Columns
Here’s a Thought: Opening Act
By Taylor Mason
For those of you not familiar with how I roll: I’ve been a comedian for 25-plus years and been an “opening act” for a variety of performers. Some highlights. ...
Here's a Thought: Death by Cancer
By Taylor Mason
My sister-in-law passed away last Thursday, felled by cancer after a seven-year battle. She was a dignified, lovely, inspiring wife and mother who beat the odds over and over again.
Time Out: Safety ‘Net
By Patty Elder
Summer in DC means storms, and storms mean power outages. And power outages bring out my worst fear, and it's NOT the dark. ...
Here’s a Thought: Hot Enough for Ya?
By Taylor Mason
The heat was debilitating this summer, so much so that the word “hot” doesn’t do justice to the grades of temperature we've sweated these past few months.
Time Out: Make Yourself at Home
By Cara Garretson
It’s beach week, and so far so good. We bust into our rented beach house and it looks great – the bathrooms are sparkling, the décor is charming, the kitchen is retro. ...
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