by Cyma Shapiro
I’ve been blessed with great genes and a presence which often appears years younger than I really am.
I’ve also been blessed with a daughter (like so many others) whose mouth regurgitates and replays recently heard tidbits. Anywhere. Everywhere. Anytime. All-the-time.
With this in mind, I’ve chosen not to tell her my chronological age. Not yet. […]
By Rosemary Lichtman, Ph.D. and Phyllis Goldberg, Ph.D.
With the high price of gasoline, are you thinking of canceling your vacation trip? This summer more and more Sandwiched Boomers are reducing their carbon footprint by taking “staycations” with their families. Why drive to a resort when there are community swimming pools around the corner? Why plan a remote getaway when you can relax in the beauty and serenity near you? You don’t need to travel to the city for excitement when you can create your own at home. […]
by Linda K. Wertheimer
“Click, clack,” I read, then paused. “Moo,” Simon shouted as he cuddled in my lap in a chair at Starbucks.
A man walked up and smiled. “Your grandson is so adorable,” he said.
I resisted the urge to glower. This man after all was paying Simon a compliment. I smiled back, then corrected the error as my 3-year-old son sucked his thumb and held onto my ear. “He’s not my grandson. I’m his mother.” […]
by Valerie Gillies
“The best remedy for a short temper is a long walk.” Jacqueline Schiff
Despite consuming mountains of flax and exercising daily, power surges and hormonal swings punctuate my days and nights, leaving me less kind and understanding than I’d like. Christiane Northrup, in her book Women’s Bodies, Women’s Wisdom, inspires by reframing this stage of life as an opportunity, and my nasty and selfish feelings as a means of coming to terms with my inner voice and needs. Such lovely ideals—and I want them! […]
by Peg O'Neill
My mother is a retired nurse. Thus, when my siblings and I were growing up, the usual aches and pains of childhood got very little attention unless they were really serious, and episodes of playground trauma were met with abbreviated sympathy, the occasional band-aid, and instructions to go back and play. Because of my mother’s medical knowledge, we were unable to milk certain situations. Although we sometimes got to stay home from school for true illness, it was hard to fake being sick with my mom. Other than those episodes of ear infections and the occasional strep throat, we rarely went to the doctor except for check-ups and significant head trauma requiring stitches. […]
by Joely Johnson Mork
This year I will celebrate my first Mother’s Day as a mom. My son is 8 months old, which means he has been out here, breathing on his own in this big, scary world almost as long as he was growing snug, warm, and safe inside of my 43-year-old body. […]
by Andrea Lynn
On my very first Mother’s Day, I was three and a half weeks pregnant. Anyone who knows fertility (and infertility) and the bizarre world of pregnancy dating knows that a woman who is three and a half weeks pregnant doesn’t even KNOW she is pregnant yet. But I knew. It was about a week after my IVF, and I was gardening in the backyard. I dug holes to plant a new rose of Sharon and five lilies, and I became so overcome with that little exertion that I laid down on the grass, on my back, and looked up through the green of my maple tree to the blue sky above, and felt nearly faint with exhaustion. And that Sunday afternoon, Mother’s Day, I wondered if I was suddenly very tired for a very good reason. And I felt happy. By Monday I was debating baby names, though it wasn’t until Wednesday that I peed on a stick and got the two pink lines that I’d begun to think might never, never appear. […]
by Julie Donner Andersen
I don’t care who invented it. Perhaps some greedy florist or greeting card company, but it’s the only day of the year in which moms are feted, honored, gifted, and showered with appreciation for their roles as birth-givers, boo-boo kissers, vomit cleaner-uppers, laundry pile attackers, and vacuum cleaner rodeo clowns. […]
by Cyma Shapiro
(Dear Reader: I wrote the blog post below last year for MotherhoodLater, and wanted to reread it this year. It’s amazing how one year can change things; how motherhood makes us forget what happened when our children were younger or youngest; how they came into our lives and what changes we needed to make once they were here. I can honestly say that I am nearly fully comfortable in my Motherhood-clothes, a role that I played well in the beginning, but one that I now don each day with ease in the same way that I donned singlehood for many, many years. I won’t say that there aren’t days I wish I could wake up, yawn, and go down for coffee all on my own time, my own rhythm. I will say, however, that I’m the happiest that I’ve ever been – now that I have children. […]
by Deatra Haime Anderson
Forty-three years ago, when I was four, I had a friend from nursery school named Debbie. She was white and most significantly, had long brown hair. I was (and still am) African American with very curly hair that my mother painstakingly brushed each day into one or two twisted ponytails that she secured with an elastic band. And on the days I spent playing at Debbie’s house, I invariably unloosed the ponytails hoping that I too might have long, swingy hair that bounced down my back and blew wildly behind me as I ran. Though I doubt my hair actually moved very much, I believed that it did, mostly because I really wanted it to. By the time my mother picked me up, my hair was a rather large (and how I see it now, lovely) cloud. She would grit her teeth, probably embarrassed that I looked a bit like a banshee, and scold me for taking my hair out. […]