Fostering Independence

Listening to our wise and illustrious leader at the homeschool co-op meeting, I felt nailed. Addressing the mamas of the group. she was discussing the craziness of co-op mornings, the rush to get everything ready for our weekly gathering, and how we could ease our burden on those days.

What had me squirming in my seat was her good-natured admonishment to stop doing everything for our kids. They are fully capable of making their own lunches by 1st or 2nd grade, she said, and I felt the spotlight of failure come to rest squarely on me. I was still scrambling on those mornings, preparing lunches for my kiddos who were ages 5, 6, 10, and 12.

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Master the Mayhem: 5 Tips for Managing Messes

I watched my husband fall with grace, artfully throwing our infant son to safety as he turfed it. Stepping over the baby gate, his foot had found the spiny back of a plastic stegosaurus. If you’ve ever stepped squarely on a stegosaurus, or a lego, or any other small, hard toy, you know that these tiny pieces of childhood joy have a dark side. They can take you down.

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The Magical Power of Carrots

“Have you ever thought about trying some positive motivation?”

My friend’s words were spoken gently, with a hint of hesitation. Even so, I bristled. Spouting off some lame excuse, I ended the conversation, hung up the phone, and nursed my stinging pride. Positive motivation? What did she think I was, some screeching harridan, oppressing my children with my negative parenting? Harrumph!

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Shooting Blind

Aiming carefully at my subject, I shot blind. Lifting the camera, I squinted at the LCD screen but could still see nothing; the brightness of the mid afternoon sun rendered it worthless. I tried again, choosing my angle with care, holding perfectly still. When the breeze died down enough for the vibrant, violet bloom to still, I pressed the shutter once more. Shrugging, I walked on, waiting for the next flower or critter or bit of beauty to catch my novice eye.

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Eight Months And A Day

If there was ever any question that I am emotionally stunted, this morning laid all doubts to rest. For weeks after my daughter tied the knot, friends would ask how I was faring, how my mama heart was adjusting to the loss of one of my chicks. I would smile and assure them I was fine, that in my steely emotional fortitude, I hadn’t even cried on the day of the blessed event. Oh, I got all choked up and lumpy in my throat that day and I did almost lose it when they ran the gauntlet and drove away. But I managed to suck the tears back into my eyeballs and make it through just fine, thank you very much.

It took a full four months after the fact for the first tears to fall. I missed my baby. A few genteel tears fell like a soft spring mist one morning and that was that. So I thought.

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Geek Love

I’m a serious procrastinator. Better to just come out and own it rather than make lame excuses, don’t you think? Many moons ago I promised my online friends some pictures of the blessed event of my daughter’s wedding. Today marks six months of wedded bliss for her and my new son, so I find it a fitting time to finally share some of the fun of that magical day.

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Who Knew?

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When I became pregnant for the first time, having endured several months of fertility treatments, I was confident that I knew exactly what I was getting into. I’d read books and articles, I’d studied other parents in my sphere, and in my youthful arrogance I was sure I’d be the perfect mama.

Then, after birthing my daughter, reality walked up and b*#ch slapped me, knocking me flat on my smug posterior leaving my ego bruised and bloody.  Dazed, I realized I didn’t know squat.  This motherhood gig was HARD.

Who knew?

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