MWLM Blog

S-A-V-O-R them, Ladies by Maureen Locher

I am so glad I am not 19 again. Affairs of the heart make life worth living and unbearable all at the same time. I have been transported back in time remembering the prayers and wishes of my young heart. How I used to wonder why my prayers weren’t answered. Of course, they were answered. Just not according to my plan. My mother’s words are coming out of my mouth more and more lately – advice given as sincerely as possible to soothe a questioning heart. 

I remember a line from a skit at school when I was little: “A sword of sorrow shall pierce your heart,” spoken as a sign of foreboding to the Blessed Mother when Jesus was just a baby. I think that when a mother dies, her heart must look like a virtual dartboard. Every one of her children’s disappointments has left its indelible mark. 

It was way easier changing diapers. Oh, but back then, I never would have believed you if you’d told me that. But it’s true. To be your child’s world is a great blessing. You control everything. What they eat, what they do, who they see. If an unhappy circumstance happens along, you simply remove your child. How easy. Definitely not effortless, but at least you are able to control your child’s destiny at least for a little while. 

Then they go to school. It’s all downhill from there. Good old peer pressure enters the picture with a vengeance. Suddenly, your word isn’t the only word. You watch your child change. The innocence begins to fade away. Santa, the Easter Bunny and Tooth Fairy are challenged.

I just remembered something so dear that I hadn’t thought of in a long time. My oldest son, now 22, used to call me Honey, not Mommy. I was Honey for years. I was sure that when he went to kindergarten, he would stop, but he didn’t. I was Honey. I loved it. I loved it so much. I love him.

Savor these upcoming holidays, ladies. S-A-V-O-R them. Don't wish them away. And please say a little prayer that I can take my own advice. You've all heard it before: Do as I say - not as I do.

© 2007 Maureen Locher

Maureen is copy editor for Mom Writer's Literary Magazine. She hopes you are enjoying her take on life. She's smart enough to know she'd never want to go back to do it all again, but not quite smart enough to know how to do it now. The rules are changing as her four boys grow into men. Uncharted waters...

   

Deadlines

As I hit the send key at 1:00 AM this morning to send my document to the client, I came to the conclusion that whoever thought up the name "deadline" for the due date for projects had the right idea.  Either you kill yourself meeting the deadline that is usually set far too close to the initial assignment, or you get killed by your boss/your client if you miss it.  Either way, you're dead!

I've been dealing with deadlines left and right since I got back from vacation in mid-August.  The company that I do technical writing for was awarded a huge contract to develop 11 training courses between mid-September 2007 and mid-January 2008.  This was of course over and above the training sessions that were already schedule with a variety of other customers.  Since we are a very small company, and I can only assign small portions of course development to colleagues, I was left with the bulk of the development.  This all translates to working 40+ hours a week since early September instead of my usual 25 hours.  Mix this with the start of a new school year, followed soon afterwards by preparation by two of my kids for Black belt exams in karate and rehearsals for the annual Senior High School fashion show by my oldest, and the deadlines become lethal!

Though I am more exhausted than I have ever been -- even when the kids were waking me through the night -- I am happy to say that I have met all of my work deadlines on time (Only three more to go before Christmas and one more after that based on the current planning schedule).  I am also proud to say that I am the mom to two Black belt karatekas, aged 10 and 13 (they passed their rigourous 3-hour exam last Friday night), and my oldest has her debut on the catwalk tonight for the first of three shows.  We all made it!

Well, I've got to go.  My kids have a "Teacher Training Day" today so they are all home and one of my remaining dealines is today at 4:00 for a 3-day training session on Quality Assurance and Management.  I still need to proofread all my stuff and make time to take the kids to the dentist at 1:00 before I drive Sabrina to school for preparation for the fashion show. Hmmm...I wonder if I can get the kids to help with the proofreading??

Lucie Bouchard Antoniazzi, Regular Columnist, All in a Mom-day's Work

www.luciebouchardantoniazzi.com 

The Fine Art of Babble-ese

No matter what each day brings to us--in the form of family members’ moods, broken down cars or household parts or personal possessions (like pipes, computers, wiring, appliances), illness, or bad news--we mothers have one thing in common. We flow in and around our families like some specially formulated fix-it-all glue to keep the peace, and we do it no matter how exhausted our bones, muscles, minds, or souls feel.

Only a mother/parent could know what I mean. We’ve heard the cliché about glue before in different ways for various people. Yes, clichés can be trite through overuse and repetition, but their underlying meaning still holds true oftentimes, especially in this case, and even more so at this time of the year. (Each year I seem to begin my Christmas shopping progressively later.)

As I rise for every early morning, for the daily grind that I so willingly chose, I savor the simplest of my treasures. I do this to prepare for any brewing battle on my home turf. Although my kids are older, they still enjoy playing together and, thanks to middle school hours, they rise before 6:30am for ample time to prepare breakfast, shower, get ready at a regular pace, and play ping-pong, or one of our silly homemade games.

Of course, that means I need to squeeze in my morning serenity. I can’t face their energy, whether it’s positive or negative or some volatile combination, without my own grounding preparation. So, I sneak downstairs in the dark to sip my four shots of sweetened espresso before the buzz of the day begins. Unfortunately, I can’t seem to rise before 6:00a.m. anymore, so I have little time to jolt myself into a positively charming mood, regardless of my internal disposition and hormonal wave pool.

The other day, my fatigue nearly pinned me to the floor, but I couldn’t find a private area anywhere in my home where I could wither away or rejuvenate alone. Then, something odd happened …

After a day of editorial duties for WOW!, a dentist appointment for one of my kids, food shopping, house cleaning, meal prepping, cooking, and more, I planned to steal some space by taking a shower. My kids were busy, and I had passed my threshold for interruptions. My husband had also contributed to the madness--he couldn’t find his glasses first; later on, he couldn’t find his keys, and my kids needed help with their home work. It was late. All I wanted was a ten-minute shower to recoup what I’d lost over a fourteen-hour, high-speed day.

Right before I could get into the bathroom, my daughter walked in with a tweaky, needy voice and said: “Let’s play a game.”

I looked into her hopeful eyes, and I burst, loudly. I shouted, “The hotter’s wot, and I’m towering, now!”

I might have even stomped my foot. I don’t remember that part for sure, though. Of course, we broke out into full-on, gut-busting, giggle fits.

I still snuck my way into the shower, and she went on her way, screaming with laughter to tell everyone what I had said. I think she even shared the story with our two dogs. I laughed so hard, I wailed, and tears pours down my cheeks alongside the shower water.

I love those moments when, instead of exploding in a negative rant, I make a silly mistake. We know we usually have to work hard at uplifting others during our own weariness. It’s times like the one I shared, though, which erase the bitterness in a few fleeting moments.

So, to all the tired moms out there who, on top of all their daily duties, squeeze in holiday shopping, planning, house guests, and more, I wish you silly giggle fits and Babble-ese when you need them most!

~Sue Donckels

After Thanksgiving countdown

Yesterday the Little One asked, "How many more days til December?"

"Not many," I replied; "five."

"Y'ay we're going to Grandma's in December."

There's three more weeks until then," I told her.

Both the Little One and her sister can't wait to go to grandma's for Christmas.  And it isn't because they'll be missing a week of school, which they will.  Grandma didn't see a big deal in a 4th and 1st grader missing a week of school.  My oldest is excited because Grandma can talk Mom into anything.  Mom didn't think she had much say, since Grandma and Grandpa are paying for the plane tickets.  (They did try to get tickets later, but the nonstop flight was already booked up.)

Therefore on December 17th, the girls and I will be flying to Buffalo, NY for a three week visit.  The real reason the girls are excited... SNOW!  It will be the Little One's first white Christmas.  We didn't move to Phoenix until my oldest daughter was one.  She had a white Christmas for her first Christmas.  We have the pictures to prove it; even if she doesn't remember it.

So here in the Hosking household, the countdown to Grandma's has began.  The girls are excited.  Mom and Dad are dreading freezing our a#$* off.  I turned our heat on this morning.  The thermostat was reading below 70.  We've lived in AZ for 8 years, anything below 70 is chilly.

Of Mice and Martha

I'm surely not the only one who feels this way...Jackie Papandrew

Of Mice and Martha

Every year about this time, I harvest a new crop of hope that’s been watered by an abundance of denial. I envision a holiday season infused with peace, saturated with a spirit of thankfulness and goodwill. There will be no chaos this year, no crush of time bearing down on us like a frenetic freight train. Order will prevail in my world of good things and gracious living. Martha Stewart will be proud of me.

We’ll be giddy with gratitude at Thanksgiving, goes my fantasy. We’ll gather before a table tastefully turned out and groaning with good food, and I will bask in the awe accorded domestic doyennes such as Martha and me. Gone will be the snickers brought on by past disasters; my mother-in-law will eat crow along with the succulent turkey I place on her plate.

The cranberries will be expertly jelled, the green beans and sweet potatoes dressed up for the occasion, and the pies mighty with meringue.

At Christmas time, there’ll be parties for hosting in my immaculately clean house. My joyfully jingle-belling children will make delightful decorations. There’ll be cookie baking and eggnog making, marshmallows for toasting and chestnuts for roasting. Loved ones will gather near, and hearts will radiate good cheer and glad tidings. It will truly be the most wonderful time of the year.

Psychiatrists have another term for such delusions, but I prefer to think of it as eternal optimism.

My hopeful harvest will soon begin to wither, however, under the heat of seasonal expectations. I’ll turn to Martha for help, consulting her books for guidance. She will perch on my shoulder, a stylishly dressed angel of ambiance, whispering in my ear. Failure will not be an option.

Some people excel at execution; others, like me, are dreamers, those for whom the best-laid plans of mice and Martha almost always go awry. If tradition holds, Thanksgiving Day will dawn as gray and gelatinous as my gravy. My mistakes will be of the classic variety: the cranberries will quiver, and the beans and potatoes lie limp. The piecrusts will pucker, the meringue meander, the rolls run amok with assistance from my brawling brats. And old Tom Turkey, when pierced, will spurt ice-cold juices from the depths of his still-frozen interior.

My in-laws will leave with empty stomachs and wagging tongues, and my ruinous reputation will remain intact.

By December, I’ll be walking on the dark side. We will burn the cookies and scald the eggnog. My formerly angelic offspring, their greed and wish lists growing with every commercial they watch, will grow cantankerous, shredding the decorations, tossing the tinsel and bashing each other with the bells. The dog will manage to knock over the Christmas tree almost every day. The gifts I have purchased will be hidden away so well that they are forgotten, and I will hurry out to buy more, wondering how I can be so disgustingly disorganized. My Christmas spirit will spring a leak.

Martha, now dressed in black – a Darth Vader of domesticity -- will prod and nag and threaten until I am drowning in a sea of self-reproach. I will crumple under her pressure like ill-conceived origami, promising her the world. And still, she’ll want more. Peace and calm will give way to panic.

I will suddenly have a much better understanding of the Grinch, and old Ebenezer Scrooge won’t seem like such a bad guy.Yet, on Christmas Day, somewhere in the midst of all the un-Martha-like mayhem, I will be awakened early by the sharp poke of several young and eager fingers. Breathless voices still full of wonder, from children who don’t care that I’m not the queen of homemaking, will urge me to get up.“Mom,” they’ll whisper, “it’s Christmas!” And suddenly, nothing else will matter.

Later, we will gather at my in-laws, where the food is nauseatingly good. My kith and kin will promptly begin to bicker, in the crotchety, comfortable way only a close family can, over old insults and fresh resentments. Between mouthfuls, accusations will be hurled, political stances scorned and ethical standards questioned. Love will linger at its cranky, unvarnished best. And that’s a good thing.

© Jackie Papandrew 2007

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Really? Me, a Celebrity? by Julie Watson Smith

I was going to sit down and write a post on the empowerment of mom-writers, but I got distracted when my sister, who is visiting from St. Louis, asked me tonight, "If you could be any celebrity for one day, who would you be?" The answers ranged from Barack Obama (because he seems to have the right mix of backing, charisma and energy to bring issues to the table that will be actually be addressed) and the sample lady at Costco (because she could probably eat all that ice cream she was handing out). The one answer, though, that caused my mouth to drop was my youngest daughter's response. "I want to be you, mom. Because I just want to see what it is like to be you."

Okay...let me stop there and just say "wow." What a compliment! I've never thought about someone wanted to be me. Really, me, a celebrity? I'm just the gal with big dreams and a lot of laundry piling up. I asked my  daughter what made her want to be me, and here's her answer...

"Mommy, I just think you are the best mommy ever. I just want to see what that is like."

CLUNK. BOOM. CRASH. That was pretty much the sound of my jaw hitting the floor...again. As a mom and a writer, I strive to make an impact on the world around me (that includes my children, my readers, my friends, and more), but I never know if I never make that impact...until now. 

My 4-year-old made me realize that anyone can be a celebrity. Let me say that again, anyone can be a celebrity. From the sample gal at Costco to Barack Obama to me, anyone can be a celebrity. But what does that really mean in a world when girls who list their tops and bare it all become part of today's upper crust?  I'll tell you...being a celebrity - a true celebrity - means living your life with a pure heart and an open-mind. Rather than just being known for wild antics and million-dollar deals, celebrities are those that touch the lives of others through inspiration and imagination. Celebrities - especially those that spend their days making peanut butter sandwiches, watching Blues Clues and chauffeuring kids from endless activities - impact our world in far greater ways on a regular basis through words of wisdom, tender kisses and lots and lots of hugs.

After reflecting upon my daughter's response, I decided to change my answer of which celebrity I wanted to be. So, who do I want to be? I think I just want to be me.

What about you? What celebrity do you want to be?  (BTW, my other choices were Gwen Stefani or Jack Canfield because I believe they are both influential forces of inspiration, imagination and kindness. Plus, I totally dig Gwen's style).

In chaos and creativity,
Julie Watson Smith
Chaos and Creativity Coach/Founder, Inspired Imaginations
Award-winning author, Mommyhood Diaries

STUFFING - THE CLEAR WINNER

Looks like stuffing is the clear winner, although potatoes - mashed and sweet - come in second.

This evening my husband, due to the madness of college football, was last to get into the kitchen for dinner.  We were having leftovers again, but no one was complaining. When hubby arrived, he saw only cranberry sauce, stuffing, gravy and turkey remaining.  The mashed potatoes and vegetables had been consumed. In his hunger, he was forced to try my stuffing which he had avoided for three days. He likes his Mom's, will only eat his Mom's, and makes every attempt not to eat carbs. But his Mom is in Greece, and he was hungry.

"The stuffing is pretty darn good, honey."

Wait, I think my head is spinning. I asked him to repeat.

"Nothing." Uh-huh.

He liked it. He ate it. It's all gone. He conceded.

You see, from all the comments I have read and by what unfolds in my own kitchen, Stuffing is indeed the clear winner (and I am pretty happy too).

~Samantha

The Next Day

I'm taking a poll. What's your favorite leftover?

For me, Thanksgiving is simply a pre-cursor for fabulous eating the next day. Leftovers have a special place in my heart. My family is currently sitting in front of the tv watching a ball game, having round 2 of sumptuous fare - but I am not sure who they are and how they are related to me.

They don't eat anything at all like me. I have always believed that culinary preferences are as hereditary as eye color.

I dive head first into stuffing. My husband and children ignore it.

My son's first and only plate of food last night was cauliflower, green beans, and a small scoop of mashed potatoes.

My husband protein-packed and went heavy on the vegetables, not having any wild mushroom or cornbread-oyster stuffing that I made from scratch. FROM SCRATCH!

My oldest daughter tried a little bit of everything so she could justify attacking an entire pecan pie. My two-year-old daughter walked around with a block of Dubliner cheese, I was waiting for her to grow a tail and whiskers like a mouse.

I had both types of stuffing under a blanket of gravy and mountain peak of cranberry sauce. I'm the carb freak, and I stand alone, apparently.

After reviewing their Thanksgiving and day-after eating habits, however, it seems the carb addiction stops with me. That is proably better. Because that stuffing, so much more flavorful the next day, awaits me and me alone, greets me like a friend I see once or twice a year, and comforts me along with the good movies on this holiday weekend.

Just me, my comfort food, and a well-written movie from the 80s. If it were raining, today would be undeniably perfect. But I'll take what I've got, and of course, not to miss the big picture, be thankful for it.

Happy Leftovers Day!

~ Samantha Gianulis

Happy Thanksgiving

I am thankful I don't have to cook today.  I am also thankful to know and work with a wonderful group of writing moms.

Thoughts of
Home
Abound each
November as
Kin feast together
Safe and sound.

Happy Thanksgiving Everyone!

Veronica Hosking
poetry editor

Do we really need to shop on Thanksgiving?

I woke up this morning and made a list of things that I am grateful for.  Then I watched the Macy's Thanksgiving parade all morning which was wonderful.

Next, I read the paper.  I came across the top ten list of ways to get the best shopping deals this weekend .  And there at number one was "go shopping on Thanksgiving and get some great deals." 

Why must we ruin what is supposed to be a holiday centered on family by shopping for trinkets and other stuff? I understand that people run out of eggs, milk, etc. and those places certainly have a reason for being open today.  But the other places that do not sell food, hope that consumers will come to them for their great deals today.   

I remember in my only childhood driving around on the holidays and trying to find an open gas station---they were difficult to find. But not today, every gas station is open and employing people who would rather be at home with their families--at least that is what I think.

So today, I choose not to shop.  I do not want to add to the mindset that we need more places open to fill my needs on a day where I should be grateful for what I have...rather than chasing and buying the things I still desire.

Kathy Schlaeger lives with her husband and three daughters near Cincinnati, Ohio.