Columns
Martha's Laugh Lines: Gone Fishing
By Martha Bolton
When our sons were younger, my husband used to take them fishing a lot. We have scores of pictures of each with their first fish, and for one we have something more.
The Raving Redhead: FREEEEEEDOOOOOMMM!!
By Teresa Roberts Logan
I am willing to try new things ... to look like a fool ... a bigtime fool for thinking I'm funny enough to get paid for it ... and it's a freedom like no other!
Here’s a Thought: Good Theater
By Taylor Mason
The Oscars! What a night! Is there any other business that routinely congratulates itself on being itself?
The Truth Hurts: You Like Me, You Really Like Me!
By Brad Stine
So I sit in a hotel in Seward Alaska minding my own business, when suddenly it dawns on me. … I am making a movie!
Time Out: Why Don’t My Kids Want to “Friend” Me on Facebook?
By Patty Elder
When I was young, the TV had rabbit ears, the cool video game was Pong, and we talked on rotary phones. So how's a mother to raise her kids in the Digital Age?
Bad Mom: DefinedJune 29, 2009
By Caron Guillo
On a recent hike from the floor to the rim of nearby Palo Duro Canyon, my thoughts concentrated mostly along the lines of, “Keep going. Your heart hasn’t exploded yet. You can do this.” That is to say, my thoughts were – in a way I found quite satisfactory – going nowhere. Until I came across a pile of dried dog poop a shade of green most commonly associated with the Statue of Liberty. That’s when I had my first significant thought of the day: “That poor puppy must have eaten one too many pennies.” Why would I think this? Because my children have eaten pennies. The first time it happened, I called the pediatrician in a panic. He told me to relax and look for it to show up in my child’s Huggies. Granted, I never discovered a diaper deposit the color of oxidized pennies, but, in true mom fashion, that’s the direction my thoughts went while on my hike. Of course, that’s not where my mind ended up that day. Give me some credit. From there I got to thinking about how most of my reflections are somehow framed around my role as mother. It’s like I can’t escape. If I’m staying out late without a care in the world, I pat myself on the back for being so independent and wonder how the kids are doing. Each time I view a movie, I evaluate it based on which of my children would enjoy it and for what reason. When I question whether I should keep trying to publish my novels, I see my beautiful daughter so full of her own hopes and dreams, and I cannot quit. If I ponder deep notions like courage or forgiveness or selfless love, I think of all the lessons my children have taught me about these concepts. I’ve always insisted that motherhood does not define me. That I have scores of interests and abilities that have nothing to do with parenting. And though it’s true to say that motherhood is not the sum total of my being, it has been one of the most enduring, refining and noteworthy experiences to shape this woman. So call me “defined.” I’ve heard worse. Read more of Caron's Bad Mom columns:
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Comments
Defined as a mom? Oh, yeah,
Defined as a mom? Oh, yeah, me, too. Living through motherhood molded and formed into into someone much different than I would have thought prior to being called Mom. Great article! Thanks for sharing!
It Happens . . .
. . . and there's no stopping it. Then again, who'd want to? :)
Caron Guillo
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