Caution: Prom Can Alter Your Destiny!

 He'll dress in a charcoal gray Calvin Klein tux.  He'll put a wristlet on his sweetheart.  He'll smile for a million and one photos.  He'll stay out all night at an After-Prom party hosted by his high school.  He'll dance and laugh and eat and, yes, he'll probably even smooch his girl.  He'll do everything that all other juniors do to enjoy and experience prom...as I did.  But for the last 25 years, (ugh...really--a quarter of a century?) prom meant more to me than its pomp and pageantry.   For 25 years, I have always equated prom to questions and quandaries, to mistakes and miscommunication, to poor choices and paths.

Paths.  So many are available to us when we are young and the world is open.  Author, Steven Redhead, once said "The paths we choose will make us what we are.  There are endless opportunities for change and to alter our course or path through life.  A split second decision can change the course of your life completely, forever."   Paths.  Life's paths--discussed in books and movies alike.  Who could forget Gwenyth Paltrow in that thought provoking existential film, "Sliding Doors?" (If you haven't seen it, stop reading RIGHT NOW and click on your Netfllix icon and order that baby tout suite!  It is a must see!)  In it, Helen, the protagonist, lives two lives simultaneously.  One in which she jumps on a subway home just in time.  The other, in which, she misses the subway.  Fate, destiny, chance and choice intertwine as Helen's two lives unfold.  The audience takes part in a "what if" compare and contrast game that is both thought-provoking and entertaining.

Dr. Phil calls these paths "turning points;" moments in our lives when we clearly had choices and those choices directed our destinies in unexpected ways.  He claims that when thinking back most middle aged humans can pinpoint at least 6 of these occurrences in which we traveled down a figurative road when there were oodles of other streets we ALSO could have taken.

For me, when I mine my messy, sometimes maniacal memories, the first turning point, (perhaps the ROOT of all other turning points, ) happened 25 years ago on prom night.  The choice of course was due, in part, to a boy...(after all, what OTHER pressing issues do teenage girls pay attention to?)  It was also made out of spite and feelings of rejection and unwant.  The path taken was clouded by teen angst and heartbreak and the utter DRAMA of being a girl.  But no matter the reasons (so clearly seen today as a 41 year old,) the choice was made...to date a boy that I'd never even noticed or remotely liked-all in the hopes of making another boy jealous.  I am not sure that I ever got the response I wanted from that boy, but the world kept turning and my stubbornness made me trudge down that brambly path I had chosen come Hell or high water.

Sounds like regret doesn't it?  Funny thing there is so much I DON'T regret about that infamous prom path. But that's the thing about choices--they send you down a road that can be full of craters, but also brimming with gorgeous scenery and stops that you wouldn't change for the world.  You see, I ended up marrying that "revenge choice" a few years later.  And while THAT was no picnic, the two sons that came out of that marriage were, I am sure, the reasons for the prom path.  If I hadn't made that choice, I wouldn't have them.  They wouldn't exist.  And while I lament them and their choices quite often here on this blog, I can say with the utmost assurance that life without those two little guys would be empty.  Furthermore, who I am today is in part due to the craters that tripped me up down that particular road.  While traveling that path I learned that I was strong and resilient.  I grew to be self-sufficient.  I learned what is was that I did and did not want out of life.  To put it mildly, I am a different and much more evolved human because I took a path that wasn't necessarily the best one to choose.  So it leaves me questioning?  If it molds and shapes who we are, can there ever REALLY be a poor choice or a bad life path to saunter down?

And so...and so...after journeying down this existential road with you dear Mudders, what can we take from it so that we can impart some wisdom to the children we so love and adore?  Well, we could tell them that choices no matter good or bad, smart or dumb, whether conscious or unconscious will shape their lives in ways that they could never foresee.  We can also teach them that choices will present themselves whether significant or slight all the days of their lives, and when they can, they should try and be present and aware of the possible outcomes when making decisions.  But perhaps most importantly, dear Mudders,  we should let them know that making choices, choosing paths takes forethought and insight, and that with any choice comes a chance for growth and developing a sort of stamina necessary to take us down the next path.

Talking to Your Children About bin Ladin's Death

Mark Twain once said "I've never wished a man dead, but I have read some obituaries with great pleasure."  It is in that same venue that I write today.  It is an odd feeling isn't it??  Being glad. Rejoicing over someone's death.  Last night, my husband, my seventeen year old and I sat riveted to the television breathing in each word that our President intelligently and gracefully, firmly let flow.  My initial reaction was to clap.  To cheer.  To dance a jig right there in our bedroom. To help organize a parade or a national holiday.  We let out a "whoop!" Jeff and I high-fived each other and I exclaimed, over and over "Obama got Osama!  Obama got Osama!"  Then I noticed, my 17 year old out of the corner of his eye sizing up our reactions, and I was ashamed.  I was sheepish.  Aren't I supposed to be setting an example.  I definitely wasn't doing a good job, was I?  And so I quelled my response.  I subdued my feelings of elation, and rationally began the process of parental thinking.  How must this look to my son?  After all, he was a mere 7 when Bin Ladin's horrific murderous rant occured. He is of course aware of the tragedy.  Several times we've taken our boys to the site, to remember, to give them a sense of history--of patriotism.  But still, to him, it was something that happened once upon a time.  Could he possibly grasp the notion that on the rarest of rare occasion it is more than just all right to take refuge and solace, heck to celebrate like Hell, the demise of evil. Or was it?  My feelings on the topic are definitely...well...dare I say...MUDDLED.

And so...true to my busy mind that sometimes doesn't let me sleep at night with it's constant ruminating, I wondered wide awake what were the lessons that I COULD teach my children about Bin Ladin's death, about the joy people felt, about terrorism, about healing.  By morning, this is what I came up with: 

1.  Patriotism: Watching the throngs of people gather outside the gates of the White House, hearing them sing the National Anthem, listening to the boisterous chants of U.S.A!  U.S.A! gives parents a golden opportunity on a silver platter.  Those images are a sure fire way to teach your children that no matter who we are, what we believe in, or where we stand on issues--we are one country.  We are a country of people who, when the going gets tough, unite to sing the praises of our similarities.  Our commonalities that we believe in, we love and we will fight for our beloved America and its citizens.

2.  Empathy: Let's face it the world is wide but it is a rare child whose viewpoint isn't narrow--based purely on a lack of chances they get to experience that there are others...others who make up the fabric of human kind.  Here is a chance for us to teach our daughters and sons that this man's death provides us an opportunity to think about, to consider the thousands and thousands of family members who had their loved ones stolen from them some ten years ago.  It is a chance for us to help our kids "put themselves in someone else's shoes."  Even the youngest of minds can imagine what it would be like to not  have a daddy or mommy. Teaching our children the art of understanding, the art of TRULY feeling for their fellow humans is an invaluable tool if we ever want to move towards a more utopic society.  Talking about, praying for, remembering those Americans who suffered the loss of someone they loved because of Bin Ladin's evil would be a great place to start.


3. Perseverance Pays  Injustice and evil are inevitable parts of life.  Learning this the hard way is an unfortunate part of growing up. I say, that this life loop hole shouldn't come as surprise to children.  Bad things happen.  I think that it is okay, even necessary, to help our sons and daughters develop an awareness of that as soon as they can.  Part of that teaching, especially in the context of THIS conversation, should be that quite often perseverance and patience will pay off in the long run, and can combat the forces of evil.  In this case it was our brave soldiers and the extraordinary brains of many who over the course of 8 months planned and replanned and gathered intelligence in order to someday reach their goal. 

4.  Hatred Ultimately Destroys It's Host George Washington Carver once said that hatred eventually destroys the hater.  Never has there been a clearer example of this quote than Osama bin Ladin.  The measures that the man took to destroy those that were the objects of his hatred eventually led to his demise.  As parents, this moment in history is as good as any to teach our littlest family members that love gets so much more accomplished than hate.  That treating others...ALL others...with dignity and respect should be a daily affirmation because it is right and good not only for the person receiving the kindness but for the giver. 

5.  Dialogue=Intelligence In light of bin Ladin's death there is bound to be an upswing in those horrific images of 9/11.  It is impossible to shield our children from all those violent images.  So use it for good.  Teach them of the great orators and peaceable humans throughout history.  Martin Luther King, Ghandi, Susan B. Anthony are fantastic personalities that we should use to counteract the idea that violent aggression and war are the ways to get things done.  We could even practice the art of polite negotiation at home. 
"Mom, I want a cookie." 
"Well dear it is 10 minutes until dinner.  You can have some cucumbers."
"Mom, I am not in the mood for cucumbers.  Can I have cheese?"
"Cheese it is!"

The most important message we as parents should emphasize to our children no matter the age is that the grown-ups in their various roles are in charge and that they are safe.  No, we can't REALLY say that with 100% certainty, but children are about absolutes, about black and white, about right and wrong.  Remember when life was that simple?  Remember when fairy tales endings were not only possibilities, but the norm?  Although that feeling is a rarity in adulthood, yesterday we were reminded what it was like when the dragon is slayed and the princess saved.  We were reminded of witches dying because of flying houses, of evil wizards being defeated, of a magical ring finding it's rightful place.  Yesterday, the good guys won and the bad guys lost.  Yesterday was a good day.   

Easter with Toddlers. Bah! Humbug!

"She's 19 months old.  Does she really need an Easter basket?  I bought her a new rubber ducky (an obsession of hers) in the shape of a bunny in a basket.  I'll just give it to her when she takes a bath.  She'll love it.  An egg hunt?  Ummm, I am not sure she'll get the concept.  Besides, she isn't old enough for candy and she will just try and eat any coins we put in the eggs.  Why bother?"

Did you hear that?  Did you hear that ginormous hiss of air?  It was the collective gasps of mommies all over the world.  No Easter basket?  No egg hunt?  What kind of mom does that?

My husband would agree with all of those tsk-tsk-tsking mamas, because when I verbalized the above paragraph a day before Easter he looked at me as if I had 17 heads. I know you can't see me, but let me assure you that I don't have 17 heads.  However what I DO have is 17 past Easter experiences with my two children from a previous marriage.  And here's the thing, I have learned a LOT about parenting during those 17 years and I plan on using that knowledge to my advantage this time around. 

One thing I have learned is that when you have little ones, I mean REALLY little ones, say one or two or even close to three, they don't expect visits from magical, mystical, made-up bunnies.  They don't know about the colored eggs that get hunted on this particular Sunday.  They couldn't possibly understand the depth of the reason for the holiday.  They don't even know that Easter is a special day.  To a toddler a day is a day is a day is a day.

So why do we do it? 

Could it be, perhaps, we do it for us because of some strange idea of "must-do's" and "have-to's"  That feeling that as parents we're "supposed" to provide these experiences to even the youngest of our children.  When we're childless, moving towards that urge to procreate, these holiday scenes were what we conjured and imagined.  Sons in caps, plaids, and knickers and daughters in frills and pantaloons or those stockings with the ruffles on their bums, and of course a pair of patent leather Mary Janes.  In our holiday scenarios the kids blissfully tiptoe through a well landscaped yard with daffodils blooming finding hand painted eggs nesting in freshly cut grass. They set them in baskets trimmed with ribbons and lace and at the end of the hunt nibble delicately on a little jelly bean or a chocolate bunny's ear.  But mommies and daddies of toddlers know that isn't how it ever goes.  Ever.

As parents of toddlers, the pomp and circumstance never goes the way we dreamed.  The themed baskets that we worked hours on don't get a second glance or instantly get dumped upside down to the squeals and peels of toddler belly laughs. The Easter egg hunts end in melt downs or never happen at all due to a lack of interest or a lack of understanding the "hide and go seek" concept.  Despite our falsetto exclamations, ("OH MY!  Look at what the Easter Bunny left you!  Do you see those eggs behind the shrubs?  Listen!  Is there something IN the egg?  OH OH!  What do I hear?  What could it BE??") the toddler walks away to pet the dog or becomes engrossed in a blade of green grass that bends and tickles his or her ankle.     We spare them dyes and sugar on a daily basis yet we ply them with both on a particular Sunday morning called Easter, and then wonder out loud why they won't sit still and enjoy the Easter dinner that we spent the entire afternoon preparing. You know what I'm talking about.  Toddlers couldn't care less about the rituals that families carry on to honor their holidays.

But as first time parents, whether young or old, we indulge our mommy and daddy fantasies--trying to play out those idyllic situations.  And true to that, my husband,a first time daddy, in spite of my protests, insisted that our 19 month old daughter go on an egg hunt--filling a half dozen of plastic pink, yellow, orange store bought eggs with fancy stickers.  He insisted on the basket with the shredded poly fibrous green grass.  As I placed the rubber duck, book and marshmallow chick lollipop (bought...again after my husband insisted, and I quote, "It wouldn't be Easter without some kind of candy!" ) in the basket, hubby sighed wistfully and asked if there was a way we could, ehem, "jazz it up and make the basket pretty."  I told him that she wouldn't notice whether or not the basket was, um, jazzy or not.

And true to a toddler's nature, Ila woke up from her nap to a giant basket on the dining room table.  She took one look at the new rubber ducky sitting in the "unjazzy" basket, grabbed hold of it and immediately got down to play with it.  My husband, feeling a bit queasy at the slightest hint that the fantasy may not go his way, tried to engage her by oooing and ahhing over the other items in the basket, but she wasn't having any of it.  Feeling sorry at the dejection I witnessed take over my husband indicated by his slightly slumping shoulders, I took our daughter into the living room (and using my best falsetto voice) I said, "OOOO, Ila.  What do I see?  Did the Easter Bunny hide some eggs for you?  Look here!  Next to the TV!  Why I think there is an egg back there!  What do you think the Easter Bunny put IN these eggs he hid?"  But Ila didn't answer.  She was too busy spinning round and round watching her fancy dress billow out so that we could all see her fancy stockings with the ruffle on her bum.

I Can't Fix It

Mothers carry all kinds of remedies in the bottom of their purse.  Bandaids for boo boos.  Life Savers for a cough.  Chap Stick for dry lips.  Wet Ones for dirty faces.  Safety pins to keep buttonless pants closed.  A comb for unruly hair. Soda crackers for rumbly tummies. Even a favorite toy to counteract a tantrum.  Being able to fix what ails our children is a big part of who we are, a large part of our identity.

But I can't fix this.  I can't, and I am so angry.   The rage I feel is all powerful and it could eat me alive if I let it.  What was once diagnosed as torticollis, a simple not-so-threatening neck tilt, has now turned into a full blown rare neurological movement disorder.  My Ila.  My beautiful happy, determined, funny, head strong Ila has a movement disorder that has perplexed my pediatrician and a well-known pediatric neurologist at UVM.

And you know what makes this worse??  What makes this whole thing worse is that the doctor that could possibly diagnose Ila can't see her until July.  July?  Really?  July.  Really?  Really?  I don't know about anyone else but the thought of not knowing definitively until July what is exactly wrong with my daughter is just placing agony on top of excruciating agony.  How can a parent move forward.  How can I make a plan to get her the help that she so desperately needs if I can't get answers.  I can't fix this, but I need to do something.  Without knowledge or a label where do I begin?

(If you aren't in the mood for a stark-raving mad rant, this is where I'd get off this blog ride if I were you.  Otherwise buckle your seat belts.) 

To the doctors of the world:  Please know this: if you are in the business of giving really bad news to parents about their children you must be cognizant that even the brightest of humans need to process information before they can begin to ask pertinent questions, before they can begin evaluating if they want specific procedures, before they can minimally advocate for their beloved child.  And yet....And yet...after the appointment where you drop a bomb in the parents' lap, you are impossible to reach.  When we finally wrap our minds around what you have said to us, we of course have questions.  We begin to rethink agreeing with you on this or that.  We become this rolling, smoking steam locomotive that barrels down the advocacy track.  And yet...and yet...you are inexplicably impossible to connect with.  We talk to secretaries and nurses and voice mail machines.  We email and pray and feel the deafening silence of the unringing phone, of the empty email box as if it were a heart attack.  Each day that slips by without answers, without reassurance, without tests and most of all without plans is a day that we feel we lose precious time that we could have been using to help our child someway, somehow. Dear doctors of the world, busy as you are, it is imperative that you take a moment to realize that these patients of yours are the daughters and sons of parents who want to fix what ails them.  Without you, without your availability--we can't.  I can't.   I can't fix it.

OK, so after rereading that rant I may have generalized a tad.  Not all doctors, of course, are that way.  Why just this evening Ila's sweet pediatrician called me to answer some of my more pressing questions, but ONLY because the "specialists" didn't return phone calls, didn't answer emails.  Does there REALLY have to be a correlation between the amount of knowledge a physician has and a lack of availability? It seems to me that it SHOULD be the other way around.  The more a doctor knows the more he or she makes herself available to the neediest patients and their families.

The best doctors available for the hardest cases in the quickest possible time-in a perfect world this is how it'd be.  But unfortunately the world is far from perfect.  It is a place where beautiful little girls face daunting challenges.  It is a place where parents who live solely to give their children what they need run into brick wall after brick wall when trying to do so.  It is a place where sometimes, it seems that sadness reigns supreme.  The world is far from perfect.  In fact, it often seems to be broken, and...I can't fix it.

  

A Death in the Family

 Can't believe it has been a year.  In honor of our sweet Rudy, a re-post.  

It is bleak in our house today.  Black and somber.  Our eyes are red from the crying that comes spontaneously and without warning.   Like right now as I write this.  You see, our beloved dog, Rudy, had to be put to sleep.  He had stopped moving, stopped caring. In the last few months he seemed to go from "old" to "ancient."

The grief is heavy and comes from so many different places.  As a human, the most basic part of the grief, for me, comes from my love of the dog.  It seems he has always been here, sitting at our feet when we despaired, wiggling his entire being when we were joyous.  But it was his old-man like wisdom that I think I will miss the most.  He just knew...he just knew.  For instance, last summer I was massively pregnant and on bed rest.  There was major construction going on in our house so I had to stay in our claustrophobic master bedroom for days on end.  Bathroom, bedroom, bathroom bedroom, until I thought I'd go stir crazy.  One particular day when I was feeling completely miserable, depressed and very lonely, my bedroom door opened a crack.  I was astonished to see Rudy's head peak around the corner.  He wasn't allowed in our bedroom typically and after living with us for 12 years, rarely even ventured down the hall.  But there he was sitting at the foot of my bed.  Even more astonishing was what happened next.   Despite his arthritic legs and cloudy eyes, Rudy found the energy to bound puppy-like up on to the bed with me.  He nuzzled my chest, harrumphed and sneezed, and didn't leave my side for two days.  He knew.  He just knew.  I needed company and company was what he gave.  The absence of that wisdom, that loyalty, leaves a hole in my heart.

As our day of grieving wore on I found that like the grass, topsoil and sediment dug up in our backyard to make Rudy's final resting place, my grief had layers.  It seemed the deeper the layer the more pain it held, the kind of pain only a parent could identify with.  Worse than the mourning I felt for the death of the dog,  the deeper layers housed the anguish for the devastation that my family was feeling.   As a wife, the mixture of pride and sadness that I have for Jeffrey leaves an incurable ache in my stomach.  Watching him pretend to be strong as he led his precious Rudy to the car for his last ride, seeing him carry Rudy wrapped in the blanket to his grave in our backyard, witnessing him break down as he recalled the moment that Rudy died in his arms-well to put it simply-put a crack in my heart.

But the deepest layer, the worst part of today, tomorrow, perhaps for the long run, was seeing my boys, those macho-never-cry little guys fall apart at the seams.  True to their differences, the way they grieve is night and day.  Aidan cried easily, but rationalized.  He said late last night, "It would be cruel to let him suffer."  His anguish was on the surface and consistent.  In spite of his pain, he was able to think of others as well.   As much as it hurt him, he stood by his step-father's side as he buried Rudy, the dog that bonded them in the beginning of their relationship.  Gannan, on the other hand, had been quiet, absolutely silent since he found out that Rudy would be leaving us.  It wasn't until just before Jeff took him to the vet's that he broke down.  He wailed, begged us not to take him away. His own agony was too much for him to take.  He painfully lamented that he'd never be able to play in the backyard again knowing that Rudy's grave was there.  But in the end, before our dog was buried, Gannan brought his prize possession to me, a second place ribbon that he won at the largest cross country event he ran in this fall.  He said he wanted Rudy to have it, to remember the running they did.  It was at that moment, that my heart gave out under the weight of the grief and instead of a simple crack, it broke into a million pieces.
A very smart, but anonymous person once said, "A mother is a bank where we deposit all our hurts and worries."  Today the mom-account was filled.  Today I found out what all mothers eventually come to know:  when bad things happen, mothers not only have to be able to shoulder their own grief, but they will need to muster extra strength to carry around the sadness that comes from watching their families grieve as well.

Ode To Weary Moms of Teens

  The Woes of a Mother with Teenagers

Rolling eyes

And a slamming door

What used to be fun is such a bore.

“Love you mom”

 said once a year

But “Whatever mom!” is loud and clear.

It doesn’t seem possible

                                           That someone could stay

                                               Grumpy and grouchy all week and all day

But my teenage sons

Would find something to bash

Even if handed some serious cash.

It starts in the morning

The teen age huff

In a rage as they leave the car with their stuff.

The auto door clunks

And I feel like a fool

‘cause only the air hears my “Do well in school!”

I remind myself

Every minute after minute

A teen’s mind is full of hormones in it.

The hormones coursing

Makes them irrational--crazy

Unpredictable, surly and of course—plain LAZY

And OH how they eat

Those teen boys of mine.
On the food in the cupboards they constantly dine!

Grocery bills sky high

Pantry full of chips, soda, sweets

Yet daily we hear, “There’s nothing to eat!”

Homework?  Who Cares!

As my boys would surely say

Xbox is important and it gets in the way.

Cleaning done blindly

Overlooking the squalor

Exclaiming, “I’ll do it, if you give me a dollar!”

Relief? Is it coming?

Is it just down the road?

‘Cause the constant worry, I’ll admit is a load.

Life shouldn’t be rushed.

But I’m afraid I’ll erupt!

So adulthood where are you?  Please hurry up!

How to be Hercules!

When we were teens, he was wise beyond his years, hilarious in a Robin Williams-esque manner, and I was totally crushin' on his cosmic intelligence.  Back then it was apparent, even to my shallow teenage mind, that he was a "girl's" guy.  One who GOT our gender and appreciated what made us--well--us.  Last year, through the magic of Facebook, we reconnected and he didn't disappoint.  Now, an assistant professor of cognitive science at Carleton University and the director of the Science of Imagination Laboratory, he was one of the first to encourage me to keep at my fledgling blog.  Through our limited conversations, his various status updates that gushed about his equally talented wife, and comments on my blog, it was infinitely clear that he still is THAT guy who is a lover of women, especially when one day after he read my A Reminder To Move post, he left this comment: "When I have children, I want my wife to be fulfilled.  How much can a husband do to facilitate this?  If a husband gives his wife a whole day, or a weekend, or one night a week off, will she take it?  If she does, can she leave mothering at home and, say, learn to cook Thai food?"

I have mulled over this question for months.  Sometimes the cynic in me laughed at the mere thought that a MAN could do ANYTHING to encourage his wife to follow her dreams. It certainly would be a herculean task. One that would require muscles of the mind.  That cynical voice mocked, "Yeah, how about starting with putting the toilet seat down bub?" But then again, another voice nagged me for weeks on end.  It whispered crazy things like, "What if?" and "Who knows?" and even crazier words like, "If your husband could do anything to encourage you to have a life outside of the family, what would it be?"

Now I am NOT saying that we must look outside ourselves to others to find our happiness.  Nope.  I still contend that if YOU want it YOU must go and get it, mother or not.  However, I am convinced that a supportive spouse or significant other is essential to a mother's independence and growth as a human being.

And so, for you my intuitive friend, Jim, and for men all over the world I have compiled a list of suggestions that you can do, be and say to help the women in your lives be so much more than just the mothers of your children.

1.  First of all--perhaps most importantly--ask about our dreams.  Ask about who we'd be if we could do anything.  Ask where we'd go if we could go anywhere.  Ask what we'd do if we could do anything. And then...and then... LISTEN--really listen to the answer.

2.  Once you've heard the answers, help us devise ways of reaching our goals.  Look up classes.  Help us design ultimate travel itineraries.  Join us in finding the best path to get where we're going.

3.  Whether it is one hour, one day or one week, the time away from our children is the heaviest weight mothers can carry. It will sabotage even the most well planned plan.  Mom guilt is tough, but it just might ease a little if you assure us that our children will be taken care.  No no...not just assure us that they will be taken care of, but that they will be taken care of in the same manner that we'd care for them. I'll let you in on a little secret men-of-the-world, we mothers can be quite egocentric you know.  It is a wonder that the world spins without our okay.    Now, I don't make that admission lightly, but I make it so that you can put it to use.  In order to rid ourselves of "mom guilt" it is essential that we think that our children won't suffer one iota from our absence.  So watch what we do, how we love, scold, support and understand our children, and then use that knowledge to to reassure us that our babies, our toddlers, our preschoolers, our tweens and teens will be just fine without their moms for a little while.  The world still spins while we sleep.

4.  When we return from our night class, our trip away, our girls' dinner, from whatever it is that we have professed as our dreams, our needs, our hopes and goals, don't let us regret it.  Remember that little secret I just let you in on?  All it would take is coming home to a house full of dishes, or a screaming child, or a broken and flooding toilet to send us reeling and saying out loud "See this is why I can't ever leave the house!"  Yeah okay.  We mudders can be martyrs.  Honestly though,  what are we supposed to think when things fall apart in our absence?  How about this, if they DO fall apart, just handle it.

5.  Marriage is a partnership.  Okay stop rolling your eyes. Such a cliche I know.  Blah blah blah...kum bay ya and all that other stuff.  But seriously...make sure you aren't just blowing hot air when you say that well-worn phrase.  A partnership means that both parties are aware of the work involved in raising their families and the responsibilities are equally divided.  If a chores list that splits it down the middle gives you the willies then at least check in with your partner on a weekly basis and be sure that she feels like the load she is bearing is equal and appropriate, and most importantly doable.  Knowing that the "other stuff" will get done, heck, just acknowledging to us that you know there is "other stuff" will be a huge burden lifted.

One of my favorite authors, Simone de Beauvoir once said, "The torment that so many women know, bound hand and foot by love and motherhood, without having forgotten their former dreams."   How tragic that for so many mothers these words ring true.  I used to think that it was just a hardship that mothers had to bear, a righteous sacrifice for the children we love.  But thanks to a question asked by a truly evolved man I am rethinking, reassessing the role of mother.  Perhaps besides being there, it is just as important for us to show our children that in order to be healthy and whole humans we must constantly work toward and never forget our dreams.  And with a husband or significant other who champions us, how could we go wrong?