The baby and toddler years will always be amongst my most memorable memories. It wasn’t easy finding a group of women who felt the same exact way I did about mommying.

We shared insecurities, secrets, tips, and truly gave each other what was left of us that we didn’t give to our children.

Then -- something changed.

Maybe when my youngest went to kindergarten. When I began to work again. When I got diagnosed with an unexpected illness.

Suddenly, I could see clearly what I could not observe, or did not want to notice: true friendship.

And one person, who I thought was the most giving of people, upon closer inspection, really was not. Oh, there was so called generosity. Groceries in particular. She always came laden with them. And liked to present me gifts with that I neither needed, sought nor could use.

What she had trouble giving -- was herself. I noticed when I talked, she rarely listened. I babysat for her child way out of proportion to her watching mine. Then there were the unkind words that sometimes found their way out of her mouth. They were always so shocking that I was speechless in reply.

One day, after a particularly virulent spiel -- I could no longer ignore my internal voice. It yelled: MOVE ON!

The problem: her daughter and my daughter are great friends and I don’t want that ruined. We also run in similar circles.

This is where being a mother and the wisdom I’ve hopefully gained must come into play. This is not about me. This is not about her. This is about our children.

Still, there is sadness for what once and for what will no longer be.

I’ve always tried to create family from friends. My best friend at 11 is still my best friend today. I laugh as hard now with my college friends as I did with them back when we were in our 20s (a-hem, that being just a year or two ago).

I’ve been fortunate to have lived around the country and have friends in each place where I have resided. And I have incredible mommy friends who will be my sister-friends forever.

I am happy that by putting an end to something that once was beautiful but is now toxic, I am taking care of myself and I will be watchful for my daughter.

I will also be something else – mature, graceful and kind. The qualities I want my children to have.

Still, I am sad to lose a friend or the friend who I thought she was only to realize that person was an illusion.

Labels: baby, By Dawn Yun, childhood memories, Dreams, illness, illusion, kindergarten, toddler, true friendship

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I'm seated at a table outdoors somewhere -- a swank L.A. eatery? Something occupies my hands. I'm making a pair of earrings, slicing frilly lettuce, or ???. . .

Ted Danson sits across from me and another man is to my left. I feel their eyes upon me. Interest, desire, that thing -- you women know. I feel shy, a little scared.

“You forty-four?” Ted asks.

“No, forty-two,” I respond too quickly. I immediately avert my eyes.

Time bends again. I lose myself in that primordial dream state.

Suddenly, I feel self-conscious again. I look up. Ted Danson is stretched out on a chair next to me, naked, skinny and hirsute. He searches for my approval, or better yet, my enthusiasm. I look away, trying not to laugh out loud.

Back to primordial fluid dream state.

Now my husband sits opposite me, his eyes fixed on something he’s working on -- eating, patching a tire tube, or ???. . .

“You happier with just the kids?

“No,” I state emphatically. I still want us to be an intact family.

“I am.”

This jolts me awake. Anxiety gnaws away at my solar plexus as I lay in our queen-size bed without him. He’s staying with a friend. I try to get back to sleep. I stuff a small, hard throw pillow beneath my stomach and the bed. My head’s bent at a sharp right angle, my ear pressed against the mattress. It’s a technique I have developed over the years.

Twenty minutes takes me to a deep sleep, thankfully devoid of dreams, until morning.

By Vicki Inglis

Labels: dream state, Dreams, hot guy, husband, L.A., Vicki Inglis

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My wish for the blessed mothers:

Two days in a hotel.

Velvety sheets, gourmet room service.

A stack of books to inspire or distract. Ratio as desired: two trashy, 1 poetry, 1 heartbreaking.

Time to read.

Time to write.

No need for clothes with zippers.

Endless warm drinks.

Quiet.

Revelatory, vexing dreams.

Quiet.

The sound of an idea popping tenderly.

Tea.

Quiet.

Naps.

Relaxed, but swiftly flowing momentum rushing joyfully to your unique North Star.

By Avvy Mar

Labels: Avvy Mar, Dreams, naps, quiet, relax, wishes

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Despite my numerous warnings about its scary and rather unscientific nature, Carl really wanted to see “Jurassic Park III” because it features his favorite dinosaur -- Spinosaurus, a prehistoric predator bigger than T-Rex.

He waited impatiently for the copy I reserved to arrive at the public library next to us.

He watches it halfway from the hallway ready to dart behind the wall when a dinosaur approaches. Afterwards, he decides to sleep with us. I don't mind. I would be scared, too, to be by myself.

“Are you scared?” I ask when he snags close to me.

“No. The nightmare will come later,” he explains.

“Yes, when you are the most relaxed and vulnerable,” I joke.

His eyes open wider. Nice job, Mom!

I calm him down. “You won't be alone. I will be here for you. Sleep now.”

"What will you do?" he asks.

"I have this prayer that my grandmother used to say. It helped against nightmares."

I say it loud. God, did I mess it up? I try again wondering if after twenty some years I might have forgotten the wording and intonation that grandma used.

Carl doesn't understand a word: "I think it needs to be an American prayer."

"An American prayer against a Hollywood induced nightmare?" I kid my kid again.

"An Industrial Light and Magic* strength prayer," chimes in my husband from the right.

*ILM created most of the effects for Jurassic Park movies.

By Dilyara Breyer

Labels: Dilyara Breyer, Dreams, Industrial Light and Magic, Nightmares

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