Thanksgiving to Holiday Memories

Napkin rings crafted from toilet paper tubes, the wrong kind of pickle, jeans at the dinner table — I had already made too many concessions.

My irritation grew as the girls lost interest in helping halfway through peeling the apples. Determined to be thankful for my family and friends, though, I tried not to sweat the small stuff.

Thanksgiving morning brought major sweating — and shivering. The flu had struck. I was too weak to crawl out of bed, much less roast a turkey and conjure up gravy, mashed potatoes, and green beans, piping hot and on the table at the same magical moment.

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This Mother Has Our Vote

Ours is a household of political junkies, so when my daughter turned 18, I wrapped her birthday presents in voter registration forms.

Now eligible to buy lottery tickets and cigarettes, join the Army, and vote (but not drink), she sat down with me at the dining room table piled high with Voter Guides, newspaper clippings, endorsements, and a small forest’s worth of glossy political ads.

Too bad about the drinking age thing, because we both could have used a good stiff one to get through the mountains of spinformation in front of us.

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Teens Can Accept Green Instead of Greenbacks

A teachable moment arrived recently in the form of an e-mail from the graduation committee of my daughter’s high school. It was a plea for extra donations to keep Safe and Sober Grad Night afloat. The Senior Class ritual is jeopardized because families and community businesses who usually fund the celebration are themselves struggling to stay afloat.

Safe and Sober Grad Night is a wonderful tradition for many Marin high schools. Seniors pile into buses shortly after tossing their mortarboards, and head for an all-night, chaperoned, substance-free party.  No one is excluded. There are no intoxicated senior drivers, no fancy clothes, no panic attacks or tears about who has a date and what to wear. It’s a bunch of kids, many of whom have known each other since kindergarten, celebrating all they have meant to one another before they set off for broader and divergent horizons.

I am glad to write a check to support Safe and Sober Grad night, but can’t we do more? What if we embrace the economic meltdown as an opportunity to scale back on excess and teach our kids the true value of community?

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A Mother’s Friendship Will Last Forever

Mothers are NOT Allowed to Get Sick

At first I engage in all-out battle: Echinacea, Emergen-C, the vaporizer, green tea, an early bedtime. But it’s no use. Surrender is inevitable.

So I wave the white flag: I cancel all my appointments and take up residence on the couch with the comforter and a stack of magazines.

I am lucky enough to be able to indulge in such a luxury. I won’t lose my job (since I’m self-employed, what can my boss do?). The loss of income hurts, but is not catastrophic. My kids are old enough now to fend for themselves.

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How Movies Put EVERYTHING into Perspective

Blood Diamond.

I stagger out of the movie theater with the newfound certainty that my life is pointless.

Why write blogs about my kids’ aggravating but endearing traits when African children are being snatched from their mothers’ arms and forced to commit unimaginable atrocities just to stay alive?

It seems indecent to obsess about SAT scores or worry about underage drinking in light of such horrors.

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Mother Attempts to Talk to Her Teenage Daughter

Weary of news about the world falling apart, I turn to the comic page for relief. Recently, however, that’s been just as hair-raising as reading about Iraq or global warming. April is in trouble.

April is the sixteen-year-old in For Better or for Worse, which chronicles the domestic ups and downs of an average Canadian family. Unlike most comics frozen in time, these characters age. They grapple with real-life problems, not just how much they can pile on a pastrami sandwich.

I’ve followed April’s development closely, because she was born just a few weeks after my daughter. She’s smart and sassy, just like my daughter. She’s a great, responsible kid whom everyone likes, just like my daughter. Right now she’s lying on the bed making out with a boy who’s come to visit when her parents aren’t home, just like . . .

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Mother Murders Her Annoying Cat

Binkley was a mean cat, the kind who lives forever out of spite.

When my husband mentioned in passing, “Binkley’s limping a little,” I did not expect a cat that dragged her leg bone behind her like a scavenged drumstick.

When the vet’s x-rays revealed a shattered leg in the hardest place to fix, I learned about feline osteoporosis. Binkley’s usual hop down from the bathroom counter would cost at least two thousands dollars, with no guarantees, not counting follow-up visits and medication.

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Mother Finds Religion, Along with Dirty Laundry

“Maybe she’s practicing for the Rapture,” I think, picking my way across the house from one pile of discarded clothing to the next.

I envision her spontaneous uplift into the heavens, leaving all worldly possessions behind, including socks, underwear and crumpled dirty Kleenex.

That’s how I deal with my daughter’s messiness. It sure beats the daily temptation to shout at her for being such a slob.

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Solstice Moon

The luminous orb of the full moon blossomed over the horizon last week, a huge swirl of silver and porcelain edged with streaks of charcoal and rose against the wintry sky.

I stopped in my rush to somewhere, struck with awe. I felt small and insignificant, yet connected to everyone and everything, sheltered in the same dome under the same watchful lunar guardian.

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