Posts Tagged Under mothers
Moustache Mamas
The concept: Women shouldn’t be ashamed of shaving – their upper lips.
I’m sure this has been conceived before, by some hairy Betty, in some by-gone era that had a few faithful Sallys offering timid support, but it looks like Betty tucked that Bic away when the rest of her friends quit inviting her to bowling night.
But this hairy Betty wants to resurrect the movement. Here’s what I’d really love doing – no, let me be more honest than that: here’s what I really love doing:
Shaving my moustache.
By Anjie ReynoldsYa Got Two Kids Which Means. . .
**Giving each child half a mother.
**Shortchanging one almost all of the time.
**Putting the younger in the line of fire of an emotionally immature and unstable boss.
**Breaking up a tug of war over a favorite toy 12 times a day.
**Trying not to laugh when the little one ruins the older one’s elaborate tower of blocks and then looks at me and smiles.
**Consoling the little one when the older one tells him to “Go away!”
**Never having any time for yourself.
**Hearing them giggle every morning in the room they share.
**Satisfaction in knowing that they have each other.
**Being immersed in motherhood. One kid was dabbling.
**Crazy — what were we thinking?
**Lucky — we were thinking one of each would be nice.
**A family, one was an accessory.
**Holding them both in my arms and knowing I need nothing else.
**The little one adoring the older one.
**The older one adoring the little one, when it occurs to her.
**Seeing them smile at each other like they never do at anyone else.
**The older one teaching the little one how to play their new game.
**The older one reading to the little one.
**The little one watching every move the older one makes and trying to imitate her.
**The older one muscling in whenever the baby is getting attention and succeeding.
**Ganging up on Mom.
**A second chance to parent without nearly as much anxiety and paranoia.
**Watching the two of them run across the room to give each other a hug.
**Knowing that you love them both equally, but it was having your first that turned on a special light deep down inside you.
**The younger one keeping that flame going, when you think you have nothing more to give.
**Knowing that your second will never receive the massive amount and intense quality of attention that your first did, though you really, really try.
**Finally forgiving your own mother if you were a second child.
By Meeta Arcuri
By adminWho Likes to Clean?
Growing up, I knew two things: My mother loved her four children. And she hated the ancillary jobs that came with raising us.
My mother detested housework and considered cooking an unpleasant necessity to be gotten over with as quickly as possible.
For Thanksgiving when I was thirteen, she presented a pre-cooked turkey roll she had purchased at the grocery store. My mother’s pride in finding a shortcut to the burden of preparing a holiday feast wasn’t diminished in the least by my father’s complaint that it didn’t look like any turkey he’d ever eaten. She placed the steaming tube of poultry concentrate on the table with a “tah-dah!” next to the cranberry sauce that still showed rings from the can from which it had emerged.
By Laura-Lynne PowellYou Need Time Alone, But It’s Hard to Leave Your Child With Someone Else
I just dropped my sixteen-month-old off at daycare for the first time ever, and it was tricky. Before today, he’s only had one-on-one care, and I’ve only worked part-time from home. I did this so I could sneak peeks at our son, watch him develop, and take pleasure in the joys of his being.
The week before, weird emotions surfaced. Was this my own separation anxiety? Guilt over planning to spend less time with my child instead of more? Am I thrusting him into an environment he’s not prepared to deal with?
But I knew he was ready, and I needed to take this step. I would still keep him home on Thursdays, I rationalized. I would still see him grow and change. He needs to socialize now, and
I need to work a little more — we both need to grow.
A Song Sung Sweetly to a Beautiful Child
I am writing this blog inspired by a blog I read last week.
A mother was recalling reading a bedtime story to her son. She then remembered singing a lullaby to him. She started singing, remembering all the words though evidently several years had passed since she had sung it to him.
He did not find the words familiar.
We all have memories for different things, one child remembers the music, another the words, one the setting or circumstances, the people assembled, etc.
My story is about my fourth daughter who remembered.
I think some felt that Ann should have been a boy, but I always knew she was the perfect fourth child. Coming from an all-girl family, I thought having all girls was normal. I always sang my children to sleep after reading a bedtime story, as they were so non-critical to the pitch and talent of my singing.
I often made up the words and rambled on until they slept peacefully. I remember reading somewhere that lullabies often reflected the mother’s feelings or situation. A poor mother might be singing her woes such as in the song, “Poor little lamb what will I do wee you.” Or the rich mother’s chanting, “All the pretty little horses.”
My song for Ann was that of a mother who had three older children and knew that no matter how hard you tried, you could not guarantee your child a lifetime of happiness. Each child must strive to fulfill his or her own needs. Continue… »
By Ruth ScottBecoming the Mother I Would Like to Be
I’ve had years to decide what kind of Mom I would be. The criteria has been honed and re-honed in my head through the decades but always delivered with great conviction and certainty.
I started my “note to self” list as a child. Ogling the enormous, multi-tiered candy display at the grocery store after hearing Mom’s denial I vowed that my kids would get all of the candy they wanted! (I suspect the same declaration was made about toys, too.)
Now the thought of all that sugar combined with our inherited sweet-tooth would be… cruel! The visual is already interrupted by a deep “no way!” bellowing from my head.
In high school I swore that I would never be one of those moms who leave the house with curlers in her hair! Or an uncool outfit! Or just lookin’ like some frumpy mom.
By Maija ThrelkeldBonjour Books
Planning for my family’s June vacation to France started months before the trip.
Killer’s Mother
I’m reluctant to admit this, but my sorrow over the horror at the shootings at Virginia Tech keeps forcing these thoughts to the front of my mind. My sadness for the victims is overwhelming and my heart breaks when I think of the families they left behind. I can’t imagine a worse fate than being the mother of a murdered child.
Except, perhaps being the mother of that child’s killer.
I’m not sure it’s okay to admit this, but my sympathy lies with the killer’s mother, too.
By adminShowdown
My 4-year-old announced for at least the tenth time as we drove to the airport that she WOULD be taking her prized purple roller suitcase on the plane with her. The idea had moved to the top of her list of cool things to do ever since our last flight. It was then that she realized some passengers actually brought their luggage on the plane with them — and she’d been missing out.
“We’ll see, honey,” I muttered under my breath. Not on your life sister, I thought.
I’m proud of her independent streak. But from past experience I know that in her hands — in a busy airport — the little purple suitcase can be a lethal weapon. I’ve seen terror on the faces of other travelers as they’ve narrowly escaped having their toes pulverized or knees bashed by this deadly duo as it steamrolls its way from curb to check-in counter.
By admin