The place was nondescript and located in the back of a small shopping center. From the street, it looks like a vacant shop. Only people who seek it out find it and then, they park along the side and back, entering through the rear door so privacy can be maintained. In January of 2011, I
This being the first year I’ve been systematic in turning lessons learned into mantras, I decided what better way to start of ZenMamaMantras in 2018 than with the ones I’ve developed based on lessons learned in 2017? Especially since 2017 was one of the most blessed and most difficult years of my adult life.
Children often don’t realize how little is within our control as parents. We learn that ourselves over the years. For many of us, it’s a lesson of acceptance after many failed attempts to control everything. When they’re little, we can choose their food, what’s on TV, what clothes they wear, what time they bathe and lay down to bed. But at no age can we choose the who’s and the what’s outside our home.
I wanted it. So naturally, I was telling myself, “Oh! I want it!” But in the moment before our hostess, Tracy pulled a name, I adjusted and told myself, “I am going to get that angel.”
What I do know, is the greatest honor I can give his memory is to never forget how short life is. How fleeting our opportunities to be with people we love are. How lucky I am to have a spark of light for a husband. How lucky I am that I got to know Sam and I’m getting to know Susan better now. How lucky I am to have kids, and a mom, and a mother-in-law, and friends to drive me crazy!
There was a time when I would’ve been humiliated despite there being no one to bear witness to my tampon crisis and underwear snafu. I would’ve called myself all kinds of names synonymous with dumb. I would’ve packed it in, called it a night, kissed my $25 and girl’s night out goodbye because who wants this dumb b*tch who can’t even pull on her underwear the right way at their yoga event?
Natalie Henry-Charles is giving up on trying to fit into one checkbox and giving in to the process of motherhood.
I’m sharing my letter and the names here in hopes that if you read this and you’re going to send a letter of your own to your Congresspeople, you copy it and send it with yours. Let’s flood Congress with the humanity behind these massacres.
I could barely hear her words through the sobs, but I already knew what she was telling me. They were once my words, coming now out of her mouth. “He won’t be here for Christmas.” “My son won’t know his father.” “What am I gonna do?” I tried to answer with support and without crying.
Guest post by Arielle Haughee a double boy-mom who is busting through the forced happiness trap.