This week . . . was not my best week. It was one of those weeks with way too many things on the to-do list for one person, in part due to my inability to set boundaries for myself, and in part because of my knack for procrastinating. I am terribly overcommitted right now in several areas, which is it’s own post, but I did finally get some resolution on a few things that were raising my stress level from moderate to DEFCON 5. We have been living with a half-finished kitchen for . . .
what I want you to know: stillbirth
I am truly blown away by the submissions and the comments to this idea of telling our stories, and seeking to understand. I am posting the first today, about stillbirth. While I have not experienced this personally, I do know the grief of multiple pregnancy losses, and I appreciate what Tara has to say: My name is Tara Beth Warrick, I am 25 years old, I live in a small town in western North Carolina. I am a pediatric occupational therapist by vocation, a dance teacher for fun, and . . .
what does it mean to be white?
In my diversity class this evening, we will be discussing the identity of whiteness. I find that typically, white people have a really hard time defining their own culture . . . that we often see ourselves as either lacking in ethnic or cultural identity, or ascribing our personal culture as the default or “standard”. So, tonight I will be asking students to come up with the cultural values and traditions that are practiced by white Americans. What would your answer be? . . .
what I want you to know: an introduction
On occasion, I will have a little talk with myself about what I want this blog to be about. (Beyond whining about things like crib sheets and the sizing at Forever 21, of course). As much as I love to regale others with embarrassing tidbits of my daily life, I do want to put this space towards something meaningful from time to time. I’ve been teaching a new class this semester . . . one on the impact of diversity on the psyche. One of the assignments I’ve given each . . .
motherhood pet peeves
This is a vent. This is purely a vent. Should you like to read about actual problems in the world, go here. But back to me and my astronomical issues. I HATE CHANGING THE CRIB SHEETS. I really do. Taking off the crib bumper, pulling out the mattress, the tucking, the climbing. I hate it. I rarely do it. I also hate applying emolient lotions. We have a lot of them in my house. Jafta has eczema, Kembe's hair needs oil cream, . . .
swiftly fly the years
Jafta had his first day of kindergarten yesterday. With all of the chaos we’ve had in the last month, it really crept up on me, and I don’t think I anticipated how emotionally impactful it would be for all of us. He has been a little agitated over the past few weeks, and I wondered if it was nerves about starting school. But when I asked him, he seemed very positive and excited about kindergarten. Finally, the day before the first day, he broke down and told me he was . . .
the tattle tally, explained
Several people have asked me to explain the Tattle Tally. Before I share the details of this elaborate scheme, let me say this: Prior to having kids, I remember hearing moms correct their children for tattling, and I always thought, what’s the big deal? I mean, don’t you want your kid to come and tell you if someone else is doing something wrong? (Cue maniacal laughing of experienced parents everywhere). My kids started dabbling with the tattle routine when they started . . .
things in my house that i want to make out with
I am so very happy to be back in our house. Have I mentioned that? Because I am. Giddy happy to be home. I was going slowly insane in that hotel room during the month of August. I am too embarrassed to even mention how looney-tunes I was towards the end. I kept telling Mark, “I just need to get back in our house.” And he kept telling me, “You just need to relax”. And I kept telling him, “No, REALLY, I just need to get out of this hotel room and . . .
adoption resources, and a question (EDITED)
This will mostly be a random post of adoption-related links, but if you are an adoptive parent of a child who is dealing with attachment stuff, I would love your feedback on the last paragraph. But first: Several people pointed me to this article that Lisa Qualls wrote, and I really appreciated it. These points were especially poignant for me: In my first 20 years of being a mother, before adopting, I was never so stumped or so completely empty of wisdom as I have been at times in . . .
side-stepping the drama
We go to breakfast. Kembe points to what he wants on the buffet. “Sausage” he says with confidence, and points to the links. “Are you sure?” I ask. “You don’t like sausage.” “I WANT SAUSAGE” he says. I put sausage on the plate. A few minutes later, he appears to have discovered the sausage for the first time. He makes an attempt to throw it on the ground, and tells me that he doesn’t like sausage. I remind him that he asked for it. He . . .
- Newer Posts
- 1
- …
- 424
- 425
- 426
- 427
- 428
- …
- 496
- Older Posts
