Labor Day is a holiday that pays tribute to the American worker, and rightly so, for without the labor movement, the United States wouldn’t enjoy strength and prosperity today. Labor means hard work, a physical and mental effort. This certainly applies to the American worker. It also applies to every mother.
First we have Labor, with a capital L. You know what I’m talking about–the hard work of physically bringing a child into the world. Every mother has a different story, but every story has a theme of endurance, strength, pain, and love–this applies to natural births, cesarean sections, epidural births, water births, etc. We all birthed a child, so we can all be united in our stories of Labor. Only mothers know what Labor means. (more…)
The seasons are changing. I’m not ready to say goodbye to summer, but I can’t help but enjoy the fall feel of the mornings. I step out outside, taken by the sharp, crisp cool air of fall rolling in. I take a deep breath. The new air smells just as crisp. Clean.
Then I step back inside. My nose automatically takes the defensive again. A position that it has taken and become quite accustomed to since I first brought Riley home. Before then, it was relaxed. Laid back. Quick to point out an offensive smell but reassured that it was a quick fix. There are no quick fixes anymore. (more…)
Once upon a time, a little girl had a dream of being a writer—not just any writer, a children’s book writer. She loved stories and daydreamed about what it would be like to use her words to bring imaginative worlds to other children. She scribbled out tales but never shared them. She traveled to faraway dangerous lands but didn’t allow anyone to join her quests. A small, yellow, twisted, and thorny knot lay at the bottom of her heart, and it turned and churned when she thought about what others would say about her dream. (more…)
You first appeared in my life 8 months ago. I left town and you moved in. No notice. No warning. A little heads up that my life would never be the same would have been nice. I thought I’d have more time, just my daughter and I. I didn’t think we’d disagree on a companion until she was a teenager. I wasn’t ready. (more…)
Sunday school began yesterday. I teach the preschoolers. I was eager but nervous to begin the year. I love the kids, but they can be so unpredictable, which feeds my anxiety. They have questions that I simply do not know the answers to. They let me know if the story is boring or if they would much rather be playing than doing the activity I spent so much time—oh, precious time!—creating because I thought for sure it would be a hit. And let’s not forget the manner in which they offer critique so freely—matter of fact, unapologetic. It’s almost as if they live in a different culture than we adults do.