Desert Sky Mothers of Multiples Club - Fun Reading

Home
Club Rules
Garage Sale Membership
Location
Meetings
Fundraisers
Library
Literature
Links
Files
Twins Info
Contact Us
Forum

Fun Reading - Motherhood

You Know You're A Mother When...
I am Mommy, hear me roar!
The Greatest of All is Love
A Parent's Poem
A Child's Angel
Mommy Brain
What Motherhood Really Means
Mom's Tired...

You Know You're A Mother When...

You count the sprinkles on each kid's cupcake to make sure they're equal.
You have time to shave only one leg at a time.
You hide in the bathroom to be alone.
Your kid throws up and you catch it.
Someone else's kid throws up at a party. You keep eating.
You consider finger paints to be a controlled substance.
You've mastered the art of placing large quantities of pancakes and eggs on a plate without anything touching.
Your child insists that you read "Once Upon a Potty" out loud in the lobby of Grand Central Station and you do it.
You cling to the high moral ground on toy weapons; your child chews his toast into the shape of a gun.
You hope ketchup is a vegetable, since it's the only one your child eats.
You can't bear the thought of your son's first girlfriend.
You hate the thought of his wife even more.
You find yourself cutting your husband's sandwiches into cute shapes.
You can't bear to give away baby clothes - it's so final.
You hear your mother's voice coming out of your mouth when you say, "NOT in your good clothes!"
You stop criticizing the way your mother raised you.
You donate to charities in the hope that your child won't get that disease.
You hire a sitter because you haven't been out with your husband in ages, then spend half the night checking on the kids.
You use your own saliva to clean your child's face.
You say at least once a day, "I'm not cut out for this job", but you know you wouldn't trade it for anything.

I am Mommy, hear me roar!

Do you know me? There's a container of neon pink Silly Slime dumped in my purse and a half-eaten, squashed strawberry Pop Tart in my jacket pocket. I wear baggy sweats with elastic waists. I know every Raffi song by heart. I LIVE for nap times. My heart pounds for Mr. Rogers-he likes me just the way I am. At any given moment, I might be carrying a wad of ABC gum ("already been chewed") or the remains of whatever's yucky from a child's mouth or nose. Small children throw up on me regularly. I wash my children's face with spit and my thumb. Show their rashes to ANYONE and EVERYONE who'll look. Wipe their noses with my shirt.

I'm sure you've seen me at the market. I'm the one with the permanent stain on my shoulder from baby spit up. The one with dirty footprints on my shirt from non-stop kicking in the stomach by the child sitting in the grocery cart. The one who didn't have an answer to the (loudly) asked question, "Do we HAVE to eat dog food again tonight?"

You've probably seen me at the mall trying to maneuver a stroller with a crying baby who's struggling to get out while I'm chasing the only child in history who can be in 12 places at once. I'm the one carrying the worn-out blankie and Cabbage Patch doll the I warned I wouldn't carry. The one shouting, "Don't touch! I said, DON'T TOUCH!" The one with the red face after discovering that it is *my* child who's using the display toilet at Sears. The one muttering, "I'm NEVER doing this again."

You know who I am. I'm the one with the glazed look on my face after answering for the millionth time, "I don't know what worms eat." I sniff at a baby's diaper-on purpose. Eat leftover baby food smeared on toast for breakfast. Consider myself lucky to get a shower by noon. I eat standing up. I drink leftover milk with graham cracker crumbs floating in it. I eat the crusts nobody wants.

Once upon a time I had a stomach that didn't fall to the floor. Once I had hips that didn't serve as a baby saddle. Once I even had breasts that weren't on call 24 hours a day-and "will it show milk stains" wasn't my criterion for choosing an outfit. If you emptied out my purse, you'd find: diapers (new and used), a plastic bag of Cheerios, a leaky Tommy Tippy cup, a handful of napkins from McDonald's, a sandy pacifier, a soggy piece of bagel, a bottle of baby Tylenol, and a rectal thermometer.

You know me. I'm bleary eyed from being up all night with a teething baby and teary-eyed from worrying about a toddler that refuses to eat. I'm damp with baby drool, and I have oatmeal in my hair. (I think my sweater's on inside out, but hey, at least I'm dressed.) I can't remember the last time I had a whole night's sleep or a HOT cup of coffee.

The only book I've read in the past 6 months is "Good Night Moon."
I never get to finish a senten....
I love my husband, but (yawn).....zzzzzzzzzz
Don't ask me if I've seen any good movies lately. I'm not sure who Kevin Costner is, haven't seen Tom Selleck in ages, and I've never even heard of Mel Gibson. I am, however, an expert on the Little Mermaid, Peter Pan, and Cinderella. I know all the names of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles by heart, AND what color each of them wears. I say "Cowabunga, dude," when the pizza's delivered.

I used to be reasonably intelligent, pondering the deep secrets of the universe. Now I find myself wondering such things as: If Bert and Ernie aren't related, why do they sleep in the same room? And, where are their parents? I remember when getting together with friends meant stimulating conversation about current events, love and the meaning of life. Now we talk for hours about the color of the contents of our babies' diapers. Should we go from breast to bottle to cup? Skip bottles altogether? Which is better, cloth or disposable? Pacifiers or thumbs? Know any good potty-training tips?

Maybe you've seen me at church. I'm the one with my skirt on backwards, or the entire inner-facing of my dress hanging out. In my rush to get everybody else dressed, I often forget to check my own appearance. (Oh, I want to thank you for not laughing at my one eye made up and my other one bare. In the middle of doing my make-up, someone emptied the flour canister onto the kitchen floor and I never got around to finishing my eyes.)

I know you don't know my first name-I don't have one anymore. I answer to my child calling Mom, Mommy, Mama, or WAAAAAAAAAAAHHH! To be honest, I don't even remember my first name-I've stop using it myself. When speaking, I simply refer to myself as "Mommy." "Mommy says to stop poking the cats ears." "Mommy's ears can't hear whining." "Yes, Mommy's wearing her angry face." "If you don't stop kicking Mommy, Mommy's going to lose it."

Maybe you saw me lose it one day in the Toys R Us parking lot. With one child kicking the back of my car seat, and another one chanting "I wanna go to the park! I wanna go to the park!" I lost it. Slammed on the brakes and ran out of the car screaming, "Calgon take me away!" The kids still refer to it as "the time Mommy went cuckoo."

But I have my good days, too. Days when we get through breakfast without Cream of Rice on the wall. Days when the cat doesn't end up in the toilet. Days when everyone takes a nap at the same time. On those days I feel powerful. In control. On those days, I can do it all.

I am MOMMY, hear me roar.

I can nurse a baby and cook dinner at the same time. I can nurse a baby, read a magazine, AND tie shoes at the same time. I can even nurse a baby, AND talk on the phone, AND fold laundry AND watch Oprah all at the same time.

You know who I am. I'm a Mommy. And I don't even need an American Express Card to prove it.

The Greatest of All is Love

If I live in a house of spotless beauty with everything in the place, but have not love, I am a housekeeper - not a homemaker.
If I have time for waxing, polishing and decorative achievements, but have not love, my children learn of cleanliness - not godliness.
Love leaves the dust in search of a child's laugh.
Love smiles at the tiny fingerprints on a newly cleaned window.
Love wipes away the tears before it wipes up the spilled milk.
Love picks up the child before it picks up the toys.
Love is present throughout the trials.
Love reprimands, reproves and is responsive.
Love crawls with the baby, walks with the toddler, runs with the child, then stands aside to let the youth walk into adulthood.
Love is the key that opens salvation's message to a child's heart.
Before I became a mother I took glory in my house of perfection.
Now I glory in God's perfection of my child.
As a mother there is much I must teach my child, but the greatest of all is love.
-Author Unknown

A Parent's Poem

Come in, but don't expect to find
The dishes done, the floors ashine
Observe the crumbs and toys galore
The smudgy prints upon the door.

The little ones we shelter here
Don't thrive on a spotless atmosphere
They're more inclined to disarray
And carefree even messy play.

Their needs are great, their patience small
All day I'm at their beck and call
It's Mommy come! Mommy see!
Wiggly worms and red scraped knee

Painted pictures, blocks piled high
My floors unshined, the days go by
Some future day they'll flee this nest
And I at last will have a rest!

Now you tell me which matters more?
A happy child or a polished floor?

Author Unknown

A Child's Angel
(author unknown)

Once upon a time there was a child ready to be born. So one day he asked God:

They tell me you are sending me to earth tomorrow but how am I going to live there being so small and helpless?

Among the many angels, I chose one for you. She will be waiting for you and will take care of you.

But tell me, here in Heaven, I don't do anything else but sing and smile, that's enough for me to be happy.

Your angel will sing for you and will also smile for you every day. And you will feel your angel's love and be happy.

And how am I going to be able to understand when people talk to me, if I don't know the language that men talk?

Your angel will tell you the most beautiful and sweet words you will ever hear, and with much patience and care, your angel will teach you how to speak.

And what am I going to do when I want to talk to you?

Your angel will place your hands together and will teach you how to pray.

I've heard that on earth there are bad men. Who will protect me?

Your angel will defend you even if it means risking its life.

But I will always be sad because I will not see you anymore.

Your angel will always talk to you about me and will teach you the way for you to come back to me, even though I will always be next to you.

At that moment there was much peace in Heaven, but voices from earth could already be heard, and the child in a hurry asked softly:

Oh God, if I am about to leave now, please tell me my angel's name

Your angel's name is of no importance, you will call your angel: Mommy

Mommy Brain

If you've left the crayons to melt in the car,
And forgotten just where the car keys are,
There's a perfectly good way to explain:
You see, you've come down with "Mommy Brain."

When you're not sure where the past 8 hours went,
Or whether the phone bill check's been sent,
If you've left the laundry drying in the rain,
It's just---you guessed it---Mommy Brain.

If you find yourself chatting for hours on end
About diaper prices with your cyberfriends,
You've just caught a particularly virulent strain
Of that affliction known as Mommy Brain.

If you left your bags at the grocery store
Or completely forgot what you went there for,
If you called the cat by your baby's name,
You can bet that Mommy Brain's to blame.

And if you know the words to "Goodnight Moon" by heart,
Or you study your sleeping babe like a work of art,
If you're always surprised by how time is flying,
And the thought of that first birthday starts you crying...

It's unavoidable girls, and I feel your pain,
For I, too, suffer from Mommy Brain.
But I'll admit one thing---of this I'm sure:
I hope they never find a cure.

copyright 1998 Carlotta Eike Stankiewicz

What Motherhood Really Means

Time is running out for my friend. While we are sitting at lunch, she casually mentions that she and her husband are thinking of "starting a family." What she means is that her biological clock has begun its countdown, and she is being forced to consider the prospect of motherhood.

"We're taking a survey," she says, half joking. "Do you think I should have a baby?"

"It will change your life," I say carefully, keeping my tone neutral.

"I know," she says. "No more sleeping in on Saturdays, no more spontaneous vacations......"

But that is not what I mean at all. I try to decide what to tell her. I want her to know what she will never learn in childbirth classes: that the physical wounds of childbearing heal, but that becoming a mother will leave an emotional wound so raw that she will be forever vulnerable. I consider warning her that she will never read a newspaper again without asking, "What if that had been my child?" That every plane crash, every fire, will haunt her. That when she sees pictures of starving children, she will wonder if anything could be worse than watching your child die.

I look at her manicured nails and stylish suit and think that no matter how sophisticated she is, becoming a mother will reduce her to the primitive level of a bear protecting her cub. That an urgent call of "Mommy!" will cause her to drop her best crystal without a moment's hesitation.

I feel I should warn her that no matter how many years she has invested in her career, she will be professionally derailed by motherhood. She might arrange for childcare, but one day she will be going into an important business meeting, and she will think about her baby's sweet smell. She will have to use every ounce of discipline to keep from running home, just to make sure her child is all right.

I want my friend to know that everyday decisions will no longer be routine. That a 5-year-old boy's desire to go to the men's room rather than the women's at a restaurant will become a major dilemma. That issues of independence and gender identity will be weighed against the prospect that a child molester may be lurking in the rest room. However decisive she may be at the office, she will second-guess herself constantly as a mother.

Looking at my attractive friend, I want to assure her that eventually she will shed the pounds of pregnancy, but she will never feel the same about herself. That her life, now so important, will be of less value to her once she has a child. That she would give it up in a moment to save her offspring, but will also begin to hope for more years -- not to accomplish her own dreams, but to watch her child accomplish his.

My friend's relationship with her husband will change, but not in the way she thinks. I wish she could understand how much more you can love a man who is always careful to powder the baby or who never hesitates to play with his son or daughter. I think she should know that she will fall in love with her husband again for reasons she now finds very unromantic.

I want to describe to my friend the exhilaration of seeing your child learn to hit a baseball. I want to capture for her the belly laugh of a baby who is touching the soft fur of a dog for the first time. I want her to taste the joy that is so real it hurts.

My friend's quizzical look makes me realize that tears have formed in my eyes. "You'll never regret it," I say finally. Then, squeezing my friend's hand, I offer a prayer for her and for me and all the mere mortal women who stumble their way into this holiest of callings.

Mom's Tired...

Mom and Dad were watching TV when Mom said, "I'm tired, and it's getting late. I think I'll go to bed." She went to the kitchen to make sandwiches for the next day's lunches, rinsed out the popcorn bowls, took meat out of the freezer for supper the following evening, checked the cereal box levels, filled the sugar container, put spoons and bowls on the table, and started the coffee pot for brewing the next morning. She, then, put some wet clothes into the dryer, put a load of clothes into the washer, ironed a shirt, and secured a loose button. She picked up the newspapers strewn on the floor, picked up the game pieces left on the table, and put the phone book back into the drawer. She watered the plants, emptied a wastebasket, and hung up a towel to dry. She yawned and stretched and headed for the bedroom. She stopped by the desk and wrote a note to the teacher, counted out some cash for the field trip, and pulled a schoolbook out from hiding under a chair. She signed a birthday card for a friend, addressed and stamped the envelope, and wrote a quick list for the grocery store. She put both near her purse. She, then, washed her face, put on moisturizer, brushed and flossed her teeth.

Hubby called, "I thought you were going to bed." "I'm on my way," she said. She put some water into the dog's dish and put the cat outside, then made sure the doors were locked. She looked in on each of the kids. She turned off a bedside lamp, hung up a shirt, threw some dirty socks in the hamper, and had a brief conversation with the one child who was still awake, doing homework. In her own room, she set the alarm, laid out clothing for the next day, straightened up the shoe rack. She added three things to her list of things to do for tomorrow.

About that time, hubby turned off the TV and announced, to no one in particular, "I'm going to bed," and...he did.