Story is a chatterbox. She talks before she’s out of bed. She talks as she’s getting ready for school. She talks as she brushes her teeth. She talks as she follows me around the house. She talks as she’s falling asleep. The girl has a lot to say. Except at dinnertime.
For some reason, she becomes a teenager at the table, answering my questions with generic phrases, or worse, grunts.
I write this on the birthday of Bob Newhart, who said, “Laughter gives us distance. It allows us to step back from an event, deal with it and then move on.” For weeks, I have been trying to answer for myself and for this essay the question of why we blog, in particular, why mothers blog while raising their children and what effect the blog has on those children.
I’m sure I asked this question at some point, especially considering there have been several opportunities to ponder this in the six years since Story’s birth. I don’t remember there being any conflict in my mind, so it isn’t surprising that I didn’t give it a second thought as Story and I prepared to attend a visitation for the son of friends this past week. After arriving, we signed the guestbook (Story signed her own name) and stood in the long line of people paying their respects. (more…)
Being a mother of multiples has thrust me into a unique situation. I had my own preconceived notions about what having multiples would be like, but I couldn’t even imagine the comments and questions I would receive from other people about my multiples. You see, my girls don’t look anything alike, nor do they act anything alike. At. All. One twin is very much into princesses, makeup, and ballet. The other twin loves the Avengers and can’t wait to take her first karate class next year. It blows people’s minds that they are not the same person or have the same interests. I, on the other hand, couldn’t be more thrilled to not have carbon copies of the same person. (more…)
Looking at me, badass isn’t a word that would immediately come to mind. Even knowing me, you still likely wouldn’t use that adjective. I’m a plain-jane mom who lives in a subdivison at the end of a cul-de-sac. I have no visible tattoos, my hair is a mousy brown, and I have very few edges; I’m pretty soft, actually. Even so, I’m a badass. And I wear my badges with pride. (more…)