DotMoms

Mom takes gold in freestyle viewing event

By Kimberly

I am not an athletic person. I spent the last two years of mandatory PE devising multiple devious and clever ways to get out of just about everything, and 20 years later I still don't feel at all guilty about that. About the only thing I enjoy less than participating in sporting events is watching other people do so. So you can guess how excited I was that Olympic season was upon us once again.

On the plus side, as a solo mom I am by very definition Queen of the Remote, so it's not like I was going to be forced to endure someone else's addiction to armchair athletics. On the minus side, it looked like we were on track for another medal in the "I want my show!" tantrum event. 

Preschoolers do not understand the intricacies of television programming. They don't know what pre-empted means, and they certain don't buy the idea that watching some guy on skis is more important than Dora. Salt Lake occurred at the height of Sabrina's love affair with The Wiggles, and it was an Olympic moment, to say the least. This time it's Regan's obsession with the Doodlebops that had me anticipating a bad case of Olympic deja vu.

But a funny thing happened on the way to the DVD shelf. While seraching for Spongebob, The Ladies discovered figure skating. The music, the makeup, the sparkly hair and twirly skirts -- Sabrina was well and truly hooked, and the Olympics took over my living room. 

It took me a few days to figure out what was happening as The Ladies pranced around in front of the television wearing their bathing suits and tutus, but eventually I caught on: We weren't just watching the Olympics at my house, we were hosting them.

At this point, I knew I was well and truly beat in my opposition to all things Olympic. So I surrendered graciously. We made medals out of cardboard, glitterglue, and scraps of ribbon. We hotglued sequins to old swimsuits to create skating costumes. We made a podium out of laundry baskets, and a rink out of an old blanket. And then, at the Rastin Olympics, the team of Sabrina and Regan delivered a medalwinning performance. 

It was the best sporting event I've ever seen. I can't wait for 2010.

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

Envy and fear

By Margaret

A few weeks ago I was talking to a friend who has been divorced for a long time. Her father died recently, her mother died several months ago. Her children are grown and married and in good jobs somewhere.

My friend told me that, for the first time in 30 years, she didn't have anyone depending on her, wanting her to do something for them or expecting her to take care of them.

I had to stop and process that when she told me.

I thought about it for a minute and I've thought about it a lot since then.

I will readily admit it made me envious and maybe a little discontented.

I love my children and my husband.

I am in my house, alone, so infrequently that on those rare occasions I actually am there alone, I don't know what to do.

The only time I ever spent the night home by myself I was so freaked out, I had David call a locksmith to fix the lock on our bedroom door. I thought I'd feel more secure if I could lock myself in my bedroom.

Since David and I have been married, I can count the number of nights, and tell you the reasons, David and I have spent apart.

About the only "alone" time I have during the day is when I'm in my car driving to and from my office.

A recent weekend was pretty typical for us:

• Friday night basketball tournament
• Saturday morning meeting with a client
• Saturday afternoon basketball game
• Saturday afternoon Mass
• Saturday evening yet another basketball game
• Sunday we took the foster lab to Pet Smart to show him
• Sunday after Pet Smart we went to the open house of a school we're thinking about sending Jacob to next year
• Sunday after that the kids and and I went to Target while David put dinner together

Then we had dinner, baths, stories, kisses and bedtime.

So you see why the thought of not having anyone depending on me, or wanting something from me, or waiting for me to do anything for them for a moment seemed like a luxury I'd been denied. And then to imagine another 15 or 20 years of it! It seemed too much to bear. And I was envious.

And then, Jacob wanted to count all the W's in his bedtime stories.

And Lizzie lost her basketball game, and tried to be nonchalant about it, but when she smiled at me tears sprung into her eyes and she had to have a hug.

And David reached for my hand as we all left the Pet Smart with the foster lab and I was overcome with an unbearable sadness to think that it would all ever end.

And my envy evaporated.

Margaret is a fortysomething attorney with two adopted children (ages 3 and 11) that she is raising with her husband, a stay-at-home dad.

To have, or not to have: that was the question

By Kelly

More than a decade ago, I tried, and then stopped trying, to salvage my failing marriage to the father of my 13-year-old son. After that I spent five years trying to make a new long-distance relationship into something permanent and solid. During these tumultuous years, and often for the wrong reasons, I wished for another child. I knew adding another person to the complex equation of an unhappy marriage would complicate my problems rather than solve them. The same factors applied to a partnership in which the parties lived 500 miles away from each other.

Even knowing that, I still obsessed over it. I know now that I believed a successful pregnancy and the birth of a new child meant that I was getting something right. By the time of the divorce, I had miscarried three pregnancies. Looking back, I can't feel anything but relief that I exited the marriage with only one child whose heart needed to be put back together again.

When Chris and I conceived Lila, I was at another crossroads -- ready for a day-to-day partnership again, but unable to make the drastic move across the country that would hurt my son and his father. I guess I hadn't really learned anything from my past experiences yet, because it was nothing short of miraculous relief when I felt the decision taken from my hands and made for me by the pregnancy. And so we moved.

We have all adjusted to the changes and are thriving, and this child has awakened a new level of intense love in all three of us: her parents and big brother. The day-to-day family routine I so craved is enough to handle, often more than enough. Yet, the question of another child has hovered in my thoughts since her birth. Would she be a happier child with a sibling closer to her own age? Shouldn't we just do it now while she's still a toddler, and get the hard part over with before I'm 40?

Well, I turn 39 in May, and I've been doing a lot of thinking about our family and about my past. It has taken me an awful lot of kicking myself in the rear end to admit that the only concrete reason I have for wanting another child is for the pleasure of trying one more time to get it right. Rather than put that energy and love into a whole new person, I am humbly put on notice that I need to give it to the two beauties who already grace my life.

Motherhood is a journey we take across space and time without a map or a guide, often making up the language and the customs as we go. So often it feels like we're traveling solo, even when we're tripping over little people at every turn. How can we pay attention to the landscape when we have so much baggage to keep track of? The path of each mother's voyage takes its own shape on the map of life, even though we all end up at the same destination. I'm just grateful to discover how much smoother my own ride can be because I finally know that what I already have is more than enough.

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.

The art of disciplining a "Bween"

By Michelle

There's a trendy term out right now to describe a pre-teen. Caught between childhood and adolescence, they're known as "tweens." I'd like to coin a term of my own, one to describe a child who is not a baby and not yet a child. I'll call her a "Bween."

My Bween is in that lovely stage that comes before the so-called Terrible Twos. At age 21 months, she firmly believes she's a child with the same abilities as her 4-year-old brother. If he helps himself to a snack, she hauls a chair across the room to climb up and get one for herself. When he argues about not getting his way, she mimics his behavior, demanding her rights in an unknown baby language that does not come with a translation dictionary.

But now we've reached that nebulous territory of discipline. It isn't cute any more when she says, "Mommy, you 'top it." She understands very clearly which things she isn't supposed to touch, and now delights in touching them while grinning. I can hear the inner taunt -- What are you going to do about it?

In the past, it was a matter of scooping her up while reinforcing a firm "No." But now we're at the point where she'll simply try to do it again. I can hear my own mother laughing at me now, thinking to herself, "Payback time, sweetie." 

My daughter understands physical boundaries, but verbal boundaries are different. When she yells, "No!" or refuses to do as she's told, I wonder whether she is merely repeating words to get a reaction or genuinely is being defiant. At the moment, I've been putting her in time-out as discipline or sometimes I give her an occasional swat on the bottom depending on the severity of the outburst. 

But I think, at the heart of it, my Bween just wants her mother's attention. When she misbehaves, she has my full response. And after a tearful, "Sorry" in her foreign baby language, she wraps her arms around my neck and squeezes tight. It's a tough world, for a growing child or a budding adolescent. She knows I'll always be there for her. Especially when she's trying to tear down the curtains.

What discipline methods have worked well for your toddler? What struggles do you face?

Michelle lives with her husband and children in southeastern Virginia, where she teaches sixth-graders and also writes historical romances.

My name is Madeline and I'm a Band-Aid-aholic

By Kristin

The other night after I put my 4-year-old daughter to bed, I heard screams that made me wonder whether there actually were monsters in her room. I sprinted out of the kitchen thinking about what could have possibly happened to cause such an awful response (I imagine she's sick and throwing up; she's had a terrible dream; she jumped one too many times on the bed and fell and hit her head -- I am so telling her I told you so).

As I rounded the stairs, my husband looked in amazement at how fast my pregnancy-tired body was moving. When I threw open her door to assess the probability of each potential cause I'd imagined, none seemed possible.  She was clutching her foot. 

Her foot? What the heck could have happened to her foot? 

I immediately asked her what was wrong and if she was OK. Through extensive sobs that made her sound like someone who had just dumped her guts to Oprah, she explained "I I I loooost myyyy Baaaand-Aiiiiid" -- the Band-Aid that was placed on her foot at least four times that day to heal a phantom wound. I knew she still had it on when I put her in bed because we had to re-secure it several times during the story telling and straight-jacketing. (That's a joke.  We never read stories.) 

But I do think there is something about the composition of toddler/preschooler skin that somehow repels the adhesive on a Band-Aid. They just don't stay on. Or more likely the fact that they don't stay attached is a marketing ploy so you have to buy yet another box of Barbie Band-Aids after your box of 20 is used up in one day. But I digress.

I peeled back her sheets and there it was. Her beautiful little hollow cylinder of Band-Aid love. She was instantly calmed when we discovered it. We slid it right back on and she was at peace and ready for bed. 

I really wish there were something my adult mind would allow me to find so powerfully healing and calming as a Band-Aid. But given the price of that 20 pack, we might have to start emptying her piggy bank to fund this addiction. Now that I think about it, fifteen cents a hit is pretty reasonable.   

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

Femme fatale

By Christine

"Where did my femininity go?" I patted down the pockets of my sweat jacket and matching sweat pants, hoping to find it.

"I had it just a minute ago. I know I did." I searched under the bed and found board books, an old sippy cup, and a child's sock. Nope, it wasn't there.

Padding down the stairs, I looked in the living room. On the way, I stepped on a Lego with my bare foot. I screeched. My femininity had gone missing. How did I know? One look in the bathroom mirror told me so. There was no amount of Dead Sea mask that was going to erase those worry lines. Not even a bucket full of conditioner would tame my frizzy Mommy do.

There was only one solution. I needed some serious fun.

Luckily, I have a few friends. They call on occasion, in the hopes I might have time. The other day, one friend offered me the chance of a lifetime: to meet the members of the legendary rock band Deep Purple ("Smoke on the Water") and Alice Cooper (no, he never bit the chicken's head off) at a press event the very next night.

Spontaneity isn't on the roster of a mom with young kids. Neither is begging, for that matter. But I needed a night out to find myself again, to reunite with the fun-loving person I once was. I carefully broached the subject with my husband.

"I’ve got a press pass to do this thing..." I began tenuously. "I'm going to write a magazine article about the Munich Olympic Walk of Stars," I continued. My husband grunted into the phone. Liza Minelli had been honored just the week before. I wanted to replace my sweats with my Levi's, don a little make-up, and feel almost famous for a night.

In the end, my husband realized my need to reclaim a sense of self and the importance of getting this writing gig. Pulling out of the driveway, I waved goodbye with a lightness in my heart. I was about to walk with the stars, if only for a brief moment.

Waiting seems to be a part of show business. Anyone who has worked on a concert tour or film set will tell you there's a great deal of dead air time between jobs. After we connected with our contact, we waited over two hours to see Deep Purple sink their hands into the wet concrete which would later be placed on the Walk of Stars around the Olympic Lake, much like the Walk of Fame on Hollywood Boulevard. The band member with the widest smile made my heart melt. I went up to him and asked for his autograph. It was Steve Morse, the lead guitarist.

Gushing like a teenager, I said, "You are so sweet." I was such a goober. Could I not say something more sophisticated like, "You know, that riff on last year's tour had a unique quality. Would you show me how you do that some time?" He posed patiently with me as my friend snapped a picture. He then signed a random piece of paper I found in my bag. I wished him luck and thanked him for the great music he and the band make. Later I met Alice Cooper who smiled and called me "Dear." At that moment, I felt my femininity yawning itself awake.

When Deep Purple performed that evening, my friend and I had a different perspective on the band jamming on stage. We had just seen them up close and personal. I couldn't help but feel proud watching Steve make his guitar sing. It was a caring "You go, honey" type of feeling, which made the experience all the richer.

As I smiled into the black nothingness that stood between me and the stage, I realized I was a feminine woman -- and a mother, too.

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

In the news: Missing girls in G-rated films!

By Amy H.

If I wanted to take my daughter (and son!) to see a film with strong female role models this week, my G-rated choice at our local theater would be "Curious George." There is a female character in the movie. As one reviewer wrote, "Enter Maggie (voiced by Drew Barrymore), a cute schoolteacher who brings her class to the museum every week because she has a big crush on Ted" (a.k.a. the Man with the Yellow Hat).

Now don't get me wrong, I have nothing against Drew or schoolteachers, but do we really need another minor female movie character portrayed as "cute," working at a stereotypically female occupation and having the inevitable crush on a male lead character? What messages are we sending our daughters and sons if the movies we take them to only offer one sort of female character or if girls and women are not in the picture at all?

According to a recently released research brief (PDF), female characters are few and far between in popular G-rated films. In fact, the research found that of the 101 top-grossing G-rated films released from 1990-2004, 75 percent of the characters are male. Other key findings of the study were that only 28 percent of the speaking characters are female, only 17 percent of the characters in crowd scenes are female, and 83 percent of the films' narrators are male.

The research brief indicated that more information "on what these films communicate to children about the portrayal of boys, occupational expectations for girls and boys, and body image and hyper-sexuality" is to be released later in 2006. However, findings from TV studies were extrapolated to suggest that the gender disparity "can have an impact on developing or possibly reinforcing children's stereotypical attitudes and beliefs about gender." Furthermore, it was reported that the study supporters said that "the disparity diminishes the importance of women in children's eyes."

What do you think about the lack of female characters in G-rated films? How important is this issue to you and what, if anything, do you think should be done about it? Do you talk to your kids about the portrayals of girls (or lack of them) and boys in the films they watch, as suggested by the sponsors of the study? And if you do talk to them, what sorts of things come up in those conversations? What sorts of movies would you like your kids to see in theaters? How about "Curious Georgina and the Woman with the Yellow Scarf"?

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

Author Interview: Amy Scheibe on "What Do You Do All Day?"

By Meredith

Amy Scheibe's first novel, "What Do You Do All Day?" has a melting orange popsicle on the otherwise pristine white cover. A small pool of sticky, orange syrup is running down the bottom of the cover, most certainly off the edge of a counter we don't see and onto the floor where the heroine of the novel -- an at-home mom -- will undoubtedly, unwittingly step, thus tracking the substance through her New York City abode. As fictional mom Jennifer Bradley traipses through the confusing maze that is at-home parenthood, the author takes her readers on a sometimes funny, sometimes so-real-that-you-wince sojourn.

Amy Scheibe recently answered several questions I posed to her about the book, motherhood and the struggles of at-home parents:

Meredith O'Brien: The protagonist in "What Do You Do All Day?" admits in the first two pages of the book that she'd become "what I once sneered at -– a 'stay-at-home mom' ... And so, my life is hell." Do you think that, for people who were once hard-charging career people, being an at-home parent comes as something of a shock to their systems?

Amy Scheibe: The shock comes with how much your world view is reduced in a matter of months -- a very clever new mom finds her way through this quickly, but I think most are still so busy recovering from the greater shock of childbirth and the hormone roller coaster of the post-partum period that before they know it they're eating Cheerios three times a day and having conversations with stuffed bears!

Meredith: Jennifer concludes her constant questioning of her decision to be at home with her daughter with this observation, "Worst of all is encountering the working mom and measuring my lack of accomplishment against her speedy-quick successes as all my work suits sagged on their hangers. I refuse to regret my decision, even if it turns out to have been the wrong one."

Do you think that the character was ill-suited to be at home as a full-time caretaker, or do you think that such an inquiry is a part of everyone's experience as an at-home parent, the type of inner inquiry that no one really likes to acknowledge for fear people will think that they either aren't up to the task or don't like it?

Amy: I do think that everyone has these questions, and in this particular scene, I'm setting up Jennifer's emotions so that when she does encounter "working moms" in the next scene she realizes how much she's projecting what she thinks once she realizes that these moms are just as befuddled as she is. My main point with this is that the grass always looks greener, no matter how swell you have it.

Meredith: "Child rearing is an isolating occupation," Jennifer says. "...Much of my inner life has become deeply buried, lost in the shuffle of bottles and diapers and carrot sticks." At one point, Jennifer says she's deeply unhappy and feels "bankrupt."

Do you think many at-home moms gets so wrapped up in parenting that they forget about themselves, that they no longer put themselves on any priority list?

Amy: Oh, I wouldn't say "many" but a few certainly do. I think that Jennifer is at a particular point where she feels abandoned by her partner in all of this and is struggling with depression without being able to put her finger on the fact that she is simply depressed. I think she says at some point in the book that there is depression in her family, and for women who are prone to low moods, the monotony of parenting can be devastating.

Meredith: There's a thread that runs through this book that I've heard from many at-home or work-at-home parents about their full-time out-of-the-house spouses: That the spouses who do paid work, who leave the house and don't have to deal with diapers or preschool pick-ups, don't really understand what it's like to be at home 24/7 caring for children. I've heard at-home parents (moms) admit that they sometimes resent that they gave up their careers for their families while their spouse has this business dinner and that business function at a high-end restaurant while the moms are eating the kids' leftover mac-'n-cheese.

Has this been your experience, that there's not a meeting-of-the-minds between the at-home parents and the working spouses? That the working spouses don't "get it" and are apt to ask, "What did you do all day?"

Amy: I don't think the at-work spouses can possibly related to the intense joys or epic tedium that can comprise a day with children. I don't think anyone can unless they are in the middle of it. I know my mother has very little memory of what a swirl children can make of your life -- when she visits, she's constantly saying that our lives are so hectic -- and she had four kids! I do think that the at-work spouses do want to "get it" and many try. But I also think that they love getting on that train Monday morning and putting the chaos behind them.

Meredith: Another theme in the book centers on the relationship between Jennifer and her husband Thom, who is frequently away on business, and whose three-plus months' stint to Singapore causes Jennifer angst. Jennifer laments the change that parenthood -- and her husband's business travel -- has made in their relationship. This excerpt from page 102 particularly struck me: "Okay, gloves off. I'm bitterly mad at Thom. Not for leaving me alone with the children, though I'd have every right, but because he stole my job. My future. My earnings. And he used my love for my babies to do it."

How do you think having a child alters a marriage, specifically the closeness between spouses?

Amy: It seems to me (and I'm still relatively new at this) you have to work incredibly hard to keep your relationship with your partner the primary relationship in your life once you have kids. They are seductive little creatures whose very existences depend on your love and they will suck the love out of you if you let them. And when that happens, it's inevitable that a spouse will want to look elsewhere for a measure of that love. Happily, Jennifer realizes she has drifted into this detachment from Thom before it is too late for them -- but it does take the shock of a potential tryst to shake her up.

Meredith: There was recently a dust-up of sorts on the Internet over an article in an opinion journal where a retired professor said that women who opt to become at-home parents are, essentially, destroying the future for women in the workforce and are betraying their potential. Your main character Jennifer struggles with just this idea, "How did I become this trusting, dependent homebody when my training was survival-based, and feminist-leaning?" Do you think Jennifer's struggle is commonplace?

Amy: I actually think that women are constantly changing themselves and the workplace and that more and more women are waiting to have kids later, when they have more leverage at work and can better design a temporary solution so they can juggle both more effectively. My dream is that in 10 or 20 years at the most, women will be able to choose their situations without judgment from anybody. They'll be able to stay in a career or step out and not be penalized for choosing to parent full time. Jennifer's struggle resonates because she's a romantic, and we all want to be romantics at heart, want to believe that tea parties with children are always fun, that we can all dress in pretty white clothes and play croquet out on an emerald lawn all day. The reality is that parenting is outrageously difficult, important, rewarding, joyful, maddening and all kinds of other mixed emotions. I tried to capture as much of those vicissitudes as possible in this story and give voice to as many types of choice as possible in just 300 pages -- and still be entertaining!

Party girls

By Amanda

"I'll trade you a Chuck E. Cheese for two Bullwinkle's and a Tumblebus," I say wondering if he'll take the bait.

"I'll take one Bullwinkle's and one Tumblebus if you throw in a Pump it Up," he says, thinking he's trumped my offer.

This is a conversation we have in our house every weekend. You see, our daughters, who are six and almost three, are on a constant birthday party circuit. Every weekend one of them (sometimes both) is invited to birthday parties. Don't get me wrong -- I'm glad they have friends, and frankly on a cold winter day a birthday party is a good activity for them. But because they are different ages, they are not invited to the same parties. So, there is always a negotiation about who will take which child to which party.

"I did the last Jellybeans roller-skating party, it's your turn," he says.

"But it's bowling. You can't compare that, they're totally different animals," I say trying to convince myself and him that I'm right.

The parties are almost always held at facilities which specialize in these types of events. For parents, this removes the headache of having to entertain kids in their homes and clean up afterwards. But there's a tradeoff. These places are almost always crowded, loud and chaotic.

Honestly, I would rather lose a limb than crawl up into the climbing structure one more time to rescue my 2-year-old because she's trapped and scared. Between the rude, pushy older children, and the constant din that would give a dead man a headache, it's almost too much to ask an adult to attend one of these parties.

You might ask why I don't drop off my child? After all, a 6-year-old could surely handle herself without a parent for two hours. But, I've come to the conclusion that one set of parents cannot possibly monitor a dozen or more children in such a mind-numbing atmosphere. I wouldn't ask or expect them to do it, even if they offer. In addition, I'm still too overprotective. I've decided that it's just too easy for a child to get lost, hurt or snatched in an overcrowded public place when supervision is minimal.   

So, I've resigned myself to making commando rescues in the climbing structure, feeding tokens into broken games, sliding down blow-up slides and skating backwards while holding shaky little arms for years to come.

The best part is the payback. Let's see, where should I have my daughter's next party?  How about Vegas?

Amanda lives in North Carolina with her husband and two daughters.

The balance dream

by Mindy

Balance... people say I seem to have achieved it, and I supposed I have, considering how I've lived the last five years.

I put my oldest in day care until he was two and our second was born. I think that was right, because I needed to work, was only a half-mile away, and saw him all the time.

We only took him out when our second child became catastrophically ill at birth. We hired a nanny so that he could be kept close to home and away from other children. It was right, because we didn't want him to die. That one was easy.

When I got pregnant with our third nine months after our second was born, the wheels came off the cart. My boss was rapidly losing patience with my breeder ways. My husband refused to settle for just any job and stayed home for three years. I supported us for four. During that time he asked me for a divorce several times, told me he'd cheated over a four-year period in our marriage, and put me in a sling. He is also a nurturing, stellar father who adores his children, so there was a lot of agony in weighing decisions. Divorcing him was the hardest, most wrong-feeling thing I ever did, but it was the wisest and sanest. It was right.

My acid test is the same as Ann Landers' was: are you better off or worse off as a result of the decision? That seems oversimplified but, my God, it works when you apply it seriously. I sat in my office one day last year and thought, Huh, I'm in a lot of pain because my husband is an ass, I'm a stress-bucket because I'm working too hard and shouldering too much responsibility, I’m running a monumental sleep deficit because I had three children in four years, and I'm on the verge of a breakdown because I'm in danger of losing my job while injured and in the middle of a divorce. So, I decided to jump ship.

I can honestly say that any balance I have today is due to that jump, to the decision to distance myself from corrosive influences in my life, to focus on the things that will make my children feel safe and loved, and if at all possible, find some way to get some of that for myself. I thank God every day since I found my boyfriend. He gives me all of that and more, and I thought I could never feel safe again.

All this is a very roundabout way of saying that you have to create your own balance. No one will offer it. A former boss once said, "Of course you have to ask me for a raise! If you don't, who will?"

You have to do and give yourself what you need because no one, no one, can intuit it all and give it to you. The smartest thing my boyfriend ever said to me was right at the beginning: "I may not be able to make you happy all the time; that's not my job. You may not be able to make me happy all the time; that's not your job either. I'm hoping we can be happy enough together." My knees buckled. Finally, someone was absolving me of the responsibility for his happiness and encouraging me to be responsible for my own.

It is never too late to do for yourself. And, you already know what is right. But if you ever need affirmation, call me up and I'll tell you just how right you are.

Mindy is a divorced mother who lives in the Bay Area with her three children.