I recently read an article by a childless lady who made note of the change in how parenting is presented today as opposed to back around the 1950s. Then, parenting, specifically mothering, was done in dresses and pearls, with hair and makeup to boot, and an ever-present smile. The children were just as pristine, not to mention, well-behaved. In addition, all the housework was done, the social calendar was filled, and every moment was a blessed bit of joy sprinkled down from heaven.
And then the Internet explosion happened, and shit got real. Fast. Continue reading
Remember in school when you needed permission slips? I was thinking about giving myself one now, as an adult and a parent. A little slip of paper on which I would simply write, “I give myself permission.” I’d tape it onto the bathroom mirror, inside the kitchen cabinet, on the dashboard, to the side of the coffee table, or over the bed. I’d put this unencumbered message where I could see it regularly and remember to drop my baggage and give myself permission to be the parent I want to be. Continue reading
You’ve probably read it. That blog post everyone is sharing about how being a mom, a lady in the everyday trenches with her babes, is more than enough for you, me, her, all of us. Now, although I get the heart of the message is to give yourself a break, a pat on the back, and a friend in the field, it’s all a pipe dream. Being a mom is enough? Nope, unfortunately, it’s not enough for you, me, her, all of us. Continue reading
I might hate this combination of words more than any other phrase in all of language: it could be worse. Four words, not one is incredibly mighty on its own, but when they’re joined, they pack a wallop of attitude. “It Could Be Worse” (ICBW) is condescending, dismissive, and, perhaps worst of all, final. How should do you respond? No, it couldn’t be worse? You can’t reply that way because, in actuality, it probably could be worse. But that doesn’t mean you want to or have to hear it. Continue reading
While everyone is making lists of resolutions and preparing their excuses for why they didn’t follow through with trying to better themselves, I’m reminded of a time when our family made some big changes that had nothing to do with a new year but did result in a happier, healthier Lady. Buckle up, folks. Here’s the tale of my bumpy ride with postpartum depression. Continue reading