The Truth About Motherhood
by Lela Davidson on March 27, 2008
in Uncategorized
Only a girlfriend will tell you the truth about motherhood. God-willing you have good girlfriends. I devoured the Girlfriends Guide to Pregnancy, which was one of the breakout honest books when it comes to parenting – if you ask me. When I was pregnant with my first, I had a good friend who delivered two months before I did. Her words of wisdom?
You’ll never survive the first two weeks.
It wasn’t technically true. I lived. But that’s the kind of honesty that only a good girlfriend shares. None of this hokey miracle bonding crap. I was still pregnant, but she didn’t stoke my fantasy of Perfect Baby and Perfect Mother.
Then I made some new Mommy Friends and they admitted to spending entire days on the sofa, shouting at infants, crumpling on the kitchen floor over… yes, spilt milk. No, wait – that was me! We are all so very, very flawed. Motherhood just shines a spotlight on all your imperfections.
Can you tell I’m feeling like a stellar mom today? It has been brought to my attention that I yell at the Boy Child every day. Each and every one? Okay, maybe… lately – yes. I have been yelling at him every day. He is driving me insane. Please write and tell me it’s all going to be better soon. Or – the truth. If you’re my girlfriend.
What do you wish a girlfriend had told you?
Mosey over to the Parent Bloggers Network this weekend to find out what other mothers are saying.
Get In The Spirit
by Lela Davidson on October 10, 2007
in Uncategorized
Best Mom Ever: School Counselor
by Lela Davidson on October 8, 2007
in Uncategorized
“What’s wrong?” I asked.
Seems her oh-so-sensitive brother had made an appointment for them to visit the school counselor.
“We fight all the time,” he explained. “It’s a problem and we need to solve it.”
“But I didn’t DO anything,” my daughter said
“Don’t worry, Sweetie,” I said. “You’re not in trouble.”
“But I didn’t do ANYTHING!” Drops pooled in her eyes.
My son insisted that they needed to see the counselor.
If he wanted a counselor, I’d give him one. I’ve watched enough Dr. Phil. Plus, I wanted the juicy details of what could drive him to seek professional help. How hard could it be? All I had to do was get them to say what was bothering them, repeat it back to them, and then ask them how it made them feel. A monkey could do it. Mea culpa Dr. Phil.
At breakfast the next day, I played counselor.
“So what would you like to talk about?” I asked.
My son answered while my daughter averted her eyes.
“Well, we fight,” he said. “Real bad.”
My daughter folded her arms and clenched her jaw.
“Mm-hmm. And how does that make you feel?” I asked.
“Bad,” said the boy.
“Bad,” said the girl.
“Okay. So you fight and that makes you both feel bad. Is that right?”
“Uh-huh.”
“What do you fight about?”
They were both quiet for a minute, then looked at each other. My daughter spoke up.
“Sometimes we play games,” she said, “and he always makes up the powers and he gives himself all the good powers.”
It always comes down to power.
“Is this true?” I asked my son. “Do you repeatedly endow yourself with the superior super powers?”
“Yes,” he said, hanging his head.
“How does that make you feel?” I asked my daughter.
“It sort of makes me feel not listened to.”
“Not listened to?”
“Yeah.”
“Okay,” I said. Trying to keep a straight face, I turned to my son. “Did you know you taking all the good powers made her not listened to?”
“Yeah.”
“And how does that make you feel?”
“Bad.” By this time I was starting to feel my own super powers. Other parents may speak to kids this way all the time, but it wears me out. I’m more of a figure it out yourself kind of Momma, but this babble seemed to be working.
“So what do you think you guys could do so that you don’t fight so much?” I asked.
“Maybe we could make up the games together?” said the girl.
“That might work,” said the boy.
“How would that make you feel if you two didn’t fight anymore?”
“That would feel good,” they said together.
Sweet satisfaction.
“Now you don’t need to go see the counselor,” I said.
The Boy looked at me like I was crazy.
“Yeah we do,” he said, brows all in a twist.
“Why? We already solved the problem.”
“Because, Mom.” he said, “You’re not the real counselor.”
True enough.
I must have done some good though, because when he finally visited the real school counselor, he went alone. At least I got my daughter off the hook.
“So what’d she say?” I was dying to know.
“She thought you had some pretty good ideas.”
HA! Once again, missed my calling.
“So I’m not a total loser?”
“No, Mom,” he said. “You’re the Best Mom Ever.”
“Really?”
“Sure.”
And that’s how I learned that sarcasm is genetic.
Faithful Farina
by Lela Davidson on September 5, 2007
in Uncategorized
Anne Lamott is one of my crooked little heroes. If you don’t know her, you must click around this post and read all about her. I have been reading LaMott’s book, Plan B: Further Thoughts on Faith and in it she spends a good deal of words on the concept of being kind to yourself as well as on making space in your life for things like kindness and comfort foods, and for accepting the appearance of your own thighs.
Cream of Wheat is my comfort food of choice. I have managed to instill this love of creamed wheat goodness into my children. Milk, butter, brown sugar, and cinnamon go a long way toward winning a child’s heart. So lovely, in fact, is this wonder food that we all ate it for dinner last night. (Truth be told we actually ate the Great Value brand from Wal-Mart because wheat is wheat right?)
Anyway, I have to come clean because I have, until now, prided myself at never-ever having fed my children cereal for dinner. (To be fair – Cream of Wheat is hot cereal.) But Lamott got me to thinking. Is it really so wrong to offer yourself up a little comfort now and again? Even mothers need a kitchen pass occasionally. So cast off your four food groups, banish the balanced meal, and go with what feels right and good at the moment. Live a little.
Balancing the Weight of Guilt
by Lela Davidson on August 31, 2007
in Uncategorized
These are the children walking away, getting older every day. The taller one is nine. I can’t help but think he’s halfway to eighteen, which most likely means a college far away. The short one is fiercely independent. When my Mama Guilt kicks in, as it did yesterday, I wonder if I feel bad because I fear I’m not giving them enough, or because I know I’m the one who’s missing out. I wanted to post some neat links this morning for all my Guilty Mama friends, but when I started searching, I just got more confused. Some folks tell me not to feel guilty, never ever, while others suggest my guilt is a call to evaluate my values. There are some extreme views out there. I’m chalking it up to a bad day. And hormones. To make it better, I’ll spend more time today looking into my kids’ eyes.
What do you do when you feel bad? Can motherhood even exist without guilt? Can we possibly give our children everything they desire, deserve, and need from us? And can we ever soak up enough of them to feel satisfied? Can we ever strike the right balance? Eek, this is a hard job!
