Joys and Challenges

Some things never change. The four seasons. The four directions. The hands on the clock. The rising of the sun and the moonlight in the trees. Mothers are here forever. Their children will always be their children...

The part about the oxygen masks always gets to me...

We can read, learn, and intellecutalize to refine our mothering methods--but the bottom line is: we don't need to behave like a mother, we need to roll up our sleeves and be a mother.

People said that, given our disabilities, we'd be irresponsible if we went ahead and had a baby.

If a mom can have the flu, can she also have a broken heart, a quick temper, or an absent-minded nature? Can we raise our children to be a little more whole than we are ourselves?

I hear the muffled volley of voices. First, the high pitched, tiny voice of my little girl; her pleading tone rings out clearly. Then the staccato angry bursts of my teenaged daughter's refusal...

I look at his pajamas, unzipped almost to his belly button. I think of the thousands of parents who, when confronted with this same situation, would end it with a slap. But that is not an option here...

"Call me baby. I'm the baby. Right, Mommy? I'm your baby?" I looked at him and then at his six-month-old sister and my mind started to analyze the situation. My son, the practical one, brought me back to reality...

Why do we focus on the bad and not on the good aspects of motherhood? It is the same reason, I realized later, that we complain about a splinter in our pinky toe rather than give thanks for our whole healthy bodies...

It seems that my daughter is expected to appear in school each day with a ponytail, which is taken as a sign that she has a good mother. And I have foolishly allowed her to choose how she wishes to wear her hair...

What works for one mother may not work for another, and mothers get themselves into trouble when they try to conform to an overly narrow and constricting definition of what makes a "good" mother.

As a child of divorce whose father was awarded custody, my dad basically raised me. As a result, I felt well prepared to be a father, but not as prepared to be a mother...

Already at age five, I had moved much further beyond my own mother's boundaries than my daughter could ever imagine, and by age eleven, I had broken out of those boundaries entirely...

For the first time I realized, "Elana, this is spending quality time with your child. Instead of seeing it as a struggle and dreadful event, see it as a precious moment and enjoy it...

She asks for what she needs, recognizes what she doesn't, and appreciates what she has. She never stops moving. Nothing is boring to her; everything has potential...

As they dance breathlessly and tell their stories with tulle and tiaras, I am struck by how free they are in their expression...

It's been two years. Two years of holding my son close to my heart and feeding him from the milk that flowed forth from my body. Two years of sleepless nights and exhausted days...

Burn-out is a wake-up call that we have lost touch with the inner reality and meaning of what we are doing...

"Loser! You are wasting your higher education on changing diapers and wiping runny noses! You are squandering your potential on scrubbing dirty dishes and baking macaroni and cheese casserole!" It's at moments like this that I know that no tape or book or inspiring thought can provide the heavy-duty help I need...

My daughter got married a little over a month ago, and for the first time, we are trying to learn a new way to relate. Let me rephrase that. I am trying to learn a new way to relate...