The Writing Mamas Daily Blog
Each day on the Writing Mamas Daily Blog, a different member will write about mothering.If you're a mom then you've said these words, you've made these observations and you've lived these situations - 24/7.
And for that, you are a goddess.
Friday, July 03, 2009
A Mother FINALLY Gets to Rock Out
Just back from a concert. A ROCK CONCERT!!!! The first one since my daughter was born nearly eight years ago.
This is sad.
I wanted to be happy.
So I invited a bunch of friends to hear The Motels and Berlin at the Marin County Fair. It was my daughter's first concert. She spent the nearly 1 1/2 hour Motels' set draped across me as we sat on chairs under a big tent asking if it would soon end. I still managed to sing along to "Only the Lonely," and danced and wiggled underneath my splayed daughter.
Look when a mother has to rock, she's gotta rock. I was still doing my mother thing, but also my own thing.
I needed it.
Then we took the kids for rides and games at the fair. We returned to our already laid out blankets outside the seating area as I knew sitting still wouldn't work with the children. I arranged the patchwork of blankets so our sight lines were perfect, and we were in front. Berlin came on and I never stopped dancing and singing. It was like the ghosts of the '80s swarmed and invaded me. I was a possessed, crazed, long in need of a night of fun mother.
I noticed a number of us in the audience.
A kid accidently kicked over my glass of wine. I didn't mind because I was kicking up a storm myself. Mimi and I even danced together to a couple of songs.
Then the evening ended with a fabulous fireworks display. All the mothers agreed -- we have to do this way more often and while we love our kids, next time, we're going to leave them home.
Still, it was sweet to share this rock concert, her first, with my daughter.
It was my past mingled with my present. What a gift.
By Dawn Yun
Labels: Berlin, danced, fireworks, Marin County Fair, Rock concert, The Motels, wine
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Friday, January 23, 2009
Is it Easier to Raise Kids or Do Math?
I’ve always had a contentious relationship with math and all its offshoots – trigonometry, geometry, algebra, calculus, etc.
I barely managed to scrape through the subject at school. I could never understand why I would need to learn it. I will never have any use for this was my reasoning – how will it ever help me deal with real life?
But this last weekend the heavens opened, a light shone down on me, and the angels sang in exalted chorus.
All is revealed: I will need it to help my daughter with her math homework.
This epiphany is of little comfort as I try to understand the handout from her teacher listing the math strategies she needs to master and practice everyday.
Now is as good a time as any to regret daydreaming about writing “My Great Novel,” instead of paying more attention in math class.
“So Mom, should I use the nine strategy for this one?” she asks.
“What do you think – should you use the nine strategy?” I query back. This I did learn -- if you don’t know the answer to something, just repeat the question.
“Can you explain this to me?” I ask my husband that night giving him the handout.
“It’s really quite easy,” he says, after giving it a quick once over. When someone says something is easy, it never, ever is. Half a minute later my eyes have glazed over.
I try to calculate how many ounces remain in the leftover wine bottle on the kitchen counter. But, darn it, that needs math, too. Besides, I don’t think there’s enough in there to make me believe for just a moment that I’m Einstein anyway.
I’m back to the present and my husband has grabbed a piece of paper. It’s covered with examples of the different strategies and how to work them out.
“So you see, you put this here and then its pretty easy. . . it all falls into place as long as you remember this basic principal,” he is pointing out.
Five minutes of my life that I will never get back.
I stare at the numbers and they’re sticking their tongue out and mocking me.
Oh, god. . . how I HATE math.
By Tania Malik
Labels: angels, homework, math, novels, Tania Malik, wine
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Monday, April 30, 2007
Death
My dear friend August Maggy died last month.
He had been my mentor at the San Francisco Chronicle business section. When I met him, I was fresh out of college and trying to figure out my life. I was skinny, hot, wearing really short skirts, and high heels.
My life ran on caffeine and wine. Food was either takeout or in a jar. Cooking was a word never heard of in my apartment.
In 1987, I entered The Chronicle and began a love affair with journalism. I always had a love of words, but now I could see them in print, everyday. At first I was a secretary, but August saw promise in me. Soon, I was promoted to copy editor. My love affair with words lasted 13 years, when the novelty finally wore off. I left the paper in 2000 and soon became a mom and a wife.
I now cook every day. Caffeine and wine still loom large in my life, but those short skirts and high heels are long gone. And when I look in the mirror, hot is not the first word I think of. It’s tired that usually leaps to mind.
But August was still my friend. When we talked infrequently, it was all about the news biz. About how this person was being treated, how that story was played, how this section was screwing up. It was never about children or mothering or partners, it was always about the biz. When I got off the phone, it was as if I had been in touch with a sleeping part of me: the part that had loved my job, had loved my high heels and loved those short skirts.
And now there’s no one who remembers that me.
None of my current circle of friends is from those times. The work friends have faded as the family friends have grown. When I heard news of August’s death at the far too early age of 61, my first feeling was deep sadness. But my second was the selfish pang of youth finally and inevitably slipping away.
Good-bye August Maggy. I’ll miss you and I’ll miss the Georgie I was. Even as I embrace the Georgie I’ve become.
By Georgie Craig Stumble This Post
He had been my mentor at the San Francisco Chronicle business section. When I met him, I was fresh out of college and trying to figure out my life. I was skinny, hot, wearing really short skirts, and high heels.
My life ran on caffeine and wine. Food was either takeout or in a jar. Cooking was a word never heard of in my apartment.
In 1987, I entered The Chronicle and began a love affair with journalism. I always had a love of words, but now I could see them in print, everyday. At first I was a secretary, but August saw promise in me. Soon, I was promoted to copy editor. My love affair with words lasted 13 years, when the novelty finally wore off. I left the paper in 2000 and soon became a mom and a wife.
I now cook every day. Caffeine and wine still loom large in my life, but those short skirts and high heels are long gone. And when I look in the mirror, hot is not the first word I think of. It’s tired that usually leaps to mind.
But August was still my friend. When we talked infrequently, it was all about the news biz. About how this person was being treated, how that story was played, how this section was screwing up. It was never about children or mothering or partners, it was always about the biz. When I got off the phone, it was as if I had been in touch with a sleeping part of me: the part that had loved my job, had loved my high heels and loved those short skirts.
And now there’s no one who remembers that me.
None of my current circle of friends is from those times. The work friends have faded as the family friends have grown. When I heard news of August’s death at the far too early age of 61, my first feeling was deep sadness. But my second was the selfish pang of youth finally and inevitably slipping away.
Good-bye August Maggy. I’ll miss you and I’ll miss the Georgie I was. Even as I embrace the Georgie I’ve become.
By Georgie Craig
Labels: caffeine, Death, high heels, short skirts, wine
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