Mamapedia National Voices
Mamapedia City Voices highlights the inside scoop on your city by selected writers, from up-and-coming mom bloggers to well-known mom experts.
by Chris of "The Mom Cafe"
Photo by: iStock
Today I relinquish my precious children into your care. Do you know how important you are to me? To them? From this day forward, you are a valuable force in what defines them. You will encourage or discourage, inspire or disappoint, More
Last night, after gingerly sneaking out of my sleeping son’s room to the familiar sounds of his gentle snores, the quiet creakiness of a house after dark (and my guilt for leaving him while he’s asleep and unable to protest) I retreated to More
Today I relinquish my precious children into your care. Do you know how important you are to me? To them? From this day forward, you are a valuable force in what defines them. You will encourage or discourage, inspire or disappoint, empower or dishearten, engage or mislead, expect or neglect, fulfill or deplete…
These young, innocent lives I have placed in your hands.
Your role is significant as it will either propel my kids forward, or pull them back. Much of their life will revolve around you. Your character will resonate in them, and your values will slowly slip into their hearts as they watch you and learn from you each day. Your words, your manners, your voice and your message will constantly penetrate their existence. You will be at the center of their lives during a time of critical development and growth. Oh, how fragile a child’s spirit is…
May you breathe blessed air into their souls.
As you concentrate on test scores and skill levels, may I remind you of your greatest calling with children? To grace them with potential and promise. For only one statement to a child can change the course of their life.
How many times I have heard how a teacher’s word compelled someone to follow a dream? How many times I have heard a person battle the negative message from a teacher throughout a life of questioning their worth?
Your role will make a difference. Your purpose will prevail and you will be an integral part of their future. You will also hold a piece of their history. You will leave a lasting imprint on their hearts and in their minds. And with that truth, may you hold true to your calling.
Every day that you go to work, I hope you can remind yourself that you are not teaching a “class” but rather a group of unique individuals with different needs and dreams and fears and faults. May you stretch hard, and reach far to touch each life with a loving hand and an insightful heart. May you realize the power you hold, and may God use you in a mighty way…
You have the potential and promise. It will be up to you to give them these gifts. I will be praying for you every day.
Most Sincerely and ever passionately,
The heart of a mother.
Chris Carter is a SAHM of two pretty amazing kids. She has been writing at TheMomCafe.com for almost four years, where she hopes to encourage mothers everywhere through her humor, inspiration and faith. You can also find her on Facebook, Twitter, and Google+>
Last night, after gingerly sneaking out of my sleeping son’s room to the familiar sounds of his gentle snores, the quiet creakiness of a house after dark (and my guilt for leaving him while he’s asleep and unable to protest) I retreated to my office to write. I needed the soothing taptaptap of my keyboard. I needed the quiet, and a glass of wine. I needed to figure out why, with all of the amazing fun that Tucker and I have had this summer… I felt so damned sad.
Last week began as many other summertime weeks have, with too-late bedtimes, playgrounds, bounce houses, belly-laughs, and mindlessly boring but encouraging imaginative play. It also began with the stress of not being able to fulfill my commitment to my job as the sitters I’d counted on for those hours cancelled four out of five of the days (seriously).
At first, I assumed that I was stressed out and feeling sad because of breaking my commitment. And then, I realized that there is more to it than that.
I’m feeling sad for the end of summer.
I’m sad, because Tucker is starting kindergarten and, in many ways, it is the beginning of the end of his childhood.
While I know that he will be a child for years and years and years, and will always forever be my baby even when he towers over me, kindergarten feels like The Milestone that, when reached, means that life as I’ve known it with my son will never be the same.
Did I do enough with him this summer? Have I done enough to prepare him to be in a classroom with a lot of typical children? Will he be afraid? Overwhelmed? Picked on?
Have I done enough to let him know how much I love him this summer? Have I done enough to celebrate his youth, his ever changing childhood, and the him that he is, has been, and will become?
Have I done enough in this life of mine? Have I done enough, ever?
I suspect that, as with many of life’s difficult questions, that the answer to all of these questions is both yes and no.
No, I have not done enough. I can do more.
And yes, I suspect that I have done exactly enough.
I have to believe that I have created a summer full of beautiful memories for my little boy. I know that he, and all of us, found glory and wonder at the beach, at his graduation party, at Dutch Wonderland (twice, as we went again this past weekend, just for the day), and waterparks, zoos, playgrounds, and even here, at home. Playing with Legos, playing hide and seek… playing. Even when it didn’t feel fun – to me – at the time, it was gratifying, afterwards.
When it comes down to it, this week has been incredible in many, many ways. It’s been more than enough, and has been full of little moments and big ones. Ones that will help to prepare Tucker for school, and ones that will help prepare me to have the faith that I need to watch him fly.
I’m thankful, for this week, and this summer. My last summer before my only child goes to kindergarten.
Kristi Campbell almost always leaves the house in either flip-flops or Uggs, depending on the weather. Although she works part-time, her passion is writing and drawing really stupid-looking pictures for her blog Finding Ninee. Finding Ninee (pronounced 9E for her son’s pronunciation of the word airplane) started due to a memoir, abandoned when Kristi read that a publisher would rather shave a cat than read another. Its primary focus is to find and provide humor and support in a “Middle World,” one where the autism spectrum exists but a diagnosis does not. You can also find her on Facebook, Twitter, and Pinterest.
In college I was a svelte 130 pounds. I could wear anything and look like a waif. I could eat buckets of ice cream or live on black coffee and cigarettes, it didn’t matter because my weight was seemingly never more than an ounce over 130 lbs. Life was pretty good.
And then I got mortgaged to my long-term boyfriend. Add 10 lbs.
And then I got pregnant. Add another 10 lbs. once the post pregnancy weight finally evened out.
And then I got married to the long-term boyfriend.
And then I went through grad school. Holy eff. And then I got pregnant with baby number two. Ugh… I ballooned to 195 lbs.
After I had my second son I went on a serious diet and crunched, squatted and celery chomped my way down 45 lbs. I landed on a firm and seemingly immovable 150 lbs. that – despite my very best efforts – will not seem to budge.
When I began my diet quest I had visions of size 4 black dresses dancing through my postpartum head. I wanted to shake my mama tushie and not feel a tidal wave of jiggle following suit. I wanted to relive my glory days of skinny but with the wisdom and self-confidence gained as Mom.
That little realization about what I wanted (skinny + confidence) was the moment when I knew I no longer cared about losing weight. I knew I was sexy. My body made TWO PEOPLE for crying out loud. Why was I so freaked out about a few extra pounds?!
While 150 lbs. at my height is not medically considered over weight, the muffin top, mom pants, and desire to give up, all indicated to me that I was in a downward spiral of fatness. Except that… who cares?
I’m married. My husband is happy if he gets any attention in the boudoir aside from nagging complaints to “Get up! You’ll be late for work!” What the hell does he care if there is a little bit more to hold on to?
And what exactly is it that I am so gung-ho to relive anyway? The last time I was a size 4, I got a lot of snarky remarks from friends and family to eat because I looked too thin.
These days I am happily living in limbo between a size 10 and a size 8. My hips will fit into one size, my Mom butt into another. Meanwhile, I am wholly consumed with the desire to find shirts long enough to cover my muffin top. You know what I wear every single day? I wear yoga pants, an old paint stained tee shirt, and if I get a chill I cover up with a flannel shirt that has seen better days.
I have not worked up the nerve to start wearing Spanx. Not yet.
My days revolve around cooking, cleaning, chasing my children, entertaining, educating, trying to remember that I require eating, bathroom breaks, and occasionally a moment to myself to breathe. Nowhere in this kind of business that comes with having very young children is there room for me to fret about something as vapid as a body issue.
My kids are watching me. The last thing these two young boys need is a mom with body issues to teach them that girls have weirdo body hang-ups. I’d rather teach them that I am a woman and a mom and as such I celebrate my body and my femininity. They need to see a strong woman with body pride.
As if that were not enough to kill my diet woes (and it is) I have this to remember as well: I have a closet full of beautiful size 8 and size 10 clothes. I donated all the size 4 dresses to Goodwill years ago.
So there. I give up on dieting. I’m perfectly happy to have some extra knocking around.
Sarah Cottrell is a member of the SAHM (Stay-At-Home-Mom) Club and proud herder of two youngsters. When she is not Mom-ing it up, Sarah is a freelance writer and editor. She is currently writing her first book, a satirical parenting manual. You can find her on her blog at Housewife Plus.
For some reason, men can’t seem to find things. Maybe it’s because they’re usually focused on other things; like what’s in their pants… or getting into yours.
Whatever the reason, my experience with men and locating items is they can’t seem to do it without my help.
Am I just a really good finder of missing items? Probably, although I often lose my dignity at karaoke bars and have trouble locating it. (It’s not at the bottom of five glasses of vodka. That’s always the first place I check.)
Maybe I’m just overly talented at finding things, and that’s why I’m often summoned to locate anything from missing car keys to the mustard in the fridge… in the same exact place it always resides.
I suspect part of the reason I’m so good at tracking things down is because I’m great at word searches. I’m fricking fantastic at those bitches. I can find the most complicated of words among a sea of vowels and consonants.
Actually, that fact doesn’t have anything to do with this post. I just wanted to find a way to sneak in the fact that I kick ass at word searches.
Back to locating things: I don’t think I’m alone in my experience of being the go-to person for finding lost items. I think it’s a widespread occurrence.
For some reason, men need women not only for procreating, and endless hours of boob-grabbing, but also for tracking down missing underwear.
Dare I say this is an epidemic? I dare.
Dare I say it’s worldwide? I double dare.
I’m totally a daredevil when it comes to making allegations about men losing things. (I also love Double Dare and Marc Summers.
I feel confident saying that women across the globe are inundated with inquiries as to where their male loved-one last left his favorite pair of running shoes. (In the bathroom under the sink. Duh.)
This phenomenon is not limited to adult males. Rather, such forgetfulness starts at a young age.
Forgetting where they put their favorite fire engine develops into forgetting to call their girlfriends, and then eventually leads to forgetting they were supposed to be home at 6:00 to clean the house.
Okay, those last two aren’t necessarily about losing things but I think they support the overall premise that men are forgetful.
What’s my point? That’s an excellent question. My point is that either men are lazy and want to make women do all of their searching, or men are born with an inherent ability to lose things.
I’m not sure which explanation makes me sadder.
The only logical conclusion I’ve drawn from all of this (aside from the fact I will definitely get comments on this post about being a man-hater), is the reason women are so great at locating lost items is because of their uterus.
It’s one of the things that makes us different from men, and it’s clearly where we derive our ability to locate long lost possessions.
Notice I didn’t say it’s our vaginas. It’s not. Vaginas have enough things to worry about without having to locate little Timmy’s lost soccer uniform.
Plus, men can purchase artificial vaginas and I don’t think they have any better luck locating things just because they have a pocket pu$$y.
This leads me to my well-reasoned belief that women are capable of finding nearly anything simply because we have (or have had) a uterus.
It’s a fact, mostly because I said so.
The uterus is basically a beacon shining brightly, pointing the way to all of those missing puzzle pieces and lone socks. What else could be the cause of our magical powers?
Nothing. It’s the uterus.
Does that mean if you’ve had a hysterectomy you are no longer a finder of things? Of course not! If you’ve ever had a uterus, even if it was subsequently removed, you still retain your mad GPS skills because you were initially granted the infinite tracking abilities a uterus provides.
So there you have it. Mystery solved. Now you know why everyone comes to women for anything that’s lost (or in plain sight).
Come to think of it, if women were in charge of the search party, they would have found Amelia Earhart within an hour.
Lisa is a humor blogger who plays an unconvincing lawyer in real life. She shouldn’t be allowed around sharp objects, breakables, or carbohydrates. She prefers dogs over most people, and food over most everything. She will make you feel better about your own life and remind you that vodka is the answer to everything, except if the question is ‘What should I throw on this fire?’ Then the answer is definitely NOT vodka. You can find her on her blog, Facebook, TwitterNewlin, and Google+>_
Having your first-born become a high school freshman is a lot like giving birth. It’s painful, messy and not at all like you expected. Worst of all there are no drugs this time around to take away the pain.
Be ready to be shocked when your child comes home after one day in high school and has suddenly become smarter than you. It’s nothing short of a miracle that so much knowledge can be attained in one six period day. Someone should really call the Pope!
You may have your Masters degree, and 14 years of parenting under your belt, but they have been through one day of freshman year surrounded by the brilliant minds of their peers. Your I.Q. just dropped 100 points.
Tempted as you may be to check, you won’t find Eye Rolling 101 on their schedules. This is a skill that must have been picked up during lunch or passing period. My theory is, let them roll their eyes all they want. It’s not bothering me, and they don’t make any noise doing it. I’m all about teenage rebellion that doesn’t make noise!
English Language is found on their schedule, but for the rest of their high school career the only words you will hear are “whatever”, “mom, you are so weird” and “yes, Mom all the other moms let their kids (insert something stupid, dangerous or expensive here).
- When it comes to parenting your high school teen there is power in numbers. Get to know their friends parents and start a group text immediately. All activities must be confirmed. Parent group texting is like the condom for parenting teens. It can stop fun and prevent pregnancy with one click of the send button.
- They will tell you their teachers are mean, unfair and out to get them. There hasn’t been so much conspiracy in the air since Kennedy was assassinated.
- Nothing is ever their fault, and the teacher will never tell them about a research project until the day before it’s due because she hates them and wants them to fail.
- Best defense against this injustice is to act outraged. Grab your keys and tell them you are going straight to the school to let that teacher know they can’t treat your child this way!
- At the sight of this they will start to stutter and back peddle. Sit back and enjoy. It will be entertaining so grab some popcorn.
- Your teen will try to convince you that no other parents chaperone dances or go on field trips. To hear them tell it, the schools just bus the kids to a location and let them wander around aimlessly. No parental supervision needed.
- Don’t believe it! Sign up for everything. Check the bottom of their backpacks for sign up sheets.I have had so many mothers say to me “Well, they don’t want me to go!” My answer to that is if they want to be left alone they can go to LendingTree.com and get a mortgage and move out. Until then you will see them on the field trip bus.
- The most important thing to remember when parenting a teen in high school is to think back to what it was like when you were in high school. Aside from my failed bikini wax it was the single scariest time of my life.
High school is about survival. One wrong move and you are the butt of jokes for the next four years.
It’s like walking a tight rope without a net every single day. That kind of pressure along with raging hormones will make anyone a little crazy and cranky.
Be kind. Be patient. Be tolerant. Listen. I mean really listening and not just waiting to respond. As hard as all this is for you, it’s a million times harder for them.
Although there will be many times that your teen will seem unlovable, love them anyway. If they cringe when you hug them, hug them even tighter. When they scream they hate you for making rules and setting boundaries, set them anyway.
It’s crunch time. It is your job to make sure they are ready for what life throws at them and loving, listening, hugs and boundaries are a great place to start.
Kim Eller is the wild and crazy single mom of two teenagers and personal slave to one very spoiled beagle. Her blog Kim’s Crazy Life is featured in The Oakland Press and her hilarious stand-up was featured at the 2014 Erma Bombeck Writers Conference. She believes you can have it all, but you will need to be medicated! You can find more of Kim on Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, and Google+.