GUEST BLOG POST: A Valentine to Motherhood by Rochelle Jewel Shapiro

             My Uncle Kenny, he should rest in peace, used to shake his head and say, “If only we could raise the neighbor’s children.”

            Sure, because we’d be detached, we’d be able to see exactly what we were doing without the overlay of our own childhood, our own wishes. I’m a grandparent now like my Uncle Kenny was back when he told me that, so I think I have a better sense of what my failings were. 

            From what I remember, most parents when I was young didn’t worry about whether or not their children loved them. They just assumed they did, like they assumed they were taking in oxygen when they breathed, no matter what they could afford or even how they treated their kids. I was beaten at home and wouldn’t recommend it. In fact, I’m still recovering. But I remember my friend’s father, a big burly man, telling his four children, “If you don’t like my rules, don’t bang your ass on the door as you leave.” His four kids didn’t leave until they were of age and could support themselves and they would do anything for him.

            On the other hand, when I became a mother and had to give my daughter a time-out, I’m sure I suffered more than she did in her roomful of toys, worrying that I had been too harsh. Oh, and the times I didn’t make it to the count of ten and lost it and yelled, my heart took an express elevator down to my knees. The first time my daughter said, “I hate you Mommy,” she was two and only my head knew this was normal. The rest of me shriveled like a salted slug. I had hoped to be the beloved Marmee of Little Women, the playful mother in The Five Little Peppers and How they Grew, the wise and kindly one in I Remember Mama. Maybe my parents were lucky that they never read books. They weren’t trying to live up to impossible expectations.

            By the time my son was born, I’d discovered the work of Haim Ginott. http://www.betweenparentandchild.com/index.php?s=content&p=Haim who believed that parents should reflect back a child’s feelings. For example, if you notice that your child feels blue after her cousin leaves from a week-long visit, you might say, “The house must seem so empty without Leonard here.”

I was so insecure with my parenting that I overdid it. One day my son came off the bus in huff. He glared at me and said, “Don’t ask me how I feel about socking Adam back.” After that, no matter how cagey I was with my Ginott, my son was onto me.

My friend, Rick, was so reviled by his parents for being gay that he had to move from the Midwest to New York to escape them. After observing me interacting with my daughter and son, he said, “Gosh, Rochelle, I had no idea that there were parents who wanted their kids’ approval.”

            He was right. But thankfully, despite my insecurities, it all turned out fine. My daughter calls me daily and ends most of our phone calls with her saying, “love you” and my son always clasps me to him whenever we say goodbye. But what anguish I would have saved myself if only I had had the benefit of reading about the mother/child bonding in Judith Horstman’s The Scientific American Book of Love, Sex, and the Brain: the Neuroscience of How, When, Why, and Who We Love  (Jossey-Bass, 2012), http://www.amazon.com/Scientific-American-Book-Love-Brain/dp/0470647787/ref=sr_1_2?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1328372577&sr=1-2  By using modern tools for looking into the brain, it’s been proven (p. 43) that because of the firing of mirroring neurons and the flooding of oxytocin, the “cuddle hormone,” joy is created in a mother and child by just looking into each other’s faces. As a result, a mother holds a special place in a child’s heart and brain throughout his lifetime, even when the child is grown and out of the house for years. Soldiers wounded in battle cry out for their mothers. Most children phone their mothers when they are in crisis for comfort. The reminder of a mother’s touch, her voice, can help change people’s minds, moods, and choices. We carry our mothers with us to the end of our days. The elderly often cry out for their mothers as they are dying.

            If I had fully understood the neurological and biochemical factors of motherhood as I was raising my children, I might have thought of it for what it truly is---a valentine that lasts a lifetime.

Rochelle Jewel Shapiro is a novelist, essayist, poet, blogger, writing instructor and more. She is the author of Miriam the Medium (Simon and Schuster) which is selling in the U.S., the U.K., Belgium and Holland.  Visit www.rochellejewelshapiro.com

Five Lessons Learned While Waiting for Labor to Begin by Leta Hamilton

My house is a mess, and I don’t feel ready to have a baby, but my body is saying, “READY! READY!” Can’t I have everything exactly the way I want it before bringing this baby into the world? There is nothing in my medical history or past birth experiences to merit anything other than a vaginal delivery of baby #4. I know, for me, this is the way it is meant to be. For other moms, a scheduled c-section or induced labor is par for the course. And while a part of me may envy their foreknowledge of when and where their baby will come, I also have a deep reverence for the route I am going. In this time of “any time now,” I am learning five important lessons about what it means to be at peace in an uncertain world.

1. Not knowing when my baby is coming forces me to be present in a way that is otherwise rare. I took out my calendar this morning and looked at my plans for the week, knowing that they may or may not happen – and also knowing that if I missed a meeting because of bringing new life into the world, it would be ok. I am grateful for the opportunity to be present with my body, my family and my schedule. It is a refreshing change from the norm!

2. The waiting and the messy house gives me an opportunity to work on those areas that mean the most to me and let go of the rest. What can I live with? Where do I want to deploy my energetic resources when every time I walk through the house I feel like a whale swimming through molasses? Today I showed my husband where the baby blankets, newborn clothes and diapers were. Secure in the knowledge that I won’t have to think about these things when I am pushing out my baby, I feel like that is pretty much it – we are ready.

3. I am practicing self-compassion and taking the time to rest so I have the energy to do the things I most want to do. Yesterday I had three things in my schedule and I did none of them. Today I have two things that I don’t want to miss and I have the energy to attend them because I took other, less important things, off the agenda yesterday. I am learning how to make compassionate choices that create more harmony within. Physically, I may feel like a whale, but the peace that comes with self-compassion more than makes up for it.

4. Looking into the future is a game. Will he come before or after Halloween? He may be born on Halloween for all I know. All of this uncertainty is a metaphor for how life treats us generally. There are always unforeseen events in our existences. This is a given. Having this time to deal with a big unknown gives me tools for dealing with the surprises that I know are forthcoming. Giving birth over to nature allows me to participate in the cycle of life in a way that is congruent, not adversarial. This flow brings overall peace and I am grateful.

5. Finally, the mystery about the exact day and time I will go into labor brings complications into the picture that serve to enhance my ability to surrender what I cannot control over to the universe. There is a saying, “If you have a problem and can do something about it, why worry? If you have a problem and can do nothing about it, why worry?” It will be alright, no matter what mania surrounds me in the first moments of active labor. I know this. I may not be ready for a nighttime birth with my two year old sleeping next to me, but I know that in the moment I will have a solution. This is faith and a sprinkle of it over my overall approach to life has much needed benefits to my peace of mind.

All of the above are guiding lights toward a peaceful heart in the midst of chaos. As every mom knows, family brings an abundance of that. I know this time of waiting is a deepening of tolerance for whatever mayhem awaits me. With 4 kids ages 7 and under, I need this growth to my spiritual perspective. It’s perfect just the way it is – whale belly swimming through molasses and everything.

Choices by Robin Gorman Newman

Last weekend, I ran into a father of a boy who Seth is friends with. He's a year younger and attends a different local school, so they don't see each other all that much, but they have fun when they do get together. The dad is a stay at home father (SAHF)...the second one I know of with that status. His wife works fulltime, and while he has investments, she is their primary bread earner. As I understand it, based on what he's shared, this is something they agreed to when they took on the role of parenting. Their son is adopted, as is Seth, and we, in fact, met them at an adoption picnic when the boys were young, hosted by the mutual adoption attorney we shared. Coincidentally, they lived in our town, so we became friends.

Because the mom works fulltime, and sometimes long hours, I haven't gotten to know her all that well. Whereas, the dad and I have had lunch and play dates with the kids.

I always felt they seems like two very different peas in a pod....but sometimes that can keep a relationship interesting, so I presumed it worked. I guess it did for a while....or so it seemed.

I found out this week that, in fact, they are in the throes of divorce. The dad was very surprised I didn't already know since he felt like the town was abuzz with the news. I'm not one to buy much into gossip, though I do enjoy my share of celebrity rag magazines, but that's about people I don't know and likely never will. So, I explained I hadn't heard anything.

I felt badly, and told him. He said not to feel badly...that he didn't....though I wasn't entirely sure. They have a young son, and I asked how he was taking it, and he said "ok." I added that "kids are resilient," trying to interject a dose of positivity.

I didn't want to pry, but asked what had happened with the marriage? At first he seemed a bit mum, but then opened up, and I felt as if I was one of the few he could comfortably share with. I wasn't looking to judge. He said that she'd been making nasty remarks about him around town, and that many he considered his friend were turning against him...believing her. That, more than anything, stunned me. "Then they're not real friends," I replied. He said they commented that they thought they knew him but were now realizing there was more to him...in a negative way...than meets the eye. That got me wondering, then, how do you define a friend? If someone I called a "friend" were to react that way to me, I'd expect way more than judgment, especially based on the comments of a soon to be ex spouse seemingly on the warpath. Wouldn't they know me better than that? If not, then I'd question my ability to choose friends. I like to consider myself discerning.

He said his wife was changing the plan. She is 51, and decided that she wants a house in town (they live in an apartment) and a country home and that the lifestyle they've created isn't what she has in mind. She wants him to get a job...even at Home Depot....and be a "man."

He and I agreed that his getting a minimum wage part time job at Home Depot would not alter their lifestyle in any significant way. And, that he had gone back to school to pursue a Masters so he could one day teach, and this had been the plan when they adopted their son. One of them wanted to be home to be with their child, otherwise some of their respective salaries would go toward childcare.

What it sounded like to me was a gal having some midlife second thoughts. Time does go fast, and she decided she wanted more. She is entitled to happiness, as is the father....as is their young son.

It made me realize that life is complicated. None of us know exactly what we've signed on for. No one has a crystal ball.

We choose a mate....if we get married...and hope we've picked wisely. Though, time can change things...whether out of fear, frustration or clarity.

We choose to become parents...and especially if we adopt...we hope we've picked wisely. Though no child comes with an A+ report card from birth.

If we work, we choose a career path that hopefully inspires us, but that's not always the case. Many work strictly out of necessity.

We all do the best with can with the roads we travel, but our actions do impact others. And, as parents, our children are the innocent bystanders. They look to us for love and guidance...and if we can't guide ourselves, then navigating for them becomes all the more challenging.

I do hope that his mom and dad will ultimately find their own happiness, and I trust that their son will feel no less loved, even as he goes on to live in two separate homes. No one said parenting is an easy job....and no one ever said that life comes with a guarantee.

GUEST BLOG POST: Raising Financially Savvy Kids by Linda and Richard Eyre

One of the most frequent mistakes parents make, and one that is actually easier to make by more financially established parents, is to give kids license too early and responsibility too late.

In an effort to give our children every advantage, we sometimes inadvertently give them the negative and unintentional gift of indulgence. By giving them too much, we take away their chance to develop self-motivation, self-discipline, self-esteem, and self-control.

All of these self-developed gifts are fostered by an environment of responsibility, equity, and perceived ownership; and they are undermined by an environment of entitlement.

When kids are given too much, when they don’t have to work for anything or wait for anything, they lose motivation and initiative—they even lose creativity and the ability to figure out what they really want and how to get it.

Furthermore, when they demand and are given whatever they want, they do not perceive real ownership and thus have no sense of pride or inclination to care for and protect things.

On the other hand, if they work for something, or save for it, or sacrifice or give something up for it, they feel a true, earned ownership that is the prerequisite to responsibility and the antidote to entitlement.

It is relatively easy to change your household from an “entitlement economy” to an “enterprise economy.” Eliminate hand-out allowances and institute a new family system of earning, budgeting, saving, and choosing. Get a big wooden box with an impressive lock and designate it as the family bank, in which kids can have accounts. Get them checkbooks so they can put money into the bank with a deposit slip and get it out by writing a check. Explain that a certain amount of money comes into the family and that those who share in the work deserve a part of the income. Negotiate and assign tasks from dishes to cleaning common areas of the home and even include things like the timely finishing of homework and music practice. Have kids keep track of their completed tasks with a pegboard or chart or computer program that requires a parents’s approval. Change Saturday from “allowance day” to “payday” where a well-performing child can earn enough to buy “all his own stuff” rather than having to ask you for it. Have him bring his checkbook to the store and write checks to you (on the family bank) for what he wants, always keeping track of his balance in his check register. Have the bank pay interest on money saved. Make your home and family economy into a little microcosm of the real world and the real economy.

By focusing on preparing our children to live in the real world and the real economy, we can also create a home environment where money, instead of being the thing that spoils and entitles children, can be the raw material with which they learn to work, to save, to wait, to budget, and to give. And that, when you think about it, is a pretty good definition of “responsibility.”

Richard and Linda Eyre are among the most popular speakers in the world on parenting and families. The authors of numerous books, including the #1 New York Times bestseller, Teaching Your Children Values, as well as others like The 5 Spiritual Solutions for Parents, and How to talk to your Child about Sex, the Eyres are the parents of nine and the grandparents of 21. They live in Park City, Utah.  For further details on setting up a “family economy,” see their new book THE ENTITLEMENT TRAP: How to Rescue Your Child with a New Family System of Choosing, Earning, and Ownership (Avery paperback original; September 2011; $18.00). 

Cyma Shapiro Chats with Christine Pisera Naman, author of “Faces of Hope: Babies Born on 9/11” and “Faces of Hope, 10 Years Later”

Q: On 9/11, an estimated 10,000 children were born including your own son, Trevor. (Christine was 38 years old). I’m assuming that your experience formed the basis for your book. Please tell me more about this.

A: Having a baby on any day is a unique experience, having a baby on 9/11 was particularly unique. One does not often shed tears of sadness as well as tears of joy on the same day. But I did. Holding a new life in my arms was joyous. Watching our country being attacked was devastating. My own experience did form the basis for the books. I wanted to reach out to others who just might be feeling the same as I was.

Q: Can you share with us a little about the mechanics of compiling the book: how hard was it to find and interview your subjects (since they came from all 50 states)? Also, did you find regional differences in perceptions about 9/11? That is, the further from NYC you traveled, did greater observations prevail?

A: My method for compiling the books was extremely simple. I started with an internet search of baby announcements in newspapers throughout the U.S. Then simply found phone numbers and called, introduced myself then asked if they would be a part of my project of hope. I often say that remarkably, I made just about 50 phone calls to find the 50 babies. The reception from the parents was great. I found that people were pretty much equally touched by the tragedies of 9/11. Close and far it was heart breaking for all.


Q: As a mother of three children, how difficult/easy was it to present these babies in their glory – a group whose collective presence often represents new beginnings and, of course, the blank slate/freshness that only young children can provide?

A: It was easy to present the children with positive freshness and new hope. Just looking at their photos it is impossible to see anything else.

Q: In your original book, you frame the innocence of children around an event representing one of darkness or of the greatest evils of mankind. Please share some of your feelings around this dichotomy.

A: Without being political, I wanted to convey to America first & the world second that in spite of the great evil inflicted on our country that day, there was still a bright future ahead. A future that will be shaped by these beautiful innocent faces who glow with hope & optimism for a world that will see good. And that will happen through them, the representatives of a generation born on that awful day.

Q: One tragedy of death is that the deceased is often celebrated in a way that might not have happened in life. It appears as if this might be the case with Christina Taylor Green (your Colorado representative), the young girl who was killed in the shootings surrounding Gabrielle Gifford; a girl whose story of courage, hope and intent resonated around the world. Can you share some of your personal experiences with her and the message you might have taken away from her tragic passing?
 A: Christina represented Maryland in the book. Unfortunately, I did not have the privilege of knowing Christina personally but do know through talks with her mother that she was a truly remarkable little girl who did much good and made the world a better place in her short life. Senseless killing is impossible to make sense of.

Q: Having reconnected with these families and children 10 years later, how have their parents’ perceptions of that day changed? What is overall consensus of that date by the now 9 to 10 year olds?


A: I think like most people feel when they look back on 9/11 the parents can remember who they were with, what they were doing and how they felt. It is one of those days that feels like a long time ago then at the same time feels like just yesterday. Speaking with the parents, their perceptions seem to not have changed much. They remember the joy as well as the heartbreak they felt. As far as the children go, I think they have grown to feel a certain bit of responsibility to add goodness to our world because of the date of their birth. And that is what we as parents hope they will do.


Q: You were quoted as saying that “it’s impossible not to feel blessed when you hold a new life and new hope in your arms…I began to realize that my baby…had a very special purpose. (Regarding the other children) They were born to provide life, hope and goodness to a world on a day when it needed it most.” It’s obvious that your connection to motherhood has provided you with the impetus for many of your books. Can you discuss this further?

A: I always felt I needed to express my spirituality. Faces of Hope could obviously not have been planned, but when circumstances placed those two events together (the 9/11 attacks & the birth of Trevor), they acted like a catalyst and I felt the need to put together Faces of Hope. Had one event happened without the other, I am not sure I would have had the impetus to write it. Motherhood fed those emotional flames ignited by the attacks.


Q: How does being a midlife mother frame your perceptions of motherhood? How has it impacted your children?

A: I don’t really know how being a midlife mother frames my perceptions, hopefully being older and having a bit more life experience than younger moms helps me some. I feel that we become better mothers learning from prior experiences & making sure not to repeat “rookie” mistakes we may have made when we were younger & “greener”.


Q: Finally, what life lessons do you believe that mothers, and especially (new) older mothers, can take away from your books?


A: The only life lessons I hope anyone of any age will take from my books is to simply live life to the fullest, take what life gives you and find the hope in it all.

Christine Pisera Naman is an author, wife and mother. She lives in Pittsburgh Pennsylvania with her husband Peter and three children Jason, Natalie and Trevor. She enjoys eating out, window shopping, long walks and reading and writing. Her other works include Caterpillar Kisses, Christmas Lights and The Believers.

Like Fine Wine by Elizabeth Allen

No matter how it came about, you are an older parent. Regardless of whether the decision to wait was physical, emotional or occupational, here we are. And now that we’re here, generally speaking, most people expect we are more mature. That our decisions are well thought out and we excel at time management and prioritizing. Heck, younger parents and parents-to-be come to us for advice. We must be better parents because we approach each decision with poise, experience, and a business-like attitude.


NOT!

Okay, maybe some of us are just that organized and well thought out. A chosen few have the skills, patience and necessary deafness to carefully plan out the week ahead: business meetings, school lunches, after-school practice, balance the budget, night out with the girls (which is often reduced to the girl since their schedules overwhelm) and if lucky—very lucky—sex with your spouse or significant other while still fairly conscious and willing.

I can’t say that older is better when it comes to parenting as a rule. Unlike red wine, there is no guarantee parents get better with age. As you can see from my previous post or if you’re brave enough to read my books, being older certainly didn’t make my parents wise, loving or stable. But then, they were always like that. Even before they had children.

In fact, I’ve noticed during my vast years of observation that most people don’t really mellow with age. Quite the opposite. Most habits, mannerisms, idiosyncrasies and general attitudes actually seem to exaggerate over time. Just imagine. That little snorting sort of laugh of his that you barely tolerate will morph into a blustering guffaw in years to come. Don’t believe me? Ask your parents or grandparents.

And it ain’t just the giggles or political views…Can we talk nose hair? But I digress.

So, does the age of the parent really make a difference with respect to maturity? I say no. Not really. Details and circumstances aside, whatever sort of parent you would’ve been at 25, so you will be at 40. You might scream “I said NO!” a little louder and with less fortitude. You might get winded sooner pushing your little one on the two-wheeler the first few times. You might even stress about being too old a grandparent some day. (Aren’t grandparents supposed to be old?)

But you are probably more head-over-heels in love with your children than you could have ever imagined. I believe that older parents view their kids as more of committed relationship and less of a chore. And it’s that level of mature love—that realization that can only come with time—that makes it just a bit better.

Now if we could just do something about these freaking chin hairs…

Under the Wire - by Elizabeth Allen

I was the last in line—the youngest child born to my mother when she was 39-years-old. My brother popped in fifteen months earlier when she was a sprightly 37, but my sister won the trophy for first born when Mom was a more conventional 27. My sister had twelve years as an only child to a young-ish mother with energy garnering her enthusiasm and attention. Did it really make a difference? And to whom?


That depends on who you ask.

Let’s start with me. Sometimes I feel like I got the raw end of the deal. Mom was exhausted by the time I laid my childish demands for attention upon her. She didn’t have the energy to play with me—not without caffeine or stimulants (which I accidently swallowed after she recklessly dropped them on the floor and my two-year-old mind decided they were M&M’s). She was quickly burnt-out on the whole motherhood experience and was feeling like she hadn’t made her mark in the world so evenings were dedicated to community theatre rehearsals and performances. When Mom was home, she was desperately unhappy in her marriage to my father and since I was the baby and the last entity in the house that technically needed her, she vented her misery on me before I’d turned ten. As if all that wasn’t enough, I had the least amount of time with Mom before she passed away.

My slightly older brother didn’t seem to care about the amount of attention or lack of it he got from Mom. He was very intellectual from a very young age and was buried in books and education. Of course, looking back now, that may have been his escape from the ever-present dysfunction in the house. Yep, probably was. Once he was off to college, he never looked back.

That just leaves my sister. She may have had the roost to herself for a dozen years, but once my brother and I came along, she was gainfully employed as a full-time babysitter. But those first twelve years were hardly a cake-walk. Mom dragged my sister through five marriages—four step-fathers. The lessons that little girl observed regarding men, women and relationships were so twisted and perverse, it was no wonder she married the first schmuck who proposed when she was seventeen to get out of that cuckoo’s nest. Of course, she married a psychotic schmuck but let’s not get into that.

So what the heck is my point? Truth be told, it got lost somewhere in my rant up above. Oh wait! Found it. Does it make a difference to siblings if the parent is older or younger? I believe it has to. Certainly my example is not the norm (and I pray none of you or your children ever go through anything like that!) but despite the insanity, there are common elements—energy, enthusiasm, and attention.

Older mothers just don’t have as much energy, especially if there are several kids. Someone’s going to get short-changed, but that’s just the way it is.

I find, however, that enthusiasm and attention go hand in hand. Lots, if not most, older mothers these days are career women. How much time can you carve out of your routine to devote to your child (or children)? As a full-time financial advisor and part-time writer, I can see how the demands of my aspirations have impacted my daughter. Becoming a mother was one of the single most important decisions of my life, but as I traversed my forties and early fifties, I too, like my mother, felt the need to leave my mark. My daughter has been conditioned ever since she was a baby to understand mommy goes to work, but once I started writing in the evenings, she felt cheated. I argued and rationalized that writing was important to me and this is something I need to do for me and don’t you want mommy to do something that makes her happy? And almost before I knew it, I had nearly argued and rationalized myself right out of the most important relationship of my life.

Would I have gone through this mid-life crisis had she been born ten or twenty years earlier? Probably not. I was a selfish idiot in my twenties and a bit of a career-nomad with no discernible direction. And considering I skirted three engagements, I was well on the way to matching my own mother’s record. So, all things considered, it’s good we waited.

Thank God my daughter is not afraid to communicate and I listen to her. Now my writing time is scheduled when it doesn’t impact our precious mother/daughter time.

Like now.

GUEST BLOG POST: Written in the Stars by Elizabeth Allen

How does a woman become an older mom? Is it a conscious decision like deciding to wait until you’re financially solvent? Or postponing until you’ve experienced all the travelling, parties, fine dining, and spontaneity you can handle before you become permanently tethered to a dependent child? Or is it the luck (or not) of the draw? Are there fertility issues? Partner complications? Fear of motherhood?

I used to think my delay in becoming a mother was directly linked to the DNA I inherited from my mother. Okay, that’s not very scientific, but hear me out. She was 39 when I was born. My father was her fifth and last husband. They divorced when I was 12, which taught me that marriages and families are as disposable as tissue paper. It also taught me (or rather I decided as a result) that people, men in particular, would let me down.

Eventually I shelved my bitterness, tried to forgive my father, and grew up. During the Bohemian decade of my twenties, I tried to find the right man to share my life with. Oh, I met men, in fact, I was engaged 3 times, but I was too picky to settle and something in me knew they would make terrible husbands and even worse fathers. My mother laid on tons of guilt about wanting to hold her grandchild before she died. She even said, “If you wait for the right man, you’ll never have a child!” That said, I dodged the guilt and waited.

Guess what? I met the right guy at 30. I was 32 when we married. We were in no hurry to start a family. Even if I had known my mom would succumb to ovarian cancer and my dad would die of a massive heart attack within the year, we wouldn’t have rushed into parenthood.

At 35, I gave birth to my only child, my daughter. Of course, it still saddens me from time to time to imagine the portrait I never saw. I never saw my parents hold their granddaughter. I never saw my mom plotz over her youngest descendent. I never saw the look of absolute pride and overwhelming emotion when you regard your baby’s baby for the first time.

But I saw a child who was born to two parents who were madly in love with each other and were ready to be in absolute orbit around her.

It hasn’t been the easiest thing to raise a child at my age, but quite frankly, I don’t think it’s ever easy, regardless of age. Certainly younger parents may have more energy, but I see a lot of them harboring anger and resentment for giving up their independence and spontaneity too early. I see young mothers who have yet to figure out who they want to be when they grow up. What kind of a role model is that? At least I knew, beyond the shadow of a doubt, that I wanted to be a mother when we decided to conceive. It’s not all I am, but it’s the most rewarding role I play. And I see a lot of young divorced parents because the man was unprepared to be a father. Add to that, he lacked the emotional stability and maturity to be a husband. In all fairness, I’ve met plenty of men in their thirties and forties who still lack the essential tools to make good fathers and spouses, but by that point in time, they know it. No one is in denial. Except maybe their 80 year old mothers.

All things considered, whether it was latent DNA, distractions, or slow-moving karma, I’m glad I waited. I recommend it, no matter how it happens; choice or circumstance. I know there are many women out there who crave a baby worse than chocolate, but I encourage you not to rush in. Healthy women in their 30’s and 40’s are having their first child and waiting seems to me the more logical progression. Think about it. Doesn’t it make more sense to find out who and what you are, love yourself, explore the planet and experience your life before you cultivate a new one? As women, we may have been endowed with the ability to create life, but there has to be a sound reason why our eggs have such lengthy expiration dates.

And for those of you who feel guilty about waiting so long to have a child, thereby saddling your kid with a—gasp—old parent, SNAP OUT OF IT! Regardless of what you think or have decided based on whatever, you’re still a mom. You will be a mom for the rest of your life and even when you leave the planet, you will always be your children’s mother. Besides, if it really bothers you, ask your child what they think. I asked my 15 year old daughter how she felt about her parents being older and she said, “I’m glad you’re older. It would freak me out if my parents were into rap…”

From the mouths of babes…

Elizabeth Allen found her literary voice at age 49 when she penned her first book Who Got Liz Gardner which was published in 2009 and has received worldwide acclaim. The sequel, Discovering Arugula, was just released in January 2011. Elizabeth’s short stories about mothers, women and relationships have been published in literary magazines and anthologies. She is a contributing writer for BriteGirl Magazine - http://www.britegirl.com/magazine. Although she’s passionate about writing, she keeps her day job as a financial advisor for Ameriprise Financial.

Elizabeth is 52 years old. She lives in Longwood, Florida with her husband, 15 year old daughter, and Catahoula Leopard dog. Visit http://www.elizabeth-allen.com.

Mother Pants -- by Laura Houston

Motherhood didn’t always fit me. It often felt too tight. Too restrictive. Awkward. Impossible to zip up.

But this week my pants fit. After moving 3,000 miles away from the home I loved, adjusting to a big, new city, making new friends, missing old ones, and trying to find a place where I sort of fit in, I am finally hitting my stride as a mom.

I had a great week.

Here are a few random thoughts and things that happened:

I learned that my sons are not being rude at the dinner table when they say, “F@#k peas.” They’re actually being polite, asking for a “fork please.”

Most Saturday evenings we meet other parents at the playground across from a luxury high rise. This Saturday I said to one of the dads, “Whenever I see those people all dressed up and getting into a taxi to go see some show or eat at a fabulous restaurant, I sometimes wish I could do that instead.”

And he said, “Every time I stepped out of that building all dressed up and headed somewhere fabulous, and I saw parents playing with their children in this playground, I wished I could do this instead.”

Touché.

I have a pair of mimics. Wyatt and Lyle regularly play with another pair of twins who hail from London. Now they no longer call me Momma. Instead I am now “Mummy” complete with the accent.

I still can’t get Lyle to sleep through the night, but I can calmly get him into bed at 8:00pm. He won’t necessarily go to sleep right away. No. In fact, he cries and whines for the first half hour, but when he finally agrees to sleep, he stays that way for almost six hours. A record!

The boys can count to 12. We live on the 12^th floor, and we always count going up. And going down. Now they do it without me.

They can dance and actually hit the beats.

Instead of throwing the blocks, we are finally starting to build stuff with them.

I gave Lyle a timeout and a lecture along with it, and it actually changed his behavior.

Most nights when Dave comes home I ask him if he wants a glass of wine or a beer, but I didn’t realize how much of a habit it was until Wyatt greeted the babysitter with the line: “Do you want a glass of wine?”

It has been fun.

What changed? Well, sure, the boys are getting older. But I can also credit changes I made. I started exercising again. I had to. I threw out two discs in my back, and I am finally out of pain for the first time in two years. Also, I am working part-time, and that makes my brain work a little better. And there are things to look forward to: swim classes, father's day, vacation, summer in Central Park, not cooking every night because it's too hot, and reading a really good novel.

It feels like I am finally returning to me. And even if my pants don’t fit me like they used to…in that they are way too loose in some places and too tight in others….well….that’s OK. They still pull on easily, and they’re comfortable. Finally. My mother pants are comfortable.

Thank Heavens for Little Girls, and Big Ones Too...By Liimu

I have a theory. I believe that the size of my kids directly correlates not with their weight at birth, but rather with how much weight I gained during each pregnancy. When my eldest daughter was born, she weighed 6.5 pounds and her thighs were so skinny, I could circle one of them with my thumb and middle finger and have finger left to spare. Now, at 8 years old, she wears a size 7.5 women's shoe, is nearly 5 feet tall and weighs as much as many of my friends. I gained 90 pounds when I was pregnant with her. 16 months later, after gaining only 45 pounds, I gave birth to her sister, who weighed in at a respectable 7.5 pounds, but had not reached Devon's 2-month length by her 4-month birthday. She is 7.5 years old now and shares clothes with her 4 year old sister.

I've tried to explain this to my 8 year old when she complains that she wants to lose weight (sad, but true) because she wants to weigh what the other girls in her class weigh (75 pounds, vs. her 110). I try to explain to her that she is growing at exactly the rate she has her entire life - which is literally heads and shoulders above her peers. I tried to explain that when she was 6 months old, she wore 12 months clothes, and when she was 12 months old, she wore 2T, and when she was 2 years old, she wore 4t, etc. Nothing has changed. I tried to explain to her that as long as she stays active and makes healthy choices, she will continue to be healthy and beautiful. I try to set a good example for her of how to do just that.

My sister pointed out that there is one thing I could do better than I'm doing now, which is to set a good example for her around loving and accepting myself. I realized recently that the extent to which I have been pushing myself to get back to my prepregnancy weight quickly (like all those freaking celebrities do that are all over the tabloids - think Penelope Cruz), I have been sending a conflicting message to the love-yourself-you're-perfect-just-the-way-you-are message I've been trying to send her since she saw her first class photo that looked like she had taken a wrong turn from the elementary school and ended up in a day care center. Much the same way my beautiful 8-year old daughter is built to be closer in size to her 12 year old cousin than her 7-year old sister, I'm built to make big, strong healthy babies by having big strong, healthy pregnancies. Love it, deal with it, accept it and get over it. And just as sure as she will blossom into a statuesque beauty in her teens and adulthood, I know for a fact I will be back to my beautiful, sassy post-partum self in no time. I've done it before (three times!!), and I will definitely do it again.

So to all my girls all over the world, whether you're 4'10" or 5'10", whether you gain only 10 pounds when you're pregnant or you gain 100, I challenge you to love and accept yourself as you love and accept your children, your nieces, your mothers, your sisters and your friends. I challenge you to hold yourself to the same firm but gentle standard of healthy eating and activity you would want your daughters to follow. I will not force myself to workout for an hour every day anymore than I would force my children to. But I will try to find ways to be active. And if it's a beautiful day and I've been working on the computer all day, I will say to myself, "hey, get outside for awhile!" just like I would say it to my kids. And when I reach for that second piece of cake, I will lovingly ask myself if I'm really still hungry or just wanting to taste a little bit more, just like I do my kids - and if it's the latter, I promise myself that I can have it again in a day or two (and I even put it in the freezer so I can do just that).

It was a huge epiphany for me to realize that (a) I'm doing a pretty good job managing the beast of insecurity that threatens to take hold of my girls and (b) the one area where I can improve is to slay the beast within myself.

Quitting being a Quitter by Laura Houston

When it comes to being a mother, your first and natural source of inspiration, wisdom, and technique comes from your own mother. For me, this is a terrifying realization. My mother, who wanted to be a good mother more than anything else in the world, doesn’t measure up to what most mental health professionals would define as a good mother. She’s has the emotional maturity of an eight-year old. This is not an exaggeration, and it is not said to be mean spirited. This is the age my mother lost her mother. And so her maternal learning stopped. So did her emotional growth.

I get this. And I have great compassion for my mother in this regard. I feel sorry for her. She still talks about the pain to this day. Seventy years later. I cannot imagine how hard it was for her, and I wish it could have been different for her. And I wish she would have sought counseling in order to grow and move forward from this tragedy.

But as an adult, I have to set those emotions aside and take a look at what hand I was dealt, and then make a decision on how to best play it. My mother accidentally taught her children to embrace mediocrity. Although she wanted us to make straight As in school and be top athletes so she had bragging rights to the neighbors, she was more than willing to let us quit, fail, stop, halt, or regress whenever we wanted.

Why?

Because she wanted us to love her so badly that she would not enforce anything on us that might later cause resentment or alienation.

And you can guess what happened. I resent her. Yes. I do. And I moved 2,000 miles away to achieve the safety of estrangement from her.

I learned from my mother’s parenting style that follow through was unimportant. Therefore, I am a quitter. I have very little will power, almost no discipline, and it takes all of my effort to conger up motivation to do things that lean towards excellence.

I brought this conduct with me from childhood, and I take full responsibility for my inability to un-do the behavior. Yet. I am working on it.

So this week I hit a wall. I hit a wall in parenting. And I fell into the old, comfortable patterns of quitterhood. I find myself letting the boys watch TV way more than they should. Even worse, I am not getting on the floor with them like I used to. Once I heard them count to ten and sing their ABCs, I quit working with them every day. I stopped the reinforcement. The attention. The fun.

It’s like I hit a moniker and call it good. I did this with my dog when I trained him. Together we went through six months of obedience and then some agility. He was a fine, well behaved, attentive dog anyone could be proud of. And then I quit working with him because I figured we were done. And, yes, he started slipping. And, no, I didn’t get it or move to stop it.

I did this with my fitness and health, too. I ran a half marathon. Two of them. Never have I felt so good…so high for so many days. And then I quit running.

Sometimes it seems as if in my life I get out my checklist and start checking away. I gather the freshest, finest, smartest ingredients and then never bother to make the meal. In the back of my head I say to myself that this is good enough. Mediocre is just fine. Average is OK.

But this sort of philosophy and behavior do NOT belong in parenting. Take a look at my dog. He knows what to do and how to behave, and he chooses not to because he knows I have no follow through. He knows I am lazy. He knows my intent does not manifest itself into action.

This is the part in my maternal epiphany where I go screaming out of the apartment in search of a girlfriend. Another parent. Someone to talk to. Or if I am really, really, really lucky my friend Melissa perchance comes over and breathes new light into the darkness of my tired, mothering heart. She makes my boys laugh the way I used to. Yeah. Um. That kind of hurts.

But I need a good, swift kick in the ass sometimes. And I am happy to do it myself.

So parenting takes me on and gives me another round of humility. I know what the lesson is. Now it is time for me to quit being a quitter. So I am going to close my laptop, get out the color books and number books and alphabet toys and get on the floor with my boys. I am going to tickle them. I will read them the story about Nigel the sheep for the 100^th time, and I will do it with vim and vigor.

Tomorrow, I’ll get up and do it again. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat. Until they are 18-years old. Yes. No. I won’t quit on them. I won’t. I can’t. I won’t.

GUEST BLOG POST: The Spiritual Path of Parenting by Vimala McClure

An entirely different picture of "family" is emerging. Most of the paradigms we have developed over the last millennium are no longer viable. Because our family structures, our values, and our experience of family will continue to change, it is particularly important for us to understand that being a good parent and raising healthy, responsible children requires us to be grounded in the deeper meaning of the role of parent. We need to be able to change beyond what may now seem possible to us, and the only way to achieve that is to develop a firm rooting in the spiritual dimension of parenthood.

What I know without any doubt is that bringing everything I came here with, every iota of strength and wisdom, every drop of love and loyalty, everything I have to the task, the mission, and the gift of bringing up two souls to live their own lives and fulfill their destinies is the most important thing I have ever done, or ever will do. I don't expect this singularity of purpose from others, but because of it I have been able to pay close attention to the dynamics, the secrets, the lessons of real parenthood -- much more closely, I believe, than many academic experts who observe interactions in artificial environments and offer theories on what is healthy or correct in formulas that rarely work. What I attempt to do, rather, is to go deeper into the idea that parenthood is a mission, however large or small a part it plays in my life. From that perspective, everything I think about parenthood changes. It is no longer a series of problems to be solved. It is, instead, an important part of my personal growth and my spiritual path.

Where there is pain there is tension, and that tension creates more pain. Therefore, tension is the opposite of relaxation, probably the most important quality we can develop as parents. When we apply relaxation to pain, it diminishes. Underneath tension is its root -- fear. This is the key, the essence of the spiritual discipline of yielding; the release of fear. Fears and worries assail us at every point along the path of parenting.

If you are beginning on that path, let me tell you the truth: it never ends! Until the day we die, our children will produce, in a never-ending stream, the triggers that create anxiety in us. Some of these fears and worries are justified — such as the toddler who wobbles toward an electrical outlet. But most of our worries are neither justified nor helpful.

How we handle our fears determines how they impact our relationship with our children. Our intuition, if it is strongly developed, will help us understand what is truly worth worrying about and what is not. Much of what we concern ourselves with, especially with our first baby, is not really worth the tension and anxiety we create. Try to cultivate your own relationship with your Higher Power, so that you have a "parent" to guide you and to which you can take your worries before you manifest them unnecessarily.

We can't predict our children's lives or destinies, and if we love them we will always be there, accepting and validating them. We will be better parents, healthier role models, and happier people if we learn how to relax. One Tibetan master described it as "letting your mind sink into your heart." Fear hardens us as we try to hold on to the familiar. If we are fearful, we want to stop the flow of time and change. But the cessation of change is called death.

Yielding to the flow of change is essential for life. Acting out of fear, our inner "juice" slowly dries up and, like a dead tree, we are easily broken. If we wish to continue to be full of life, we must learn to relax and yield, to flow. Like the young tree, we will be flexible and strong, ever growing, with abundant youthful energy. If we cannot relax, we cannot listen to and truly hear our children, and we miss their messages, misinterpret their needs and wishes, and lose touch with who they truly are.

Acceptance is the hallmark of many Eastern teachings. To let tension go without effort, become aware of tension and accept it. This is an example of Taoist "doing by not doing." If we worry, we tense up and restrict the flow of chi or vital energy. Let go and breath deeply to enhance the flow and allow yourself to accept things as they are.

Author Melodie Beattie says, "Acceptance is the magic that makes change possible." We are able to make the space for change if we accept and validate what is. From this place, for our children, we can be blank slates, mirrors upon which they can test their truths and know that what will come back is acceptance and validation. Working with our children goes on forever. Our children are our spiritual teachers. Who knew!


VIMALA MCCLURE is the author of The Tao of Motherhood. She’s also the founder of the International Association of Infant Massage. She lives in Boulder, Colorado.


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Based on the book The Tao of Motherhood: 20th Anniversary Edition © 2011 by Vimala McClure. Printed with permission of New World Library, Novato, CA. http://www.newworldlibrary.com/

GUEST BLOG POST: Joy and Exhaustion: In Other Words, Being a Mom by Diana Fletcher

What is it about being a mom?

It’s confusing and wonderful and fulfilling and aggravating. It’s fun, worrisome, oftentimes hectic and it can even be calming. (When they are asleep.)

It is all these things and more, but many times, we come to the conclusion that it is just plain tiring. Physically, mentally, and emotionally, being a mother can exhaust you.

In your effort to be everything to everyone, you may forget a basic truth and that is, in order to take care of everything and everyone you want to take care of, and in order for you to accomplish what you want to in your life, you have to take care of yourself.

When you do not take care of very basic self-care, you cannot truly enjoy your life. I firmly believe that we are meant to enjoy our lives. You are meant to be happy, healthy and free. If you take good care of yourself, you will live in a happier state. I am not saying that you will skip merrily through your days or have the perfect amount of patience, but you will approach your life in an entirely different way.

There are many serious issues in the world. There are many serious issues that we face as parents. We cannot change that. But what we can change is how we take care of ourselves and how we view the world.

Is it a scary place with only danger and worry? Or is it a place of adventure and wonder and learning that you can approach with a positive outlook?

When you take care of the basics of self-care, you look at the world with different eyes.

When you have enough sleep, your body is prepared for whatever you are exposed to physically, and your mind is rested enough to think through issues and react well in emergencies.

When you fuel your body with the proper foods, you will enable it to fight off viruses and you will feel physically able to keep up with the demands of being a parent.

When you drink enough water, thereby hydrating every cell in your body, your body will feel and be healthier. When you drink water, you are also hydrating the cells in your brain. This will also enable to think more clearly and be a sharper, more creative decision maker. (Proper hydration will also keep headaches away—added bonus!)

When you make sure you get some exercise each day, you will be building the strength that will serve you well in being a mom.

The trouble is, you may equate self-care with being selfish. I have had more than one women tell me that she is concerned that people will think of her as selfish and not a good person.

This is what I believe: If you live your life with integrity, if you act out of love and truly care about yourself and your family, you cannot go wrong.

Come from a place of strength and know that you are doing what is right for you, your family, and all relationships.

Just as you cannot control the world around you, you cannot control what people think. What matters is what you think.

The first step is making the commitment to taking care of yourself. Once you truly commit, you will begin to notice where you can make changes. You will begin to see how you can change or tweak your schedule to allow for more sleep. You may notice that you want to sit and have lunch and eat mindfully, instead of in front of the computer. You will recognize negative situations that you can avoid.

Most importantly, you will figure out what to say no to, and what you can say yes to. (By the way, as far as saying no, I guarantee that you will get better with practice!)

Saying no to being exhausted and giving in to everyone else, will be saying yes to all sorts of joyful, wonderful surprises!

Diana Fletcher is a Stress Reducing Expert Life Coach, Speaker and Author. She is the co-author of four books in the Outstanding Life series. Diana travels extensively for speaking and makes her home in Murrysville, PA where she lives with her husband and three children. Her most recent book, Happy on Purpose: Daily Messages of Empowerment and Joy for Women can be purchased at http://www.dianafletcher.com/programs/HOPbook.

©2011 Diana Fletcher www.dianafletcher.com

GUEST BLOG POST: It's Not a Secret Anymore by Adam Pertman

Book Excerpt from Adoption Nation -- Chapter I (“Out of the Shadows, into Our Lives) of Part I (“Don’t Whisper, Don’t Lie—It’s Not a Secret Anymore”)


My son was three years old and my daughter had lived on this Earth for just two months when I met Sheila Hansen. She’s a tall, soft-spoken woman who laughs easily and exudes warmth when she speaks; she has the kind of comfortable self-confidence that immediately makes you think she’d make a loyal friend and a good mother. On that muggy July day, sitting in the conference room of a church in southern New Jersey, she told me a story that chilled me to the bone and forever altered the way I think about my adopted children, about birth parents, and about the country in which I grew up.

In 1961, Sheila was a twenty-one-year-old government clerk in Louisiana when she told her boyfriend she was pregnant. He responded by giving her the name of a doctor who performed abortions. The procedure wasn’t legal at the time, but everyone knew you could get one if you wanted to. Sheila didn’t want to. As frightened and confused and alone as she felt, the one thing she knew for sure was that she wanted to keep her baby.…

Not until 8:45 P.M. on November 30, 1995, when her thirty-four-year-old son telephoned her after a determined search, did she learn she’d given life to a boy. “All I did after we hung up was cry,” Sheila told me. Based on what she had endured, I expected she would feel only contempt for adoption, but she is wiser than that. While she knows the process is seldom as simple as people would like to believe, she thinks everyone can ultimately benefit if it’s done right. Besides, Sheila likes the way her firstborn son turned out (she went on to marry and have another boy), respects his parents, and appreciates the loving home they gave him. “But I’ll tell you this,” she says, wiping away a tear but faintly smiling at her optimistic conclusion: “The system we had didn’t work; thank God it seems to be changing.”

After a long period of warning tremors, adoption is “changing” like a simmering volcano changes when it can no longer contain its explosive energy. It erupts. The hot lava flows from its core, permanently reshaping not only the mountain itself but also every inch of landscape it touches. The new earth becomes more fertile, richer in color. The sensation of watching the transformation, of being a part of it, is an awesome amalgam of anxiety and exhilaration. The metamorphosis itself is breathtaking. Before our eyes, in our homes and schools and media and workplaces, America is forever changing adoption even as adoption is forever changing America. …

I remember the moment it dawned on me that we all might be in the midst of a phenomenon bigger than just a sociological blip caused by aging, infertile baby boomers seeking alternative ways of forming families. As West Coast bureau chief for the Boston Globe, I was covering the O. J. Simpson murder trial at the time. Dozens of us reporters sat shoulder to shoulder in a small pressroom on the twelfth floor of the Los Angeles courthouse. I was typing my daily story, on deadline, when the interruption came.

“This is awful,” said Diana, a computer specialist and the only non-journalist in the room. She was standing right behind me, rustling a newspaper and pointing to a story in it. I turned around and asked what was wrong. Diana showed me the offending article. It was about the Baby Richard case, in which an Illinois man won custody of his biological son from the adoptive parents with whom the four-year-old boy had lived nearly all his life.

“Imagine how I feel,” I replied. “I have an adopted son.” (We hadn’t adopted our daughter yet.)

“Really?” said the Chicago Tribune reporter sitting at my left elbow. “I’ve got two adopted kids.”

The Time magazine correspondent to his left looked amazed. “I’ve got two adopted kids, too,” he said.

Diana, wide-eyed with disbelief, whispered: “I’m adopted.”

I was surrounded, and so are we all. Suddenly—or at least it feels sudden—adoption is being transformed from a quiet, lonely trip along America’s back roads to a bustling journey on a coast-to-coast superhighway. The infrastructure has become so extensive that it has made all of us—not just adoptees, birth parents, and adoptive parents—into fellow travelers. We should do all we can to make this a smooth ride.


The Harvard Common Press
http://www.harvardcommonpress.com/
Copyright © 2011 by Adam Pertman


All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or any information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

Adam Pertman is Executive Director of the Evan B. Donaldson Adoption Institute, the pre-eminent research, policy and education organization in its field. Pertman – a former Pulitzer-nominated journalist – is also the author of Adoption Nation: How the Adoption Revolution is Transforming Our Families – and America, which is being published in April 2011 and which has been reviewed as “the most important book ever written on the subject.” He  is the Associate Editor of the scholarly journal Adoption Quarterly and has written numerous commentaries, book chapters and articles for professional and mass-market publications. As one of the country’s leading experts on adoption, he has delivered hundreds of keynotes, trainings and other presentations internationally, and is the recipient of numerous awards for his work. He appears regularly in the media throughout the U.S. and abroad, and has been a guest on programs including “Oprah,” “The View,” and “Today.” He is a member of the Council on Contemporary Families, the Editorial Advisory Board of Adoptive Families magazine, the National Adoption Advisory Committee of the Child Welfare League of America, and the Advisory Board of Orphans International Worldwide.  Visit http://www.adampertman.com/.

Sleepy Heads by Robin Gorman Newman

I thought we'd been there, done that when it comes to sleep deprivation.

When my son was little, we expected to be up during the night with him, but since he recently turned 8, those days are long gone.  Or are they?

In the last week and a half, Seth's been waking up consistently around 3AM, unable to fall back asleep until about 5AM.  My husband I are take turns laying with him in his bed, but to no avail.  We both emerge exhausted, ultimately leaving my son to go back to sleep himself because our laying with him isn't helping.

Seth's been having nightmares.

I posted on Facebook about it, inviting other moms to weigh in and offer advice.

I received some very thoughtful and concerned responses, but it made me realize all the more that while children will be children, and they share that commonality, that's where things end.  What works for one, doesn't necessarily work for another.  And, each has their own way of thinking and evolving.

I tried more than once to ask Seth was he dreamt about.  Mostly he was unable to articulate, except for the night there was a rain and wind storm, and the noise bothered him.  Then he was able to share how he was scared that a tree might fall on our house, which is not all that far fetched since our neighborhood is tree dense, and we have lost power on more than one occasion.  I did my best to try to reassure him that this wasn't going to be a regular occurence (and I prayed it wouldn't be).

A friend mentioned that perhap he had watched something upsetting on television.  That was certainly a logical thought, though I couldn't put my finger directly on anything recent that fit that bill.

Another friend mentioned that at Seth's age, kids become more aware of the world and things around them, cause 'n effect and all.  So, that could be a contributing factor.

While my husband and I tried our best to flesh out the situation given all the wisdom and ideas shared, ultimately I reached the conclusion that we may never know exactly why Seth is in this sleep disturbance phase. Though temporary, there is something endearing about his needing us in that way, like when he was little.

That said, the lack of sleep has been rough for all of us, and with me in peri-menopause, I don't sleep all that well many nights to begin with.  So, I got a brainstorm!  I decided to bring up his fire truck sleeping bag that he received as a birthday present a couple of years ago.  He had yet to use it, and this seemed opportune to break it in and enhance the co-sleeping experience. 

I told Seth I was going to put it on the floor in our bedroom, next to my side of the bed, on our cushy carpet, and if he woke up, he could lay down there with one of his stuffed animals and feel safe.  I crossed fingers it would work, and it did!  The following morning after we launched this effort, I woke up to find Patches, his trusty husky stuffed animal on the sleeping bag, and I could tell Seth had been there.

I was thrilled that at least we have found a solution, if not the cause, and I know that this too shall pass, though there are little pangs in my heart that yearn to hang on to Seth's desire to have us close.

I’m Coming Back In…..by Cyma Shapiro

A few weeks ago, I wrote that I was not enjoying being a mother. My children were grappling with issues, our lives had become complicated; we had also experienced a few tragedies. All of this compounded my feeling that without a happy home, life had just become…well…just too hard.

I’m happy to say that, in our therapist’s terms, I’m “coming back in” to our lives. Things are ironing themselves out (as they often do), and I’m now aware that time is passing and I must keep pace.

I’ve often written that for me, being a midlife mother brings a razor-sharp awareness that life will not go on forever. I never recognized this; at midlife, and with children, I most certainly do.

It’s SO easy to forget about the good, small things that happen daily as children grow. It’s SO easy to get mired in daily problems and yearly concerns. It’s SO easy to feel like the issues of today will still be the issues of tomorrow; our children’s angst will continue on into infinity, etc. etc.

The truth is that they grow and, hopefully, we grow (up) too!

Today, I will remind myself again of how happy I am to be a midlife mother; how happy I am to be sharing my life with my children; how happy I am for the people they are becoming.

Here’s my deal: Exercise, exercise, exercise. Pray, pray, pray. Meditate, meditate, meditate.

I try sooooooo hard to keep it all together.

OM…………….

A Quickie by Robin Gorman Newman

Sometimes a quickie is as good as it gets…..and it’s better than nothing.  And, I don't mean in the way you're thinking, though the notion certainly applies.

Whether a foot massage...

Phone chat with a close friend...

Overnight escape...

High intensity run...

Romp in the hay...

It can all feel pretty good, even if fleeting.  And, sometimes as multi-tasking moms, we have to be grateful for what we can squeeze in.

This topic arose for me this week when a friend emailed on Monday that she'd love to chat, and Seth was off from school (Martin Luther King Day), so I had no time for  much of anything other than engaging him.

My friend is single (no kids), so her time is always her own.  And, while she wrote that she understood, I felt she had a strong need to connect.

So, as I finally got out of the house....to head to the gym.....with Seth in tow...I decided to give my friend a call (on speaker cell phone) from the car.  I started off the chat by saying I was calling for a "quickie."  We could have gone on for hours, as we have done in the past, time-permitting.  But, that wasn't about to happen now so I wanted to let her know upfront.  It was good to hear her voice, at the very least. And, she got to share what was on her mind, so I was glad to be there.

It's so easy to feel that we can't do something because our schedule just doesn't permit.  And, then we feel bored or deprived or drained...or any multitude of not-positive emotions.  But, does it have to be that way?  Isn't something better than nothing?  OK....maybe not everything (a whole chocolate bar is better than a bite), but, it's something to consider.  It might satiate you more than you'd expect.

While I often yearn for a vacation, sometimes just an overnight someplace you enjoy can be rejuvenating.

Getting to the gym isn't always viable, but fitness experts will say that high intensity 10 minutes sprints can be beneficial.

Having a 60 minute foot massage, my favorite, is always a treat.  But, if I can't find the time, I'll go for a 30 minute session, or entice my husband to give me one....which would likely be around three minutes, but I'll take it.

My point is that we don't always have to think BIG.  Life is full and busy.....but you can find pockets of joy and carve out time for things that bring you pleasure....even if it's just for mere moments.  Our bodies and minds have muscle memory, so the positive vibes can last and remind you of what you're entitled to want and create in your life, even if caught up in the daily throes of demanding parenting.

This is a "quickie" blog, as it's been one of those weeks, but you get my gist. 

Take a look at your week ahead, and make a vow to work in some "quickie" ME time.  You'll be all the better for it, as will your family.

Party in My Belly by Robin Gorman Newman

Seth said the cutest thing this week.

We had gone out for Indian food, and he loves the basmati rice.  After a few heaping spoonfuls, he gleefully declared,"it's like a party in my belly."

I loved his earnestness and delight.  And, I thought, how well put.

How simply and articulately kids often express things.  They are so in touch with how they feel. So in the moment and don't hesitate to share what's on their mind, for better for worse.

I'm not so good at that.  I don't always allow myself to feel as I do since I endeavor to be chipper, but I have my moods.

My perimenopausal hormones feel like they've been raging of late, and I'm feeling somewhat melancholy.

It doesn't help that winter is upon us, and here in NY, we've been socked with two major snowfalls thus far and more to come no doubt.  I have never been a winter lover, and I detest snow.  So, weather like this makes me feel trapped and claustrophobic.

While it was nice having Seth and Marc home from school and work on Wednesday, our snow day, it felt odd at the same time.  Seth was flitting from activity to activity, and Marc, in between shoveling, was trying to get work done.  He was home but quite preoccupied....almost like he wasn't here.  I spent most of my time trying to engage Seth and popping into my office for quick e-mail checks when I could squeeze one in.

So.... I asked myself....what is it I want?

When I'm home alone, as I am typically, I feel isolated.  But, here I was with my family present, and the day felt confusing to me.

When my hormones are running amuck, I am often at a loss, period.  I want to feel good physically and mentally, but my head is  foggy and I lack clarity.

I spent the afternoon yesterday writing at a friend's home, and that felt good.  It got me out of myself and out of my home setting.  Being alone a lot has never suited me.  Yet, the life of a creative soul can be a somewhat solitary one.  I can't help it that that's who I am, yet I do struggle with working alone.

As I write this blog, in fact, I am somewhat scattered with my thoughts.  And, it's been that kinda week.

I guess I'm entitled.  As a multi-taking mom, we're often doing so much that it's hard to think totally straight.

When Seth "moons" me and invites me to give his tush a bedtime squeeze, knowing it makes me happy (as he says), it reminds me that my "little butt boy" is getting bigger by the minute, and I try to savor these days.

We can't always be on top of our game. And, that's ok. While hard to admit, we're only human. And, not every day is sunny, but we moms tough it out. Our kids love us just the same, so we should endeavor to love ourselves, hormones and all.

Our First Funeral....by Liimu

Because there's not much to report on the pregnancy front (Week 30 - passed glucose test - time is crawling to what seems like a standstill...), I thought I would share a more relevant experience from our family files. The tragic event that has left us planning our first family funeral.

My daughter, Devon, got a fish for her birthday. She named him Finn. We noticed a few days back that he seemed to be molting or something, because his scales were falling off in spots. I didn't know what the trouble was and neither did she, but it certainly got us into a state of high alert.

This morning, she came running into my bathroom saying she couldn't find him. She was already in tears. Sure enough, when I went into look myself, I couldn't find him anywhere. The filter was louder than normal and the girls were asking me about some loud "bump, bump, bump" sound they had heard last night as they were going to bed, but honestly, I didn't see the connection.

I took everything out of the fishtank, and although the water and filter were both unbelievably cloudy (considering yesterday they had been relatively clear), still no fish. Finally, I decided to turn off the filter because the racket it was making was making it hard for me to think. It was then, that I realized what had happened.

Finn was in the filter.

My daughter was already in tears, but this really put her over the edge. In fact, by this point, all three girls were sobbing. (My 4-year old was trying to console her older sister, telling her that "Finn would be back." I had to correct her on that point.) All I could do was assure Devon that I would go back to the pet store and ask them to explain how this could happen with a filtration tank they had convinced me to buy. It was a tragic accident, but certainly one we wouldn't want to repeat with the new fish (whom Devon has decided will also be named Finn, in honor of his predecessor).

By the time everyone was in coats and mittens and ready to head off to school, eyes were dry all around, though Devon did want to make sure we would have a funeral for Finn. We will, and in some ways I am grateful for this opportunity to introduce them to some important lessons related to death, grieving, and the fact that accidents happen, sometimes tragic ones, but it's not anyone's fault and the best we can do is grieve and move on. I told my daughter, if one of the cats managed to get out and ran in the street and accidentally got hit by a car, it would be the same thing: a tragic accident, but not necessarily one that could be avoided. It's one of the risks of loving something or someone - that one way or another they may leave us. That doesn't mean it's not a risk worth taking.

Finn will be missed. And we will never, any of us, forget this morning and the tragic way in which he passed. (No, I'm not kidding - it really WAS sad.) But as a parent, I'm so grateful for the opportunity to help my children face and move through even the most difficult parts of life. I just hope we can find a way to block off that filter so we don't have to face this particular life lesson any time again soon.

GUEST BLOG POST: Have Patience. It's Just Another Phase by Darah Zeldon

The first time I became a mom was at age 30, the last at 37. Within seven years I gave birth to five children. Unlike many other women my age, I didn’t wait to have children because I was pursuing a professional career.

I was discovering and challenging myself within unfamiliar surroundings. Not Wall Street, not Corporate America--- I had been studying life. Having a graduate degree in International Relations, it seemed most befitting that my “career” was to conquer other lands. As part of a research project, before marriage, I resided in a Russian immigrant housing unit on the disputed outskirts of Jerusalem, and immersed myself in this unstable foreign environment. Returning to the US, I met my soul mate, married within months, and five weeks from our wedding date, my Costa Rican husband and I headed for a quaint surfer town on the Pacific coast of Costa Rica to open our own business---and realize a dream.

Pregnant with my first in a town with no medical resources, we closed shop, moved to the capital of San Jose, and five weeks after giving birth, began another exciting venture in Panama City, Panama. My husband was offered an opportunity we couldn’t refuse, so we embarked on yet another adventure.

My other four kids were born in Panama and this soil became my own. I mastered living in this culture and gained an understanding of and appreciation for raising children in this society. Like a chameleon, I adapted to the customs, social protocol, navigated through the country’s legal system, and thrived linguistically.

Back in the US just two short years, I indulge in culturally-comparative analyses and have gained insight into some pervasive cultural nuances inherent in our American society-at-large. One of these is the need to label everything---like parenting styles--”free range” or “helicopter.” As a first-time “gringa mom,” I found myself totally unaligned with parenting norms, societal expectations, and school system bureaucracy.

Fusing it all together and re-integrating back into American society has been taxing. Reverse culture shock is surreal.

However, after nine years of parenting five kids, I’ve identified some consistent guiding rules of the international parenting game. In a nutshell: be patient and don’t stress out. No, I am not talking about the type of patience required to just grin-and-bear-it while your two year-old throws a tantrum when denied yet another Matchbox car in the supermarket check-out line. I’m still working on that one.

I’m talking about kids and their shtick, i.e. “phases.”

We Americans are obsessed with analyzing every facet of our lives: why we felt jealousy of a brother during childhood, why our pre-teen misbehaves, or why our neighbor’s dog pees on our front door mat. And then we ruthlessly deconstruct our relationship with our partner to the point that we no longer feel anything. Having studied psychology, I understand the allure of such knowledge, but enough!

Our children are blossoming before our eyes. Rather than spending time and dollars justifying our play-by-play analyses of their conduct, and neurotically indulging in every parenting guidebook on the market, what our kids need most is for us to simply guide them through their stages—reassuring them and ourselves, that it’s all par for the course.

Our guiding mantra should be: "this too shall pass."

Certainly, you’ve experienced this phenomenon: When you finally have an intellectual grasp on “why” your three year-old is angry about the birth of his newborn sister, he’s over it. Great. Now you’re an unofficial expert on the topic and it’s over— your child has moved on. And where does that leave you?

Obviously some “phases” last longer and linger about like unrelenting storm clouds, but even the worst storm must blow over eventually, right?
Months ago I wrote about my then three year-old’s obsession with my boobs, his former mammary glands. It seemed that just as I finished penning the article, the very next day, his fixation vanished—all by itself.

See: http://www.warriormom.net/2010/06/boob-obsession-when-does-kids-natural.html

Another time, when I was on the verge of a chronic-sleep-deprived nervous breakdown, my just-transitioned-from-crib-to-bed toddler, began sleeping through the night. It just happened, on its own, one glorious night.

See: http://www.warriormom.net/2010/04/truth-about-transitioning-from-crib-to.html

A while back I published a “controversial” piece about my then five year-old boy’s interest in playing with Barbies. After getting reproached by many readers as an unfit parent severely misguiding her son--the words used were caustic and loaded with animosity-- his fascination ceased, and he moved onto something more “boyish.” I never panicked or addressed his desire to partake in this "girly pastime," nor did I engage in "investigative psychological research" as to why he was inclined to do so. He was curious, checked it out for a while, and then got over it.

See: http://www.warriormom.net/2010/08/six-reasons-why-its-ok-that-my-son.html

Maybe the point is that if we just slow down, wait and tenderly coach our children through their perpetual evolutions, we’ll all benefit. Kids will enjoy a less stressful upbringing with more relaxed parents, and parents will save lots of time and money not spent on therapy, seminars, and expensive how-to manuals.

And just maybe we can use those saved resources to pursue other passions.

Darah Zeledon is a wife, mother of five, freelance writer, aspiring memoir author, small business owner, and fitness enthusiast. Darah’s incurably optimistic take on raising children in today’s unstable world is shaped largely by her efforts running a big household and several businesses while residing in Latin America.


Darah has a BS in clinical psychology and a MS in international relations. She has labored professionally in both, and worked in fitness, education, public speaking, and media. None of her endeavors prepared her for the most challenging feat of all: maintaining her sanity and sense-of-self while mothering five “dynamic and relentlessly inquisitive” children.


Read more from Darah at http://www.warriormom.net, or find her on Facebook at http://www.facebook.com/pages/Warrior-Mom-straight-talk-from-the-heart/151800674859203 or twitter @thewarriormom.