MWLM Blog

School Rules

You can't play Red Rover at recess because someone might break their arm.

You can't run around the playground equipment.

You can't wear clogs, flip flops or any shoe that has no heel because you might get hurt.

You can't hold hands with your best friend. Something about "personal space?"

You can't talk in the restrooms.

You can't put your stuffed "buddy" down the slide.

These are just a few of the rules at my daughters' school. They have a great school. Their teachers really care about the students and it has a caring environment on the whole. But - rules such as the ones above, have bugged me for quite some time. I think they are what Beth Moore would call "rib issues." Meaning - there are bigger things to get upset and worry about. There are more critical issues to spend your attention on.

I just get so frustrated when my children truly want to be children - but can't because of "rules." Kids are going to play. Kids are going to get hurt. You can't come up with a rule for everything that could hurt your child. Because somewhere along the line, then you are robbing them of the freedom and joy of being a child.

I want my children to enjoy life. If they run on the playground in flip flops and twist their ankle - I think they will learn not to run in them. I don't think they should have to abandon wearing them altogether.

I think we should spend our time and energy (and rules) on more critical issues out there. Children hurting other children (rape, bullying, etc) is a great example of something that needs more attention. Someone put a chemical down a slide and a little child went down it and got burned. That's something that should rile us up to want to protect our children! There are many other issues that could use more of our focus as well --- but putting your stuffed animal down a slide? Does that really need a rule?

Something's twisted here, in my opinion. Something's skewed. And it just bothers me.

~ Dionna Sanchez (Keeping It Real Columnist)
Visit me at my other blog – http://emphasisonmoms.blogspot.com

A few words on the invention of Mother’s Day

As far as holidays go, I’d venture to say that most were created by a man.  On Christmas we celebrate the birth of Jesus Christ, a man.  Easter commemorates the rising of Jesus, again, a man.  The Fourth of July is an observation of a new government that was mostly, you guessed it, men.  And even Father’s Day, the day when we all treat dad like royalty?  Yep, pretty sure that some guy made up that one, too.

But if there were ever a holiday that was most certainly created by a man, it’d be Mother’s Day. 

Now, if you are a man and you are reading this, you are probably thinking to yourself, “oh yes, we men love our mothers and our wives, and we certainly want to celebrate the wonderful things they do for us and all that they mean to us, and of course we created the holiday as a day of honor.” 

And if you’re a woman reading this, you’re probably thinking, “gee, she’s on to something!  No woman in her right mind would create a holiday that would require so much work, stress, sweat, and overcooked scrambled eggs.”

Let me explain this to all of the men out there.  As far as mothers go, most of us have mothers of our own.  Not only our own mothers, but some of us even have mother-in-laws.  And grandmothers.  And for us lucky ones, multiple grandmothers.  And somewhere in our wedding vows when we were all too emotional to pay attention, we somehow promised that we would bear children, love our husbands, and take care of all holiday celebrations until death do us part.

So come the second Sunday in May, we are required by that vow to manage celebrating and honoring all of our mothers, on a day when most of us could use a break and a little honoring ourselves.

Still confused as to why most mothers think Mother’s Day should be wiped off our calendars and out of our card shop shelves?  Still don’t understand how no woman in her right mind would create such a complicated and distressing holiday?  I may best be able to convey it in anecdote.  Here is a characteristic Mother’s Day for a mother such as myself…

6:30 AM.  Get woken up by the baby.

7:30 AM.  Told to go back to sleep because the kids (ages 4 and 6 with mediocre culinary skills matched only by their father) are going to make breakfast in bed (ie. Scrambled eggs with bits of shell and toast with two pounds of butter.)  Open homemade cards.

8:00 AM.  Start the day by wrapping the gifts for all of the mothers in my life, bribing the kids with gum so that they’ll sign the card nicely (instead of writing POOP), and start preparing the Mother’s Day dinner that somehow I got conned into hosting at my house.

9:00 AM.  Bribe the kids with more gum to help me clean the house.  Have to wash the dishes from my breakfast in bed.  Call all of the grandmothers, give holiday wishes, and hope that I put their cards in the mail early enough.

1:00 PM.  Host a dinner party for one set of parents to celebrate that mother and the wonderful things she does and is.

3:30 PM. Drive an hour to visit my other mother, and celebrate her.

7:30 PM.  Arrive home, feed kids bed-time snacks, give baths, read books, sing lullabies, put to bed.

8:30 PM.  Clean kitchen from 1:00 PM dinner party.

10:00 PM.  Lay on the couch, re-read precious homemade cards, begin to dread Father’s Day, and fall fast asleep.

Happy Mother’s Day, girls!

-Karrie McAllister, webmaster etc.
www.KarrieMcAllister.com

A Look Back: Poetry and Mothering at 3 Months and 2 Years

Then and Now: Poetry and Mothering

We sit at the table, mother and daughter, markers spread out in no particular order. The paper is set out side by side, waiting for the colorful scribbles of lines and right angles and the occasional smiley-face drawn so precisely from a two-year-old mind. Looking at her, marker poised carefully with such concentration over the paper, I wonder how we, as artist and mother, merge the two separate selves so that they co-exist within ourselves?

No doubt, raising a young child is challenging. Everything, at one point or another, gets pushed aside for varying lengths of time. For me, it was my writing-all forms of it in the beginning-that got pushed aside to tend to the more pressing and urgent matters: changing that poopy diaper for the third time that day, feeding, bathing, reading the bedtime story, making sure nothing ended up in her mouth that shouldn’t have.

When my daughter was three months old, I wrote this:

Poetry and Mothering

I have been writing poetry since my early teens and journaling before that. It has saved my life, literally, in numerous ways, may times. It sounds clichéd (you know everybody says that), but so very true in my life. In struggling through and recovering from depression, writing was, and still is a way to regain my strength. These days, I am lucky if I get the daily journal entry in. Being a new mom of a three-month-old daughter, I try specifically to make the time for this. Sometimes it works and sometimes it doesn’t. I truly miss writing poetry. I have not written anything poetic since a little before I found out I was pregnant in November 2003. I feel rather naked without it. There is comfort in words. I don’t think it is so much rage or anger I feel as much as the pure frustration at not having the time, or more importantly, the energy to write now. I do know, though, that there will be a time again for poetry-to really write again. I try not to let the frustration take hold. I know this is temporary. Yet, in the moment, it is painfully raw. But then, I look at my beautiful daughter with her smiles and babbles and think how absolutely wonderful she is; what an amazing creation she is; that I created her. In having a child, I do not want my writing to be forgotten or put aside for so long that I begin to regret not pursuing it as I should have. Or-worst of all-aim my resentment against myself or my daughter. It is vital to me that the two selves-mother/writers- co-exist, grow, merge, to form a more complete being. I’m not quite sure how to go about this yet. But, that is one of life’s many challenges, is it not? Originally printed in Mama Says Newsletter

It has been nearly two years since I last wrote those words. Much has changed, as life inevitably does so. The differences between a three month old baby and a toddler are immense. Now there is negotiation involved about going to the park and a muffin afterward. At three months, that wasn’t even a flicker of thought in my mind. Indeed, it has been challenging for the two selves to co-exist. Not to mention the challenge alone of rearing a two year old, tantrums and all, as a single parent. There have also been many rewards. For the most part, the challenge has been met with open arms and a willing mind. Words have become unlocked from my near-stagnant mind and flow freely to the page. Almost as freely as my daughter’s need to scavenge for Cheerio’s.

I think this convergence comes mainly from the actual acceptance of motherhood into my life with all its twists and turns, joyous melodies and dark tunnels. I remember when writing had no time limits. Now it is naptimes and bedtimes, writing voraciously into the night. I am content with that-for now. April 15, 2006

5 Ways to Make Your House a Home ~ By Dionna Sanchez

Houses have atmospheres. They radiate the mood and character of the family who dwells there. You can tell as soon as you enter someone’s house if it feels warm, open, and inviting; or stiff and uncomfortable.

It doesn’t matter how perfect your furniture is or how clean you keep your carpet. Furnishings and belongings never make up for love!

So, here are 5 ways that you can make your house into that warm and loving home you desire.

1) Maintain an open door policy.
Make your house inviting to family and friends by letting them know they are welcome in your home. Encourage them to stop by to say hello or to visit with you for a few minutes. Let them know you value them as a part of your life. A closed home is a lonely home!

2) Fill your home with fresh aromas.
Let the aroma of compassion, kindness, gentleness, love, joy, patience, etc permeate through your walls. Homes need to be a haven, a place where people can feel secure to be themselves. Someone who smells these character qualities encompassing your home can’t help but hunger for more!

3) Hold a consistent family dinner hour.
Make sure your family sits together at the table for dinner each night (or at least regularly) so that you can share together, laugh, and bond. It doesn’t matter what else is going on in the world if you can all connect as one family unit each day.

4) Keep your home picked up – but let it be “lived in.”
It’s a great thing to be organized and to take pride in your home. In fact, your family will benefit from these traits. But it’s just as important to not let that organization run your life. If a home is so immaculate that everyone is afraid to relax, what good does that do anyone? A good reminder to help you keep your focus balanced is to think of what you would do if you opened your door to find Jesus there after He’d walked for miles on a dusty road. Would you allow Him to enter in His dirty sandals?

5) Slow down!
Fast-paced lives are the biggest thieves of family time these days. Friends are important but you need to make your family your priority not your social activities. Make time to create memories together in your home.

I want a home that has laughter, tears, quiet moments, social gatherings and more filling every corner with memories and legacies. I want my children to remember a home that was a refuge for them and somewhere that they could be themselves.

I want something “real” to be felt in my home. Don’t you?

~ Dionna Sanchez (Keeping It Real Columnist)

Visit me at http://emphasisonmoms.blogspot.com

Writing tools.....

I just picked up a monthly writing assignment which requires me to take pictures for the stories I will be writing.  I usually write the stories only so my "good enough" home camera has been kept survived much longer than I would like to admit. My"now" old camera had to be charged after about every 12-15 pictures and an additional battery would have cost $50. But the battery only worked when it wanted it despite the constant charging.  Nevertheless, I accepted "good enough" for too long.

But this weekend, I actually went out and bought myself a  new camera.  A writer friend of mine came along to help me pick out what I needed.  We looked at all the models and features and picked the camera for what I would need for work and family. 

We ended the shopping trip at a coffee shop. Over a cup of coffee, we discussed how  excited I was about the new camera.  But then she mentioned an even bigger purchase--- a laptop computer to make my work easier to accomplish. I certainly have been doing a lot of writing this year and it would certainly make things easier.

And yet, the number one reason that I don't have one now is simple.  It requires a mental leap that I haven't made yet.  To buy a lap would be me saying that my writing matters and that I need to have the proper tools to make it happen.

So the seed has been planted, slowly I will begin the search for a computer.  But I have to wonder how many mom writers fail to buy the one thing that would make their writing better.  For some it may be a camera, a laptop, a conference for networking, new writing books, babysitting hours to the neighbor child so that she can work in peace.  My goal this year is to make sure that I have the proper writing tools in place for my writing.  I owe it to myself.

Kathy Schlaeger lives near Cincinnati, Ohio with her husband and three daughters. She begins her search for a laptop computer.

Oy, Vey!

I was in a public restroom the other day, doing what one does in such places, when I realized that civilization – even the fairly savage form of civilization that has existed since Janet Jackson’s “wardrobe malfunction” at the Super Bowl – has officially ended. I didn’t even see it coming. But I heard it, in the form of a woman chatting on her cell phone in the toilet stall next to mine.

The words “chatting” and “toilet stall” should never even appear in the same sentence together, much less be joined in unholy alliance in real life. But that’s exactly what happened. And based on my extensive personal research, I’ve learned it is happening every day. That’s why I think the fat lady is probably warming up her vocals and getting ready to sing. If it ain’t over, it’s got to be pretty darn close.

But let me backpedal to a couple of weeks ago when I was in the waiting room of an orthodontist’s office. If you have a teenager who had the gall to be born with imperfect teeth, you know the waiting room of an orthodontist is like the anteroom of Solomon’s legendary temple. You are supposed to sit there and purify yourself of all negative emotions (such as the desire to hold on to your money) before entering the holy of holies (the billing department) to happily sacrifice to the person who will straighten your child’s teeth. This purification process requires silence. But silence is in short supply these days.

As I was bracing myself to receive the braces bill, my ears were assaulted by the cell phone conversation of the teenage girl across from me. She was sitting next to her evidently comatose mother and recounting to her listener in excruciating detail an earlier discussion with a soon-to-be ex-boyfriend. Every word of this fascinating exchange was loudly relayed to her friend and then analyzed in-depth, along with the apparent involvement with said boyfriend of another girl who was referred to only as what I will call the B word.

Unable to focus on the task at hand, I started glaring at the teenage talker with my most severe schoolmarm expression. This had absolutely no effect. Then I turned the look on the mother, thinking surely she’d tell her daughter to get off the phone. Nothing. The girl just kept talking, even dropping the “F bomb” with disturbing frequency. Finally, I spoke to the mother in that sugary-sweet tone civilized people use with strangers they’d actually like to strangle.

“Do you think you could ask your daughter to keep it down?” I inquired ever so nicely. The woman had the nerve to glare back at me.

“She’s just talking,” she replied in disgust. To borrow a favorite phrase of a friend of mine, oy vey!

Now fast forward to that bathroom stall. I was sitting there (no, don’t actually visualize it, that would be sick) and suddenly, I heard a woman’s voice very nearby say “Hi!”

Being a polite individual, I automatically responded, if a little hesitantly. “Hi.”

“What are you doing?”

This is when I became uncomfortable. But, still a polite individual, I began to answer. “Uh…I’m…”

“I’ve got to go,” she said more loudly to be heard over the sound of flushing. “Some idiot next to me thinks I’m talking to her.”

Naturally, I stayed in my stall until I was sure the woman was gone. Then I went home and initiated the extensive personal research I mentioned earlier. I called a couple of friends and my mother, and I found out something similar had happened to each of them. That’s when I realized that cell phones will probably be the end of civilization. We’ve certainly come a long way, baby. Oy vey!

© Jackie Papandrew, All Rights Reserved

www.jackiepapandrew.com

Mean People Suck!

Okay...did I get your attention?

How many of you have seen this line - 'Mean People Suck' as a bumper sticker?

I've seen it and never thought of getting it for my car until this week. I don't know if it was the incredibly lousy Spring we've had here on Vancouver Island (coldest April in 70 years), or the fact that people are just generally negative but I've never encountered so many rude people as I did this week! Whew!

It made me want to buy my own remote island (yes, there are still a few around for a few million dollars), build a cottage and ignore the world! In truth, it wore me out, wore down my 'friendly mask' and made me mad.

When you work with people a lot (I also co-own a menswear store so this equals retail and I know how most of you feel about working retail!), you have to be kind, compassionate, understanding and the 'customer is always right.'

This week, I had two people who weren't understanding - they were downright cruel.They even went so far as to stick salt in the wound and say, "I'll never shop here - I'll shop out of town."

If we didn't care, weren't compassionate, weren't honest and didn't bend over backwards to give the greatest service we could (we've delivered suits at midnight for people when they wanted things altered immediately and when they came in after hours) and if we hadn't won 'Best Retail Store in the city for 8 years in a row, I would brush it off. But when people are deliberately rude, cruel and mean - they just plain 'suck.'

I'm not sure I understand what is happening with people? Are they just so stressed out and overwhelmed that they have to take their frustrations out on people that work in the public? All I can say is that my really bad day ended with really great people who don't suck!

We finally got together with the best people who are positive, caring and compassionate go-getters who want to make the world a better place. Wow...it's refreshing when you can actually find people like this! Who knew?

I think I'll go get myself a bumper sticker that says: 'Kind People Rock!

Lisa Rickwood - 'A person who thinks Kind People Rock!'

Don't Miss Our Writing Contest!

Moms have a billion experiences in common; yet, we can tell them in an infinite number of ways. That's one aspect that makes writing so exciting. Don't miss your chance to write a winning contest entry and see your name in an upcoming print issue and in our online counterpart, right here.

Our current contest is coming to a close. It's an easy one liner contest with choices:

We are accepting submissions for our first-line writing contest . . .  It may be creative non-fiction or fiction and should be between 700 - 1,200 words, and the first line must be "I knew what I was supposed to be doing, but my desires distracted me..." The work submitted will be judged by MWLM Editors, and we will choose one grand prize winner to receive $100!

Click here -  http://www.momwriterslitmag.com/FictionContest.htm - to enter our contest. You have nothing to lose, just success to gain.

Happy Weekend to all,

~ Sue Donckels, Managing Editor

Celebrating Differences & a Mother’s Day Gift

With four decades separating us, I hold little in common with my parents, particularly in terms of their difficult times growing up. Even though I put myself through college, and worked ridiculous jobs during odd hours like many people, I can’t compare my hardships to theirs. They grew up during the Depression, and that nourished their shared tendency to save everything. My parents are the ultimate pack rats. In their fifty five years together, they’ve accumulated more possessions, trinkets, doo-dads, unexplainable broken parts, unused screws and bolts, and probably millions of buttons. The list goes on and on…

Since I’m the only one with children among my siblings, my parents decided to relocate from northern Idaho to my home state, New Mexico, a few years ago. The move had to go my Dad’s way. He’s a great man, and a witty one, too, but not always the most sensible. Although he could afford it (or we for them), he absolutely refused to use a professional mover. From that moment forward, I knew the whole situation would prove beyond frustrating. But whatever my dad wants, I follow through on, and I laugh with him later when the time is right.

I flew with my kids into the cold, snowy north over a Thanksgiving holiday, and I taught them how to pack boxes--hundreds of boxes. We packed a lot of memories which made for great stories. As difficult as the task felt to complete, my kids learned a lot about my parents.

One of my brothers and my soon-to-be ex-husband loaded the longest possible rental truck, attached our old hot rod for towing (that we'd stored on their property for years), and drove it down through a few slick and scary blizzards. Meanwhile, I flew the kids back to our home in time for school. Of course, each of us helped my parents unload, unpack, and settle into their new home a week later.

With all of these possessions in mind, I always need a lot of time to discover a new and special gift for Mother’s Day. She loves puzzles, so she’ll get one. But that’s a gift to keep her busy and away from boredom. The answer I wanted came to me from something in one of my own boxes that I’ve toted around for my lifetime. I thought of a special gift she’d given me over twenty years ago.

I moved away to college one fall when I was seventeen, and the following Christmas I took the train home to visit. The best gift came from my mom that year, and it wasn’t an electronic gadget or clothes or money (though I needed that desperately, too). My mom made a little paper board box that she wrapped like a package with green paper and a red ribbon. On the top, she taped a miniature card from plain white paper. On it she’d typed a poem that might sound familiar (I’ve seen it on many cards over the years):

This is a very special gift
That you can never see.
The reason it’s so special is
It’s just for you from me.
Whenever you are lonely
Or ever feeling blue,
You only have to hold this gift
To know I think of you.
You never can unwrap it,
Please keep the ribbon tied.
Just hold it close to your heart,
It’s filled with love inside.

My Mom thought I might consider it to be hokey at the time; but I consider that ornament one of my most special possessions.

For Mother’s Day this year, I will give Mom a similar present with my own poem on the outside, like the one she gave me. First she’ll cry, but then I’ll tease her about the several hundred boxes of doo-dads we packed that now sit in their shed and RV building, unpacked because they don’t care to open them! We always end on a laugh.

We may not have hardships in common, like being pack rats (I’m not one at all); but we share other valuable treasures.

~Sue Donckels, Managing Editor

If there’s something strange in your neighborhood, who ya gonna call? Your Mother!

Monday-

CNN Breaking News. Fifteen minutes ago, an out if control fire rages in downtown Seattle. The Fifth Avenue Plaza is burning. Crews have responded and are on site.

Grabbing the phone, franticly dialing my son’s cell number I break out in a cold sweat, counting each ring until I hear Ryan, my firefighting-boy’s deep voice say, “Hi Mom, what’s up?”

Instantly relieved, I casually mention the high-rise fire. He patiently explains that he is safe at home and that burning building is located a good eighty miles away. We briefly chat and hang up.

Thursday-

The first thing I do when I get home is make a beeline to the answering machine. Caller ID displays that Cory left a message! With a racing heart and tunnel vision, I start pounding every button with sweaty fingers. This stupid machine needs to tell me why my middle child would call when he knew I was gone. What happened, what does he need, is he okay?

I hear his laughing voice. “Hey it’s me. You haven’t called yet. A plane crashed into a New York apartment building this morning. You’re probably wondering if I’m dead. I’m fine! Click.”

I know what you’re thinking. I’m well aware that I may be a tad bit neurotic. To be honest, I’m really okay with it. I believe it’s my job as a mother to make sure my children are safe at all times. My son’s are in their thirty’s, but as you see, they do humor me.

Actually, I believe Ryan and Cory enjoy talking to me. Hey, I’m a freethinking flower child from the 70’s. It’s all good. I’m cool. I’m down with it. They can do whatever they want, they‘re adults for pity sakes. I only ask, as their mother, “Let me know you’re alive”.

Sunday-

The phone rings. “Hel-lo?”

“Hi Mom!” a baritone singsong voice greets me.

“Ryan,” I warily reply. “Why are you calling me so early? You always call on Sunday nights.”

“Oh. Well, we have lots to do today,” he quickly explains, “and I wanted to get you out of the way.”

“Excuse me?” I snap back, continuing for several minutes with some fun loving bantering.

Finished with the phone call, I stop to self-analyze my silly behavior. I’m sure that my children label me phobic, irrational or just plain wacko.

Well, they may call me anything they like. As long as they- CALL ME!

Pamela Vanden Bos, Mom Writers Literary Magazine Intern