Posts Tagged Under By Marianne Lonsdale
Sleep-Away Camp Awakens Mom
Day 5 of Nick’s 14 days at overnight summer camp. I miss my 12-year old terribly. The other parents were so excited when we waved good-bye to the busload of campers. Not me. I’m lethargic and can’t find my zest. I rummage around different stores looking for interesting cards to send him. I hit the jackpot when I find one with a cover from a Rumplestiltskin picture book. Nick’s favorite childhood story. I want to find enough energy to get some things done around the house while he’s gone. Can’t I at least be productive? The house is too quiet. I’m sad.
By Marianne LonsdaleOnce a BFF, Always a BFF
My friend Deb called me last October. I hadn’t seen her in about seven years. Our 35th high school reunion was coming up and she wondered if I’d want to go with her. I was thrilled to hear her voice although I’d been hurt and confused during the past several years, wondering why she’d let our friendship wither. I’d long considered her one of my closest friends, but calls and cards had gone unanswered for a few years before I’d stopped contacting her.
The high school reunion was a blast. Deb spent the weekend at my house. We gabbed for hours. She made no mention of her silence over the years and I’d decided beforehand that I would welcome her back, no questions asked. I honestly don’t think the years of silence were anything personal – probably more to do with living one-hundred miles away, raising two teenagers and finding time with a husband who worked long hours. I can’t say I felt no resentment but mostly I was glad to have her back.
By Marianne LonsdaleA Nursing Home Holiday Filled with Family, Memories and Tears
My father-in-law, Glyn, moved to a nursing home in early December. We came bearing gifts on Christmas day – my husband, me, our 10-year old son, along with my husband’s brother and his 11-year old daughter.
Glyn sat in the dining room. A first for him as he had been taking all his meals in his room. He ate his prime rib with gusto as we hovered around the table. Conversation was sparse. I had thought that this visit to the nursing home would be sad but it felt okay.
Holding a gift box and tearing the wrapping paper off was difficult for Glyn. My husband helped him open a large box filled with a heavy black jacket. I wondered if he’d ever get the chance to wear it.
By Marianne LonsdaleFrom One Generation to the Next and the Next
My father-in-law will move from a skilled nursing facility to an assisted living apartment this week.
My husband and I are a bit frantic about figuring out what furniture and belongings from his large three-bedroom home will fit best in the new, tiny apartment, and about getting his nicotine stained and smelly condominium ready to rent out.
And we try not to panic over where the money to pay for all of this will come from.
By Marianne LonsdaleMornings are a Mother’s Time
I pop out of bed at 5:45 am and push the alarm button to off.
I pad down the hall and get the coffee started, careful not to wake my husband or son. My workout clothes, laid out the night before, await me on the sofa. I dress, walk up the driveway to pick up the newspaper. The moon still shines and the air is crisp and cold.
Twenty-five minutes for sipping coffee and reading the paper before I head to my 6:30 a.m. exercise class. An hour of hard sweating. Back home for a quick shower, an even quicker bowl of cereal and I’m out the door by 8 a.m.
Three more stops before I get to work – gas station, ATM and dry cleaners. I slide into my desk chair a few minutes before 9 a.m.
By Marianne LonsdaleNot a Jock as a Kid But is One as a Dad
My husband sits in the row ahead of me, with the other Dads, at Little League night at the ballpark. He’s one of the guys, his Oakland A’s hat moving up and down as he roots for the home team.
Michael never played sports as a kid.
Felt like an outsider, like he didn’t know how to fit in with the sporty guys. He hung out with the juvenile delinquents, but didn’t really fit in with them, either. He’d call both groups boneheads and wonder if he’d ever find his own tribe.
By adminA Mom Dances When She Has Time to Herself
I’m home alone for six days while my husband and son ski in Lake Tahoe!!!
Mothers Sing the Most Rockin’ Lullabies
My son loves to hear me sing lullabies.
“Sing to me, Mommy,” his sleepy voice pleads as I sit on his bed, stroking his head. I start my trio of songs, almost carrying a tune. My singing voice is horrible. I can’t hear when I’m off key.
I love music so I don’t think I’m tone deaf, but something’s missing in how I hear the notes. What comes out of my mouth does not at all match what I hear in my head.
But Nick loves my lullabies. Nick loves me.
By Marianne LonsdaleElementary School is the New High School — For Mothers
I walk through the school yard, heading back to my car, ready to roll into work. Small groups of moms stand around the play area, chatting and drinking coffee from commuter mugs. My insecurities kick in and I wonder what group wants me.
Where do I fit?
There are the moms of older kids, who know everything about the school and how my kid will behave since they’ve been through it already. Sometimes they like to talk to me, to give me advice. I play dumb and grateful.
By adminSugar Addict Children
When did it become common practice for parents to take turns buying junk food to give kids after playing a sport?
My son has played sports for about three years and I’m still wide-eyed when a mom pulls out cupcakes with frosting towers as soon as the last inning ends.
I’m appalled and feel powerless to change this tradition.
By admin
