DotMoms

Making mommy friends

By Kimberly

Making mommy friends is a lot like cruising the singles scene. There's a lot of hanging around making discrete eye contact, while sizing up the prospects.

"I'm just not into that whole babywearing thing. Too hardcore for me."

"I'm not really into the newborn scene anymore."

"Oooh, she's rolling a Bugaboo. Sweet."

Once the target has been acquired, there's the whole "making contact" dance. Showing interest, but not too much. Breaking the ice with a clever line. Trying to mask the whiff of desperation (among other things).

"So, how old?"

"What's her name?"

"Is he sleeping through the night?"

I'm not really on the market anymore; I've got my mommies to playdate and trade horror stories and advice with. After six years in the trenches, you build up those connections. And if you're as lucky as I am, several in your initial circle will have subsequent babies at the same time, thereby saving you from having to go and make new mommy friends.

My best friend, however, is new to the mommy scene, and just moved 3,000 km away from every mommy she knows. So she's looking to pick up some moms, but isn't having the best luck. The library -- mommy equivalent to the supermarket in terms of pick-up potential -- isn't running programs until September. She's an atheist, so Church isn't really going to be the best place to meet kindred souls. The park is her best bet, but the park is scary. The ultimate mommy singles bar.

Each time I ask her if she's met anyone special, she answers, "Well, I keep going to the park, but none of the other mommies will talk to me!" She was starting to sound a little desperate about it, so I did what any good friend would do, and took on the job of wingmom. During my stay with her this past week I've been meeting the moms for her. Softening them up so that she can swoop in for the kill. Showing her the ropes to the mommy scene as it were:

• Always open by asking an age. It's a nice, judgement-free, nonspecific lead in. Hard to screw up.
• Never ask "boy or girl?"
• And remember to inculde your own name somewhere in the conversation.

We've done pretty well so far. A few phone number exchanges, a couple of tentative plans to get together and do something. Just like any other dating scene, now she has to wait by the phone and see if anyone does call.

So, how do you find the mommy scene?

Kimberly is a proudly lazy, solo mom by choice to Sabrina (6) and Regan (1). She lives with them in Ontario, Canada.

Life with cancer, kids and crayons

By Jo

I'm sure you're wondering what cancer, kids, and crayons could all possibly have in common. Well I've found that all three can be very messy, they all meltdown at some point, they are all quite colorful, and all three can help you "draw" a very personal picture of something wonderful that you never knew existed.
 
As a mom living with cancer I've chosen to focus on the funny, bright and happy things in my life rather than the bad. I used to be one of those people who always wanted more, needed to be more, and thought I was less. Now I can honestly say that you never realize just how many wonderful things there are out there until you think you are going to lose them. Cancer has made me thankful for everything I do have and care less about what I don't.
 
My kids are, of course, my greatest gifts, making every day not only worth living but worth living better. I now try to live my life as an example for them so they too will be able to be strong as they face their own battles with cancer. I want them to be able to face life in a positive way and know that everything really is alright.
 
So the cancer I will learn to I live with, the kids I will forever cherish, and the crayons I am going to use in hopes of drawing a better picture for my 2-year-old. He tells me the one I drew yesterday looked more like a turtle than a T-Rex and that just will not do.

Jo is a 30-year-old mother of three miracles (14, 11, and 2 1/2), a wife to Vinny, a poet, an aspiring writer, and a three-time cancer survivor.

I'm back, with bells on

By Kelly

I'm hitting a milestone in my marriage. Our two-year anniversary is coming up in another month and our baby turned two a month ago. For the first time in those two years, I am consistently and enthusiastically interested in my husband's affection.

I think it's because I'm feeling more autonomous, and am finally emerging from the fog of having a baby, moving to a new state, and not earning my own money. This year I have begun to build several friendships that I'm hopeful will be lifelong, and this summer I started my market garden business.

Four Saturdays in a row I've sold out of my organically grown, heirloom produce at the local farmers' market. My repeat customers say how wonderful my veggies taste, and are thrilled at the more exotic selection, and I seem to be the only vendor offering items beyond the standard fare.

I'm feeling connected and appreciated in a way that I didn't even realize I missed this much, and it's affecting my relationship. I can remember how shockingly drab and lifeless I felt after moving here, how Chris' complements felt like meaningless words to me, how much easier it was to push him away than to surrender to the goodness of being together when I felt so bad about myself.

I'm once again seeing him as my partner in fulfilling both of our needs, rather than as one more need that I have to fulfill. Of course, now that the tide is turning, we have to take care of making sure we don't end up back where we started, with another baby and the fog moving back in.

Kelly Ferry lives in Northeast Ohio with her husband, teen son, and toddler daughter. She writes when she can, thinks about writing when she can't, and knows more will be revealed.

Is one more blue crayon drawing too much to ask?

By Suzanne

On the first day of kindergarten, my oldest son brought home a scrawled crayon drawing accompanied by this verse: "Here I am so you can see I'm in kindergarten and happy as can be." The picture sort of looks like a little blue alien. His baby book is full of early school papers and pictures -- drawings of his family (we all look like aliens), handprints out of paint, and descriptions of our family ("I hate my brother," "My sister cries all the time," My dad likes sports," "My mom has a garden.")

The first day of school, we took a picture of him standing at the door, backpack on his back filled with new crayons and markers and glue, ready to start the long adventure of his formal education. He was a little scared, a lot shy, but eager and excited to be a big boy who went to school. I was eager and excited to only have two children, instead of three, at home all day with me. 

At the school, all the mothers followed the new kindergartners down the hall to watch them put their backpacks away and be seated at the little tables in their little chairs. It was all very cute. The mothers hung around and hung around and hung around. The principal came down and promised everyone their children would have a great day and all the mothers kept hanging around. Most of them were wiping their eyes and some of them were introducing themselves to each other and planning the first school party and the cookies.

I tore myself away fairly early. I stayed long enough to see that my shy boy was handling it, and I danced out to the parking lot with my other two children in tow, celebrating the advancement toward my freedom. One down, two to go!

Now all three of my children have been in school for years. I've been through two more first kindergarten days and watched countless more mothers wiping their eyes outside the kindergarten classroom with their noses pressed to the glass window in the door, unable to tear themselves away. I never had much trouble tearing myself away. Two down, one to go! Three down -- lift-off!

And yet this school year I don't feel so eager. My oldest son starts high school this week. Where did the time go? How can he be going to ninth grade already? Child-rearing seems to last forever until you hit big milestones. The next time he starts a new school, it will be college! While he is at high school, he will learn to drive, maybe fall in love for the first time and discover what he wants to do when he grows up, make lifelong friends and get his feelings hurt a lot deeper than in kindergarten, and possibly do some other stuff that I will be better off not knowing about.

Why do people cry at the kindergarten door? They are still babies then, with their whole childhood stretching out before them. High school -- THAT'S the time to start crying!!  And yet I don't think there will be a gaggle of mothers gathering outside the ninth grade homeroom, wiping their eyes, noses pressed to the glass until the principal drags them away.

Well, maybe one. Me.

The rest of the mothers will probably be more cooperative about not embarrassing their children.

Do you think I could ask the homeroom teacher to make him draw a self-portrait of his first day so that I know he's okay? I miss blue crayon pictures.

Suzanne has been married for over 20 years and lives in small-town North Carolina with her three children.

The Black Hole

By Christine

It was hot. It was wet. It was the water park on the outskirts of Ingolstadt.

My kids have taught me many things, and on my more generous days, I'd say they are pretty much responsible for my being the courageous person I am today. Before I had kids, I couldn't tie a knot on a balloon. Today, I can do it with my eyes closed.

And closed they were as we trudged up the stairs to the highest point of the water park building. My 6-year-old daughter Sophia prodded me to go down the "Magic Eye" slide on an inner tube with her on my lap. We twisted, turned, and fought with gravity until the bitter end. I grew alarmed as we headed for the first stop which slowed us down. Barrelling behind us, a group of pre-teens appeared to be headed straight for our safe haven. We urgently rushed forward, plunging into the abyss of the next pike. It was, by far, one of my scariest moments.

The "Black Hole" was the slide my 3-year-old son, Jackson, wanted to go down. Shivering in line, his blue lips revealed he was no more frightened than if he were eating birthday cake. As we readied ourselves at the mouth of the slide, I forced myself to think bright thoughts: "Black Forest cake with a side of vanilla ice cream..."

I clutched Jackson's little body as the light turned green, indicating we were next to meet our doom.

"Lie down, Mama!" Jackson commanded, wanting more velocity than I cared to have. Obediently, I lied down, eyes closed (again) and shrieking at the top of my lungs. When we got to the bottom, I felt elated. And proud. I did it. I really did it!

Our kids really do teach us to face our fears. With or without our eyes wide shut.

Christine is an American author and freelance writer living near Munich, Germany, with her husband and two children (Jackson, 4 and Sophia, 6).

What living in the shadow of the Alps has taught me thus far

By Susana

It isn't yodeling, not yet anyhow. And while I am even more of a "Heidi" aficionado, it isn't that either. Living in the shadow of the Alps has brought me the ever-so-awesome joy of the Bernstein, in other hemispheres known as Amber, a very common stone for jewelry. In this little dort or village, amber is used for its miraculous healing properties. All the kids here have them, it's like the best-kept secret of Alpen baby couture. A natural analgesic, amber helps calm and soothe a baby sans drugs. Yes, healing properties, and yes very easily acquired here at the local Apotheke in way of the kinder teething necklace.

My daughter Stella is 17 months and has nearly doubled her tooth count in two weeks. All four of her first molars decided to debut in the time-span of like three minutes. No really, the teething process had been long and grueling, what looked like sharp points which would recede or hasten forward on sheer will, flirted with us for weeks, but as of last weekend finally came through, all four, and this was only after I gave in (read: gnawed breasts in tow) and purchased the said necklace at the said Apotheke.

This is not a highly medicated culture, to be sure, even when she had a very nasty case of conjunctivitis and I was nearly hysterical at the one pharmacy that was open on Sunday (and only when I woke up the on-call pharmacist) trying to describe in my very strange German her symptoms and effect of her eyes being nearly glued shut, what did the pharmacist recommend? Chamomile tea, placed on the eyes for a few moments after being steeped and drained… a very few moments in our case. But guess what? It worked, and healed after a couple of days!

And there are many more secrets I have learned here as well, in way of treating ailments naturally. Little things, subtleties if you will, that had previously never entered my medicinal lexicon, but are now here to stay.

What baby secrets and /or wisdom do you hold in your corner of the world? Whether it is a regional remedy or a bequeathed gem from your great-great-Irish grandmother, let's share.

Susana Gardner is a poet, writer and U.S. citizen who is now an expat mama living in Switzerland with her daughter Stella (1.5), Swiss partner Harry, and Alaskan furbaby, Jasper.

Jet-set baby

By Lana

My 7-month-old son and I arrived back in Phuket, Thailand this week after spending a month home in Canada. I had a fantastic time, but it'll be some time before I'm ready to do another long-haul flight, alone, with a baby.

The return trip involved 17 hours of flying time, plus eight hours of time in airports between connecting flights. One full day in transit. One full day of stress, tedium and sleeplessness.

The first leg involved a one-hour flight from Calgary to Vancouver then a leisurely hour-and-a-half wait at the Vancouver airport and on to Taipei. Or it would have been leisurely had my flight there not been an hour late. I was also informed by the surly ticket clerk that the airline was no longer arranging to transfer connecting passengers' luggage from one plane to the other, so I would have to do it myself. (I won't mention the name of this particular airline, but any Canadian will know which one I mean. I think their motto is: "Service with a snarl.")

That first flight seemed to take forever, as I plotted how I was going to haul a month's worth of luggage across two terminals with baby in tow, wondering if I'd make it at all as I had only a half-hour to do it.

By some miracle, my bags were nearly the first out of the chute, and I discovered a service that I didn't know existed at the airport before: porters. Dazed people parted like the red sea as we flew through the airport, my porter carting my luggage while I frantically pushed the baby stroller. We arrived at the ticket counter just as it was closing. After a few tense moments and some pleading I was allowed on the plane, and I skipped to the gate with my giggling baby.

The next 20-plus hours remain a blur, but I vaguely remember moments of pacing the aisles with a howling baby, trying not to flash my breasts at the entire airplane as my squirming boy struggled to drink, and pushing the stroller aimlessly for hours in the world's most boring airport –- Taipei –- where I was stuck for seven hours, all the while thinking that this is what it is to be on the brink of madness. When I finally landed in Bangkok I wanted to kiss the ground, but I chose instead to kiss my husband, who had come to collect us.

Traveling with a young child is a true endurance test, but having a bi-cultural baby with two families eager to shower him with love in two different countries, it's a necessity. My boy's already seen far more of this world in his seven months of life than I did in my whole childhood. He won't remember this journey, but I look forward to telling him about the adventures we had when he was just a babe in my arms.

Lana is a 31-year-old freelance writer and new mom from Canada who sold all her stuff and ran off to Phuket, Thailand, five years ago.

You and me, Cassidy

By Kristin

When I was newly married, I remember wondering whether I was capable of being a mom. I was never the kind of person who had fantasies of being a mother and was never particularly "maternal." I remember actually questioning whether I would have children. 

Until Cassidy. 

My first niece was born a few days after I got married. Since we were planning to move at the end of that summer and my sister was faced with returning to work, I offered to take care of the baby. To say that I had no idea of what to do or what to expect is an understatement. But I did it. I fed her and rocked her and got her dressed and took her for walks. And when the end of the summer came, I couldn't believe how close I felt to her. I couldn't believe that I wanted to be a mother. And nearly six years later, I was.   

To say that I had no idea what to do or what to expect is an understatement. But I have a beautiful daughter who is healthy and happy and makes my world go around. She sings show tunes at the top of her lungs, loves to draw, and has an addiction to her pacifier that is bordering on obsessive. But through all the breastfeeding, art projects, cookie making, and stressing over preschools, I still have a very hard time admitting to myself that I am a good mother.

Last week my niece came to visit us before the summer winds down yet again. She is now nine years old and to see her playing with my little girl was magic. We had so much fun. I took her to Starbucks. We went to the toy store. We made homemade pizza. She asked me all sorts of questions about how things work and why things happen. We went swimming and to the park and made a scrapbook of our pictures from the week. I felt so competent. Maybe even more competent with two children than I do with one. 

Cassidy made me first realize I could be a mom. And then she made me realize I could be a good mom.

Kristin is married to her high school sweetheart and the mother of one daughter, Madeline.

The apple falls close to the tree

By Amy H.

When I was 3 years, 1 month and 2 weeks old, my sister, April, was born; and when my son, Javi, was 3 years, 1 month and 2 weeks old, his sister, Isa, was born. That's pretty astonishing when you consider the follicular likelihood of this intergenerational fertilization schedule, but perhaps more staggering is what can be learned from observing one's own youthful sibling dynamics from the vantage point of motherhood. 

I watch my son's older sibling antics and wince as my childhood memories evoke feelings of regret (e.g., somehow always ending up with the prized Queen Frostine card in the CandyLand game), remorse (e.g., repeatedly placing stinky feet in my sister's face while safely out of mom's reach in the backseat of the car), and repentance (e.g. shouting "Neener, Neener, Neener!" when my sister was blamed for something I did wrong). 

While it's with some uneasiness that I come to identify with my son's behavior, the resemblance between my sister and my daughter as younger siblings brings me nothing but joy. It's the same sense of adventure, faith and self-possession that motivates 1-year-old Isa to plunge face-first into a swimming pool (while Javi clings anxiously to me) and thirty-something April to jump gleefully out of airplanes with only a neatly tied parachute to ease her fall (while I keep my feet firmly planted on the ground). It's the same energy of spirit that propels little Isa to push aside her big brother on her way to his ice cream and "Auntie Apple" to persevere through every obstacle to create the life she saw and wanted for herself.      

From my current vantage point, it's easier now to see the view from the second position where little sisters learn that all the rainbow colors you pick up along the way can be just as valuable as a Queen Frostine, that attention from an older sibling sometimes comes at a (smelly) price, and that resilience, courage and moxie can come from firsthand knowledge that life just isn't fair.   

It's with great pride that I watch my daughter take after my sister because I know that she is headed in an admirable direction. I'll keep working on my oldest.

Amy H. is a thirty-something SAHM and part-time psychology professor living in the deep South with her husband and two children.

Mommy blogger and proud of it!

By Jenn

A question that has been tossed around the Internet lately is "What is a Mommy Blog and who are considered Mommy Bloggers?" To me, a Mommy Blogger is a woman who writes a blog and has at one time or another written about her children. 

Some of these blogs document the daily lives of their children as well as the major milestones their children accomplish. Other Mommy Blogs cover a variety of topics including children, but the writing is not solely focused on motherhood and children. Of course, we also have the Mommy Blogger whose only mention of her children is in the context of how motherhood has an effect on her decisions, beliefs or personal stance on certain issues. Children are usually the only connecting factor linking most Mommy Blogs. They are as varied and unique as the women writing them.

I was recently honored to speak on the panel of Mommy Bloggers at BlogHer where I was thrilled to hear so many opinions on the use of this term. Some of these writers are bothered by the title of Mommy Blogger because they felt marginalized. They write about so many things, yet many of these women don't feel the term covers all that they are about. 

In addition, some felt the phrase was used in a derogatory manner. In fact, many of these women have been discounted as having a valid contribution as soon as the label "Mommy Blog" is attached to her writing. Although, there were a number of women I spoke with who were not bothered in the least by the label "Mommy Blogger." They felt that the term is only derogatory if you allow it to make you feel "less than." The general consensus was to embrace the term and make it our own. Make the term one that causes others to understand that we hold the power of the future.

"Why do you blog about your children?" I don't know many Mommy Bloggers who have not heard this question. The overwhelming response is this: not only so that these writers can look back on the fleeting moments of childhood captured so frequently online, but so that their children will have a written record -- in a rather informal format -- they can look back on years later. Who has not wished at one point or another that she could get into the mind of her mother to see what she really thought (including the real emotions that come with the job on a day to day basis)? For most of us, by the time we are old enough to care, our mothers have forgotten some of the smaller moments that make motherhood such a wild ride. What a great way to share those stories that otherwise would just remain a vague footnote of childhood!

Some critics ask, "But what about the safety and privacy of your children?" The overwhelming response when someone asks that question of Mommy Bloggers is that you have to trust your gut and go with that. Draw your own lines of comfort and stick with them. No one else can make that decision for you. The same thing applies to the privacy of children. I have two older children that I will usually discuss an entry with before I post something about them. I respect their right to privacy. I have found that to work for all of us -- just showing respect to those who are close to you.

As for me and my feelings about Mommy Blogging (both the term and the phenomenon), I am proud to be included in the Mommy Blogger category. I feel that the most important contribution I can make is the act of raising the next generation. If I want to talk about it and how it affects my life, I am going to do it with pride. The name Mommy Blogger doesn't bother me in the least. In fact, I am ready to claim it and make it "the" blogger genre to be included in. (Remember when the word "geek" was an insult?  Not so much anymore, right?)

On a more personal level, I would give anything to be able to read about my own mom when I was a young child. To read her thoughts about me and motherhood would give me a connection beyond what we already have. As I write this, my own mother is in ICU. Suddenly, I have a million questions about motherhood that I would love to ask her. So many questions about her own thoughts, fears and hopes when it came to be a young mother. If I could read a blog she wrote, it would mean everything to me.  Everything.

I am giving that legacy to my own children. They will never have to wonder what they were like as children or what I was like as their mother. It is all there for them to read about and remember. (And for their future dates to Google when they are 16 and dating.) In fact, I second what Jenny Lauck declared -- tongue in cheek--"I don't think I would even let my children date someone whose mother didn't blog their life." 

What more is there to say after that?

Jenn is a 34-year-old stay-at-home mom who lives in Texas with her husband and three children.