MWLM Blog

Don’t – Stop – No!

Mothers continually caution their young children by using these phrases-

Don’t touch that, it’s dirty. Stop staring it’s not polite. No talking to strangers.

Do your kids heed your loving protective warnings or do the little darlings just roll their eyes and simply tune you out? Thirty years later, I know the answer when I hear the echo of my own words used against me.

Today I’m flying into New York or if you’re a comic book fan, ‘Gotham City’. I hear that danger lurks around every corner. There are unspoken rules you must obey to survive. Information you must understand to arrive safely at your desired destination.

While I’m here, I want to live like a local. I want to be ‘one’ with the people. Watch out New York- Here I come!

My guide meets me at LaGuardia. He is a tall blue-eyed blond young man with a chiseled chin and a sparkling smile. I’m under his command. He will show me the ropes, the tricks of the trade. The Big Apple is his town. His name is Cory. (BTW- Cory is my son.)

Day One:

Walking quickly we head for the subway, the train, the metro, the rail, the underground transit system, I understand that we will be bonding with some nasty rats. (The rodent type, not the human kind.)

We follow the frantic swarm of people surging down several flights of stairs into the dark pits of Brooklyn. Feeling pressure from the pack of humans invading my personal space, I grab the handrail for support, praying my flip-flops do not slip on the crusty, strangely wet cement steps. Directly behind me I hear a deep scolding whisper in my ear. “Did you bring hand sanitizer? The rails are full of germs. Don’t touch anything.”

Oh, gross. Heeding my son’s warning, I root around in my purse for handy wipes, proceeding to scrub every finger on both hands.

Watching the rats scurry on the tracks below, beep-beep-beep rapid annoying honking bells start bouncing off the dirty subway tiles announcing the trains impending arrival.

What a nice surprise, fresh cool air blasts me as the doors whoosh open. Sitting down on the hard pre-formed orange bench, gripping my purse to my chest, I pause to take a good look around.

Our compartment is full although each passenger has an option to sit down. Students with open books are doing schoolwork; mothers are tending to fussy babies while rumpled old men feign sleep behind sunglasses. Oh but of course the ‘Suits’ are reading the NY Times. With all this diversity on the train, I notice one constant activity. Every person, young and old have iPods that main-line music to their heads. I glance over to my son for security and reassurance. With a scowling look, Cory mouths a firm silent warning. “Stop staring.”

Gawd, I was just being me. You know, maybe catch a stranger’s eye and smile. However, that seems impossible because everyone is engrossed in a solitary activity. Not one soul looks up, not even a mother. In fact, this large space is oddly void of human voices. How sad and lonely. I close my eyes letting my body relax to the swishing-swaying underground transit car until we reach our stop.

Screeching to a halt, single-minded people scamper out of the ‘L’ train. In a huddle, they tromp up several flights of stairs over the platform down two more flights to wait for the ‘G’ train. My legs are like jelly as we join a hoard of people on yet another damp dreary holding platform.

Beep-beep-beep-beep the ground begins to rumble. Silver cars flash and flip-flip-flip by, metal grinding to an ear-piercing stop.

Shuffling with the masses to enter the tram door a man cuts me off at the pass. I raise my hand waving him on and say, “Go ahead”. With my palm still up, I casually start to place it on his back to keep my balance as I follow the line-cutting stranger. Out of the blue, I hear a teeth gritting reprimand, “Mom! No touching.”

Jerking my hand down keeping my head low, I head for a seat. Plopping down, I smack into a young person. I touch her shoulder, looking her straight in the eye. With a furrowed brow I gently exclaim, “I’m sorry”.

Oh no, I just keep forgetting the rules! I know I deserve another scolding.

Scanning the crowd, I spot Cory leaning against the train door with his arms crossed, supervising. He smirks, shakes his head, rolling his eyes just before they close.

At this moment, thirty years later, I realize that Cory and I have come full circle. My son is now watching over me.

Pamela Vanden Bos, Mom Writer’s Literary Magazine Intern

Spoiled Rotten

Hello fellow Moms. I hope that you all had a wonderful Mother's Day weekend. I certainly did.  I was spoiled rotten.

My son made me a nestlike bowl out of popsicle sticks.  My daughters put their money together and got me a Body Shop basket including mango body wash, soap, body scrub and body lotion... it smells wonderful! My husband got me an alarm clock/AM-FM radio/ipod docking station to replace my radio/alarm clock that no longer tuned in to any radio stations and therefore woke me up with either a silent flashing screen (not very effective) or a most annoying buzzer that sent me flying to the ceiling with my heart in my throat every time it sounded (not a great way to start the day).

As if all of this was not enough, my husband gave me a break from breakfast duty Sunday morning.  While I took a relaxing shower, he prepared a nice pancake breakfast for all of us. I also got a break from supper duty on Saturday because we went to my parents' place for supper and lunch duty on Sunday because we went to my in-laws' place for lunch. So all in all, it was a great weekend.  My gang will have to work hard next year if they want to top it!

I hope that you were all pampered and spoiled as much... after all, we deserve our special day, right?

Lucie Bouchard Antoniazzi, Regular Columnist, All in a Mom-day's Work, www.luciebouchardantoniazzi.com

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

Reach Out and Touch Someone…

In 1981 AT&T ripped at our heart strings with the slogan “Reach out and touch someone”.

Think back…

You’re away at college when you see this tear jerking long distance telephone commercial on TV. Now you know, without a shadow of a doubt, how much your momma misses you. Call her!

Your sweet old Grandma doesn’t have much time left on this earth; she wants to hear your voice. Won’t you at least talk to her today?

When I hear the first few notes of this gut wrenching jingle, I instantly yearn for the yummy smells of home. My eyes well-up, I need to talk to my daddy.

Oh for crying out loud, this is one powerful commercial, my father lives next door!

Now, fast forward twenty seven years to our current lifestyle.

I'm living a dream as I walk barefoot on sugar white sands. The warm emerald waters of the Gulf of Mexico gently tickle my perfectly painted toe nails.

However, my life in paradise does not keep me from popping in on my daughter, Keelyn, for a quick virtual chat. My computer’s web cam hooks up with my daughters Mac in Seattle, which is three thousand miles away. Yet, we instantly create a video/audio connection. How virtually cool is that?

This is how the ‘Baby Boomer’ parents and generation ‘X’ children communicate in 2008.

Today my seven month old grandbaby, Trista, is flapping her arms like a bird, wiggling on her momma’s lap, happily squawking showing me glimpses of her new front teeth.

I watch Charlie, my five year old grandson, bounce into the room looking straight at me on the computer screen. (The computer grandma’s virtual visit is old-hat to him.) Charlie’s big brown eyes twinkle as he smirks and says, “Gran-maw, can I have some candy?”

Thrilled to be noticed, I quickly answer, “Yes you can.” Charlie takes off on a dead run shouting back towards me, “Gran-maw you’re da best.”

My daughter instantly spews out an irritated “Mom!”

Somehow I’m not getting that warm fuzzy feeling of …‘Reach out and touch someone’.

This virtual reality ‘thang’ just got tricky. Oops, mybad!

Pam Vanden Bos, Mom Writer’s Literary Magazine Intern

Overdue for Laughter?

For a great diversion, especially as we moms approach the much needed day off on Mother’s Day (do we really get the day off?), I highly recommend a book any reader would enjoy from cover to cover. Check out Inn Keeping with Mr. Fawlty: The Confessions of an Hotelier, by Andy Hageman.  

This book of “confessions” is a hilarious take on the services an hotelier provides to his or her clients, all with a sincere intention to please; it focuses on the most entertaining aspects of the most difficult people. But the hilarious side comes into play by the major faux pas committed by the obnoxious guests that the author has encountered and dealt with over the years. Even if a reader is unfamiliar with the British characters of Basil Fawlty and Prunella Scales, from the Fawlty Towers series, the humor still rides high. It’s a quick, witty read that can put life into perspective, particularly for those of us who don’t aim to please thousands of guests on a regular basis.

It’s good to be reminded that our families, no matter how large, are still quite manageable in comparison!

~Sue Donckels, Managing Editor for Mom Writer’s Literary Magazine,  forever on a quest for humor.

More May Happenings

Looking for a unique way to celebrate mother's day?  Share your mother's story.

Veronica Hosking
Poetry Editor

Vote BOLD

BOLD, which stands for Birth on Labor Day, is an organization using the arts to initiate social action. BOLD is a unique organization that supports mothers through the public performance and discussion of the play “Birth” by founder and playwright Karen Brody, as well as their mother centered Red Tent events. BOLD is up for the Ideablog award. The Ideablog award is a cash award supporting an organization that receives the most amount of votes for their idea. Please go to the BOLD website, and don't forget their page on Ideablob, to find out more about BOLD and how to vote for this worthwhile organization.

Mini Soccer – Not for the Weak-Kneed

It’s soccer season! Have I said that before? Sorry for the repeat. But we just can’t get enough of the sport, so we play it indoors, too. Here’s a fun idea for parents who need something different.

My son and daughter developed a way to play soccer in our game room. But we can’t kick the ball in the house. So, we remove the ping pong table from the rectangular room to give us optimum space. Then, we place two bean bags in one corner, six feet across from each other; this formers one large triangular soccer goal. We repeat with another goal caddy corner to the first one.

The teams swap, usually two on two: kids versus parents, girls vs. guys, mom and son vs. dad and daughter, etc. We’ve tried it with me alone. Mom versus kids…I’ve won once, but that’s a hard feat to repeat. The sport works the knees, legs, and all muscles involved in crawling.

The only way to play this version of soccer is on all fours, using our palms as our feet. The ball is not a genuine soccer ball, but an ancient Chuck E. Cheese ball that's squishy-soft and painless, except when it smacks someone in the nose. It’s a rough and tumble sport that often ends up with the kids wrestling. My daughter is amazingly strong, and puts her older brother to shame at times; but, then, my son sometimes puts his dad to shame too. I avoid wrestling, but I find it funny to watch. If someone commits a foul, we do a dropped ball in the center of the room and continue the game. We usually play until we can't move.

It’s a sweaty, silly soccer game that ends up on giggle fits if we play it late at night, which makes for a good stress reliever before going to sleep.

~Sue Donckels, Managing Editor for Mom Writer’s Literary Magazine and one of thousands of soccer moms, cheering on the sidelines.

Mom Writer’s Dream Retreat!

Have you ever thought about traveling away from the kids, house, jobs, chores, and even the hubby for a week? Marcie Miller, the Write in Ireland Facilitator, is looking for writers!

Write in Ireland seeks fiction writers of all skill levels and genres to participate in a unique one-week writers retreat. The session goes from May 3^rd through the 10^th and it features a workshop by noted Irish author, Niall Williams, gourmet meals, and lodging in a gorgeous remote mountain retreat in scenic County Kerry.

For more information, stop by Write in Ireland.

If you’re interested, don’t wait!

~Sue Donckels, Managing Editor for Mom Writer’s Literary Magazine, dreaming of a trip to Ireland. InkBridge Blog.

Soccer's Hidden Symbol!

It's official. Spring season soccer practices have begun, and I'm happy for my kids. But I'm not ready for it. It's not spring, yet. Punxsutawny Phil told us so. Blasted little burrower!

I have only two kids, but their practices overlap, their games overlap, and I feel overlapped! Actually, I'm  about as warm-blooded as a lizard. I sat on the sidelines at my daughter's field. (Thankfully, my husband was in town to take our son to his practice on the other side of town.) My daughter's coach had three dads assist, so I have no legitimate complaints. I cheered from beneath my ski coat, wrapped inside a wool blanket, tucked inside my red canvas lawn chair. I still shivered.

But I do love soccer! I love watching professional games, and I love to see kids play the sport. They learn to collaborate and communicate. As they get older, especially, they learn fancy foot maneuvers and sneaky passes to team mates.

It's a time to celebrate, really. With soccer's arrival, I know spring can't be that far away. Right?

~Sue Donckels, Managing Editor for Mom Writer's Literary Magazine, and owner of InkBridge--soon to launch for emerging writers' online internships. Come check out my new InkBridge Blog. I have a schedule for posts, just to keep my sanity. Mondays are reserved for "Motherhood." =)