially as another long winter is around the corner…

How to Stop Your Kid from Sucking a Pacifier, Sucking a Bottle, Sucking a Thumb, Sucking on your Boob, etc. etc. etc.

2009-09-21T04:00:00.000-07:00

Written by Lee

So yes. I was scared as hell to become a mother.

But despite my deep-seeded fear that God did not cut me out of mother-making material, I couldn't quite embrace the loads of parenting books that new mamas sometimes like to sink their insecure teeth into. All the words I read as I tried to at least make it through the good ol' standards "What to Expect When You're Expecting" and "What to Expect the First Year" were just that....words. Words that were just not doing the trick for me. Words that were not sinking in. Words that just kept bouncing off my brain and back onto the page. I'm sure there were plenty of good words in there somewhere. These words were simply not resonating within me.

And even though I am the first person to admit my weaknesses as a mama (hell, the whole reason this blog was created was because of my struggles in the mothering arena) I think that turning away from parenting books in general was actually an early sign of the kind of mother I was going to be. And it reflects what I believe to be one of my greatest strengths as a person and it has ultimately saved my ass on this journey of mothering.

And that strength is the ability to listen to and to trust my inner voice. Me. My gut.

And in the upside-down whirldom of motherhood, the gut is pretty damn powerful. And it's the one thing I think that's gotten buried in the midst of modern mama information overload. And that's not to say that there is not some extremely worthwhile and essential information out there. Sure there is. There's simply too much of it.

So my defense to information overload is to block out the chatter and look within. The answer usually lies there. For me. And for my kids.

And isn't that all that really matters?

Claire, my oldest, loved her pacifier deep and true. And as she got older, her "paci" needs grew. From one to three. One for the mouth, one to hold under her nose to uh, smell, and one to hold in one hand and squeeze between her fingers. By the time she was two-years-old, she needed ALL of them to put her to sleep. And holy shit, you can imagine the chaos that ensued if for some reason, one of the three was missing.

By the time Claire hit three, many of my friends around me with kids the same age were starting the "pacifier removal" process. And some friends who had older kids would tell me what they did to get rid of the pacifier so to help Claire and I in our sure-to-be painful journey of pacifier riddance. I observed, and listened, but in my gut, I heard, "What's the big deal? She surely won't be sucking a pacifier forever."

So I let it go. I let the pacifier trinity that was Claire's soothing system reign. And I didn't worry about it.

And one day when Claire was a little over 5-years-old, I brought her pacifiers to her at bedtime like I had done a thousand times before and she said simply "I don't need them anymore. I'm done."

And she was.

And I left the room with her pacifiers in my hand and I cried. 'Cause it happened so damn fast. It was over.

A topic that had literally consumed friends of mine and one that will consume many more mothers I am sure. Gone. In a flash. With no warning. No signs. She was bigger all of a sudden. And she knew it was time.

And I'm not saying I'm a hero for letting it all happen that way. I'm just saying that I think we need to remember that listening to our guts and not to everyone else who surely has a reason why MY kid needs to stop sucking her pacifiers.

I think I am most successful as a mother when I listen to my inner voice and let go. And usually what happens next is what's supposed to happen. The organic path. I truly believe that.

It's all of the plotting and stomping and and tricking and battling and reasoning and talking and pleading and bargaining and negotiating that I think is nuts. Especially when it comes to emotional matters for kids. Like sucking things. That sucking stuff is personal. It's intimate. It's comforting. It's expression. It's need.

I know there will be plenty of people who might very well make all kinds of arguments as to why I'm crazy for letting this sucking stuff take its natural course. And I welcome those arguments of course. I simply would like to present this as food for thought...

... "We're over-thinking it."

Being a mother has been the most single most surprising experience of my life and it never stops with its shock value. In many ways, I am the kind of mother I never thought I would be. Like I'm a mother of a 25-month-old little dude who is not too interested in stopping nursing. I never thought I would be "that mom." But I am. And I'm listening to my gut on this one too.

One day sometime soon, sooner than I would like, he will tell me in his own way that he doesn't need it anymore. He's done.

And despite the people around me who I'm sure have their own thoughts about my nursing a 2-year-old, I will probably cry when it's over. 'Cause it will all have ended so. damn. fast.

So how do you stop a kid from sucking the stuff he or she loves and craves to suck on? I say, in most instances, let it go. The sucking is gonna stop. It really will. That's what my gut tells me. And it hasn't let me down so far.

The Art of Letting Go

2009-09-18T04:00:00.000-07:00

Written by Amy, a mom without a blog

It is an art and it happens to be one with which I struggle. A lot.

My husband has had a life’s dream of owning a motorcycle and he has just realized this dream. Yes ... he is the proud owner of a new motorcycle.

I am not supportive of this decision and I just can’t hide my non-support (as hard as I may try).

In one weekend, I went through so many emotions and self-talk, I was beginning to think I might have a mild case of Schizophrenia. What I was thinking and what I was actually saying to my husband were polar opposites.

First off, let’s just get the safety topic crossed off the list. I know many of you are thinking “NO – it’s not safe – he’s a dad – what is he thinking?” For whatever reason I really can’t explain, safety is not one of my issues. I don’t know why. It just isn’t. If it were, then I think I might have a leg to stand on. But really, I have faith. I trust him and I just can’t climb aboard the “motorcycles aren’t safe" soapbox.

So what are my issues? That’s where I run into a problem.

My issues are irrational (in my mind). I would never, ever spend money on an extravagant toy like that. I wouldn’t. I’m conservative and I like to save and to me the motorcycle represents a big, giant toy. That for me is the core issue. I can't get past it. It represents a big, giant toy for an adult man. I can not relate AT ALL.

But I am arguing with myself for many reasons …

Firstly, he works incredibly hard and makes incredible money. I have had the luxury of staying home ever since my babies were born and I am so grateful for this every single day. He supports our family and gives his entire life to supporting us. Shouldn’t that earn him a toy or two along life’s journey?

Secondly, if the tables were turned and I wanted anything at all in this world, I know to the depths of my soul my husband would support me unequivocally and encourage me. Especially if I was pursuing a life’s dream – especially that. Why can't I do the same for him? Why?

Even when I try - the resentment, the bitchiness, the mean side of me leaks out. I am behaving the exact opposite of how I want to behave. When it seemed buying the motorcycle was about to become a reality, I wanted so much to be excited for him. To ask him what color motorcycle he wanted. To ask him about an upcoming trip up the coast of California he’s been dreaming about. Support. A little encouragement. That’s all he wanted from me and I couldn’t give it to him.

I was trying to control him into behaving how I think he should behave and in my ripe old age, I should know by now that it’s impossible to control another person. Just ask any parent. Impossible.

So, why this need for control? I’m not really sure. I just know that my mind and my life would be a much calmer, peaceful, more blissful place, if I could improve on the art of just letting go.

Think less superior, more complex.

2009-09-16T03:00:00.000-07:00

Written by Em

I honestly do not know what I would do without "The Today Show."

I wouldn't know how to think about politics (shave please Chuck Todd), I wouldn't know if my parents were getting rain in Florida (although, 9 times out of 10 Al misses the mark), and I certainly wouldn't know that the majority of married women suffer from "Superior Wife Syndrome."

Yes, this is an actual book, by Carin Rubenstein - check it out yourself (after finishing here of course) at The Superior Wife Syndrome dot com.

In my parents' day, I believe the term was "Nag," or "Fishwife," or "Mrs. Olsen." The first time I clearly remember my father cursing was when he called one of my mom's friends a "Class A bitch."

Shock! (she totally was)

But evidently, today, treating your husband like the idiot you think he is, is considered a Syndrome.

Who knew? (Well, me, because I adore Matt "when is my contract up, again?" Lauer.)

Now, I have yet to read the book, and frankly, I probably never will. I'm not passing judgement. I visited the site and found some helpful information, but to be honest, it's not really applicable to me. I'm not tooting my own horn, I just watched my parents, and took notes.

To this day, my mother insists on loading the dishwasher "her way." So much so, that my father no longer bothers to try - sigh "I'll just get it all wrong." Oh yeah Dad, work. it.

WTH?

Hubs could lick our utensils clean, and I'd be happy. I'm not a chore snob - I'll take any help I can get. Unless he leaves freshly dried clothes in a mangled pile. Fire and brimstone will commence.

However, just to make sure I'm doing an OK job, I shouted the loaded question to Hubs - "Am I a Superior Wife, darling?"

Answer - "Of course! You're the best!" without a hint of sarcasm, mind you.

Now in his defense, he thought I meant "do I rock?" not "do I utilize my purse zipper pockets to keep your testicles nice and safe?"

I guess his answer was a good one in either case.

I have to admit though, I do suffer from a minor case of "Superior Mother Syndrome." And not the "I rock" kind either. I mean the "you-might-be-their-father-but-I-gave-them-life" kind.

For example: any given Saturday morning, unless there's an early soccer game, our routine involves a little man-on-man defense with the kids - Hubs in charge of Oldest. I get Youngest. I can't help it that Oldest likes to get up before 7. Did I mention Youngest might power through until 9?

Awesomeness.

He's like his Mama in so many ways, including his tendency to ease into his day if so allowed. I can hear him on the monitor, reading his books that I left on the edge of his bed or discovering that one Hot Wheels I hid under his pillow - give him 30 minutes, and he's a happier kid.

I know this, why? Because I'm his soulmate.

This habit actually makes Hubs antsy. He'll casually walk through the bedroom, me still snuggled under covers, Netbook in lap - "Did you hear him?"

"Yes, babe, give him a couple of minutes."

"Well, he might get mad."

"No, babe, he likes to have some quiet time."

"Well, I'm just saying...he's be chattering for a while."

This conversation usually ends up with a "fine!," and a flourish of sheets as I huff out of bed and stumble upstairs, only to be greeted with a grumpy "Not yet Mama!!"

I love coming down with my smug mug - see, I know him better.

I know it's not a healthy attitude, but it is one I find myself wearing on occasion - like during the dance that is getting everyone out the door in a good mood, or charming Oldest to start his homework, or negotiating with Youngest to finish his PKU formula.

I have the touch, because frankly, I'm lucky enough to be around them 24/7. And don't doubt it, there is a fine art to maneuvering kids into a car without one crying over something completely ridiculous.

Not that Hubs isn't an incredibly involved and wonderful father. He totally is. Yet, on those times when he does something completely out of the ordinary and the Boys totally embrace it, I feel somewhat on the outside - this is supposed to be my turf.

Then I just feel played - why don't they do that with me?!

I guess Mother Superior I am not. More like Sucker Extraordinaire.

Fine with me. I look horrible in black.