About this author:
Dawn Yun is the mother of The Writing Mamas, which was born in 2004 at the famed bookstore Book Passage in Corte Madera, Calif. Dawn wrote the best-selling guide, "The Joy of Outlet Shopping," was a writer on the book, "Never Pay Retail" and authored the book, "Calming Crafts: New Crafts to Inspire Your Creativity." She blogs for the San Francisco Chronicle's http://www.sfgate.com, under City Brights. She has written for "Family Fun," "USA Today," "USA Weekend," "the San Francisco Chronicle," "Wine-X," "Manhattan, Inc.," "BabyCenter" and other off-line and on-line publications. She has appeared on "Oprah," "Good Morning America," "CBS This Morning," "Lifetime," "Discovery," and "Fox News."
April 6th, 2010
Every day now for years I have packed a school lunch for my daughter.
I’ve struggled with making sure the food is healthy, varietal and yummy. Each day her lunchbox would come home with remnants of what I had so carefully and lovingly put together. She had a request: Could she get a hot meal from school, just like ALL of her friends did?
Hot lunches are pricey. While everything does have a cost, I thought this might actually be worth it. I could save money because I would be preserving my sanity. I looked over the printed monthly lunch menu. Why it was a cornucopia of treats, delights and no work on my part, save for writing a check. Continue… »
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February 23rd, 2010
My daughter loves to whine. When she does so she accompanies it with jerky body movements that some might think could be a new dance.
One shoulder slumps down, the other back, while her arms flail in front of her. This is accompanied by a chorus of, “I don’t want to. No. I don’t want to. No. I don’t want to. N-o-o-o-!”
Can you feel the beat? The girls got rhythm. And something else – an ability to drive me insane.
When my 8-year old is rockin’ out to her whines and throwing her body in all directions, it causes me to do the same only in an adult manner
“STOP. NOW. I DON’T WANT TO HEAR ANYMORE WHINING.”
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November 10th, 2009
I’ve had the crud for more than a month now. It’s become a way of life.
Headache. Tummy torment. Vomit. A valley of frogs in my throat that gives me a hint of what I might sound like if I were to undergo sexual reassignment surgery.
Miraculously it has not affected my husband. He is Superman fighting off illness in a single bound. Son Jay who was always claiming to have some exotic disease when he was younger has grown out of that stage. Now he prefers to go into extraordinary detail about medical diseases in all of their gross glory.
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October 21st, 2009
We are honored to have noted author and Bay Area resident Anne Lamott, one of the country’s most beloved observer’s of the human condition, perform at our acclaimed Mama Monologues on November 14th from 6-9pm at Church of Christ, Campbell Hall & Garden, in Sausalito, Calif. Continue… »
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September 17th, 2009
We sleep and wake at odd times: our tiredness, we discover, has many layers.
-Tony Cohan, On Mexican Time.
Lately I have been feeling like every day is at least two days long. And in that space of time, I am not quite sure what happens. I don’t even know how it happens. It’s as though time is actually dissolving before my grasping hands. I wish I could momentarily step out of the earth’s gravitational pull and somehow slip through the gap of a day: An entire 24 hours devoted to my renewal and to the tying up of loose ends. Unfortunately, life does not give time outs, and I am deep in the midst of a space I like to call “Mother Time.” Continue… »
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August 18th, 2009
Just as one can be drawn to another in an electric way, a piece of sculpture had that same effect on me. It was African modern consisting of a father, mother and child in a circle of dance. Tall and sturdy, the stone thousands of years old in a palette colored mustard, cumin, black, white and gray.
Though pricey, I had to have it. I collected large, abstract paintings. This was my first sculpture.
When art speaks to you then you need to answer its call. The piece represented what I wanted most: my own family. I wanted to fall in love with a wonderful man and have his children. Together, I would create a new family. Continue… »
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July 14th, 2009
Ah, there is nothing like your first.
Your first kiss, your first article or book published, your first baby.
The Writing Mamas just spawned their second child.
She is a different version of our original Website. Its father was generous and sweet Michael, it’s midwife Avvy Mar, I added copy, a bit of code, and the rest of the members of The Writing Mamas provided their own beloved photos.
It was a labor of love.
This second labor took even longer than the first, about a year and a half. There was bedrest, a broken foot, then later a foot operation for me, writing assignments, a thriving Web business for Dilyara Breyer, our incredible Web designer, and a thousand activities and screaming children on a daily basis. At least it seems like that many kids and that many screams. Or our we just seeing things? We can hardly see anymore so it makes sense that we can barely notice two fingers in front of us. (Hello? Is someone there?)
We hope you’ll enjoy the new look and feel of our new baby. Our child is yours. (Think you can watch her on Saturday night?) Please send us your comments, ideas, etc.
We’ll be adding more features as the baby grows. She’s just in a onesie right now. But we have lots of pretty clothing that she will grow into.
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July 2nd, 2009
Just back from a concert. A ROCK CONCERT!!!! The first one since my daughter was born nearly eight years ago.
This is sad.
I wanted to be happy.
So I invited a bunch of friends to hear The Motels and Berlin at the Marin County Fair. It was my daughter’s first concert. She spent the nearly 1 1/2 hour Motels’ set draped across me as we sat on chairs under a big tent asking if it would soon end. I still managed to sing along to “Only the Lonely,” and danced and wiggled underneath my splayed daughter.
Look when a mother has to rock, she’s gotta rock. I was still doing my mother thing, but also my own thing.
I needed it.
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June 29th, 2009
First there was shock, then came the thought, “Who will take care of his children?”
That was what went through my head when I heard that Michael Jackson had died.
I immediately thought of the woman who bore his first two children and hoped it would not be her. She was paid to be a surrogate, gave up her rights and from what I’ve read about her would rather raise horses than those kids.
According to several news reports she said something that she certainly did not have to share. Not now during such a painful time for his children. She said that Michael was not their biological parent.
He was their father. They knew him as Dad. Fortunately, the children are with his mother and his family. Hopefully their nanny, who has helped raise them for most of their lives, will continue in that role.
There is something else about the death of Michael Jackson that has bothered me. My own guilt and judgment about him in life and the almost saintly quality I’ve given him now that he is gone.
Death does that. Bad memories often give away to good, and they are what remain.
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June 24th, 2009
My best friend, Amy, is visiting.
This coincided perfectly with my daughter, Mimi, seven, getting out of school. The two have been inseparable. It’s such a joy to listen and watch them interact. Amy doesn’t have children so she takes her responsibility of being a godmother and Mimi’s favorite “aunt” very seriously.
That means some hard core silliness, tickles, playing with stuffed animals, and chasing each other. Mimi will affectionately lay her head on Amy’s chest, while her aunt holds her close.
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Just as one can be drawn to another in an electric way, a piece of sculpture had that same effect on me. It was African modern consisting of a father, mother and child in a circle of dance. Tall and sturdy, the stone thousands of years old in a palette colored mustard, cumin, black, white and gray.