Joys and Challenges

I am here with my son, Adin, now seventeen years old. When he was two and a half he choked on a grape, sustaining a severe brain injury as a result of that horrific accident. For twelve years he remained relatively stable, but that all changed two years ago...

When everyone is somewhat quietly engrossed in their food, I return to my room to try to wake myself up, thinking all the while, "It is 5:30 in the morning and I am being treated like a waitress." The rest of the morning doesn't usually go any better...

At the outset, he had an extremely positive outlook and oftentimes said, "However uncomfortable I am right now, it could always be much worse." These self-soothing words were a source of comfort, motivation and positive perspective, all of which served as a real anchor...

the broken vase on the floor is just that, a broken vase—and the spilled milk is easily cleaned up. Women who watch me ask me how I have such patience. The patience comes with perspective...

The internet is an amazing thing. In an instant, mothers from all over the world can connect with each other online. We share interests, tips, stories about our children; we compare ourselves and pick one another apart...

I began to "get it". My son is creating space to put new boundaries, those that will be established around his autonomy, independence and free spirit...

Everyone readily admits that parenting is physically and emotionally demanding. But, intellectually demanding? That's overlooked...

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.

Now, three boys later, I feel like a pie- everybody wants a piece of me. Well, I am running out of "pieces," as well as my sanity...

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

"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...

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 . . .

I see you throwing things with an awesome force when you don't get your way. I see you running to me for protection when our turtle gets too close to your toes. And at the same time, I see you growing up, towering over me...

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 . . .

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...

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...