Momfession: Still Not Sure I’m Doing It Right

Before I had kids I used to dream of being the perfect mom. You know. The mom who patiently tucks her kids into bed with prayers and songs. The mom who never yells. The kind of mom who makes healthy lunches the night before, whose kids are in bed before 10pm on a school night and she is not yelling like a lunatic for everyone to get into bed. The mom who knows what is the best thing for their child, how to keep them safe and who knows what they are doing. I have been a mom for...

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Confession of a Working Mother: I Can Do It All…But I Cannot Do It All Well

I have been a working mother for over thirteen years.  Over these years I have always worked more than full time since I have both a full-time career and an additional part-time job. Despite working at least fifty (and sometimes closer to sixty) hours each week, during these parenting years I have also earned an advanced degree, owned and managed a business, volunteered in my community and at my children’s school, and now I write for and manage this website and online community. Oh yeah, I also raised three children to school-aged, washed countless loads of laundry, spent thousands...

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Confessions of a Working Mom: Am I Qualified?

I’m not an awesome mom. Well, sometimes I’m an awesome mom. That’s when I have the right things to say and respond with the appropriate temperament. It’s when I’m at my older daughter’s Principal’s Pride assembly, giving her a thumbs up every time she looks back to verify that I’m still there. It’s when I chaperone my younger daughter’s farm field trip, helping buckle up 16 preschoolers in their bus seats, decorating gingerbread cookies, and cleaning up their messes, all while giving Emmeline a little extra love. It’s when I surprise them with an overnight trip to the water park,...

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Breathe Through the Pain

I got two tattoos this past weekend.  Because, you know, I’m cool like that.* One of them was on my ribcage, which, according to some, is a painful location to get tattooed.  When the needle hit the thin skin over my ribs, it took my breath away.  The artist stopped and looked up, “you ok?”   “Yes. I’m fine.  Just keep going.  Don’t stop.”   He looked quizzically at me, shrugged, and went back to it.  I put my head back and breathed deeply.   In.   Out.   Inhale.   Exhale.   Every time he paused to see...

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Organizing a Disorganized Life – Home Edition

As one of my best friends and fellow CTWM bloggers described the scene in her basement, my eyes widened with the possibilities. While she dreaded going through bags of hand me down clothes, I got excited thinking about sorting, washing and folding all of the clothes, placing them in labeled, stackable bins. While she seemed overwhelmed thinking about going through old things, I pictured myself guiding her to decide if her old books brought her joy and helping her let go and pass them on. I love to organize things. I love donating or throwing things away. Jenna seemed...

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Momfession: Remembering What Used To Be

I spend almost all my day caring for my kids or thinking of how I’ll care for my kids when I get home from work.  I am completely dedicated and I love being a mom But my momfession? I let myself fantasize about what my life will be like when I am not on 24/7 clean-up/entertain/food prep/fix/read…duty.  I know mothering never stops, but I think building towers made out of blocks does.  I know I’ll never stop worrying, but I think there is a point in time when I stop being invited to “check out” their poop (EVERY TIME)....

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Play Date Pursuit: 5 Missteps to Avoid

When you’re a mama to an only, particularly one with a diagnosis for which social deficits go hand-in-hand, it’s easy to become a bit obsessed with scheduling time for him to hang with friends. Martin Luther King Jr. Day–that one January school holiday and a day when my office is closed–has been a great day for a play date. But the stakes are high, since there are no “how about tomorrow’s” built in. Over the years, I’ve learned some lessons about how NOT to be successful in providing my kid–who is well liked–with a friendship experience on those treasured...

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Rose, Thorn and the Unicorn

I do believe in gratitude and by reminding yourself daily of your blessings, it will benefit your well-being and resiliency. So, the goal is how to ask my kids for their “good thing” each night before bed. However, they are boys. So my attempts have been met with “eh, nothing”, “it was terrible” or even total b.s. answers like “I met John Cena today.” I kept asking, the boys just kept sighing and rolling their eyes while giving me dispassionate responses. Enter an idea from a friend, a friend who I greatly respect for her brain and her spirit....

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Small Change. Big Impact.

Let me start by sharing my worst kept secret:  I need structure and self-imposed rules to keep my life in order. It’s very hard for me to motivate myself without a sound plan and a check list.  I have accepted that it’s just how I roll.  Lately, I have been more irritable and mentally exhausted.  I’m sure the holidays played a part in it.  Overall, I felt like I could be more pleasant, less going through the motions and more focusing on the here and now.  So, as any self respecting creature of habit would, I set a rule regarding social media and my phone in general.  This recently implemented rule...

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Mam. Who, Me?

It happened, and it keeps happening, even when I’m not with the kids. A seemingly harmless, three letter word, “mam.” But when spoken, and to me, “mam” feels like nails on a chalk board. Really, “mam,” how old do you think I am?! “Mam” immediately acknowledges that I am older than the person addressing me, old enough in fact to be referred to as “mam.” My visceral reaction to being called, “mam” strikes me odd because I actually don’t mind getting older. As I age, I gain confidence and am comfortable with who I am and how I live. I am passionate about my work and I have a family I adore. I even enjoy working out and am proud of my level of fitness. So then, why does being called “mam,” take my breath away? When I was in my early 20’s, my dad told me that he didn’t feel a day older than 23…in his mind that is. His comment made me laugh, but I have never forgotten it. And, as I age, it makes more sense to me. So, even though I drive a car pool, fold laundry on Friday nights, find a strange sense of pride in making school lunches, and wear a sensible winter coat, in my head, I’m still me. I really don’t place an age on that me, so when a young adult...

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