My Love For Grieving Mamas on Thanksgiving

A friend posted this picture yesterday with a powerful message (below) about grieving the the death of a child and I can't get it out of my mind.

A little story... Last week my youngest went on a school trip for three days and two nights without a phone or (barring an emergency) any way to reach us. He's spent nights away before, even for longer times, but never with people who are basically strangers. And I've never not talked to one of my kids fora whole day, let alone three. Before he left, I didn't think it was a big deal - and of course, it wasn't really.

I was so caught off guard missing him. It felt like a dull constant ache in my chest. It was weird - it was a stupid field trip! - and for three days, it didn't go away. I knew he was safe, or believed him to be safe (he was safe). But during those three days, I thought constantly about the mothers I know who have had a child taken from them by violence. Whose children weren’t safe. Who were stolen from them because of our gun violence epidemic. Whose deaths are on all of us.

What I was feeling was incomparable - like a raindrop next to their ocean of grief. I know I can't imagine that kind of pain. But that's the connection we have to each other - mother to mother. Caring about other people's children because that's what moms do. Or what we should do. Because we can’t imagine what it would be like to lose a child while others are living through that grief - the worst thing that can happen to a mother, losing her child.

Two things I know to be true in this world: no one should have to endure the pain of losing a child alone & I will fight until my last breath to keep more moms from experiencing that kind of loss because Americans haven’t done nearly enough to reduce our unacceptable level of gun violence.

Peace and love you all you mamas out there - I'm thinking of you today and every day. At our Thanksgiving meal, we will have an empty chair at our table in honor your children and to remember all those who should be at our tables today. You and your babies are in my heart always.

*

Here’s the message my friend posted:

For Grieving Mothers

by Dr. Joanne Cacciatore

I am a mother. I am a bereaved mother. My child died, and this is my reluctant path. It is not a path of my choice, but it is a path I must walk mindfully and with intention. It is a journey through the darkest night of my soul and it will take time to wind through the places that scare me.

Every cell in my body aches and longs to be with my beloved child. On days when grief is loud, I may be impatient, distracted, frustrated, and unfocused. I may get angry more easily, or I may seem hopeless. I will shed many, many, many tears. I won’t smile as often as my old self. Smiling hurts now. Most everything hurts some days, even breathing.

But please, just sit beside me.

Say nothing.

Do not offer a cure.

Or a pill, or a word, or a potion.

Witness my suffering and don't turn away from me.

Please be gentle with me.

And I will try to be gentle with me too.

I will not ever "get over" my child's death so please don’t urge me down that path.

Even on days when grief is quiescent, when it isn't standing loudly in the foreground, even on days when I am even able to smile again, the pain is just beneath the surface.

There are days when I still feel paralyzed. My chest feels the sinking weight of my child's absence and, sometimes, I feel as if I will explode from the grief.

Losing my child affects me in so many ways: as a woman, a mother, a human being. It affects every aspect of me: spiritually, physically, mentally, and emotionally.

There are days when I barely recognize myself in the mirror anymore.

Grief is as personal to me as my fingerprint. Don't tell me how I should or shouldn’t be grieving or that I should or shouldn’t “feel better by now.” Don't tell me what's right or wrong. I'm doing it my way, in my time. If I am to survive this, I must do what is best for me.

My understanding of life will change and a different meaning of life will slowly evolve. What I knew to be true or absolute or real or fair about the world has been challenged so I'm finding my way, moment-to-moment in this new place. Things that once seemed important to me are barely thoughts any longer. I notice life's suffering more- hungry children, the homeless and the destitute, a mother’s harsh voice toward her young child- or an elderly person struggling with the door. There are so many things about the world which I now struggle to understand: Why do children die?

There are some questions, I've learned, which are simply unanswerable.

So please don’t tell me that “ God has a plan ” for me. This, my friend, is between me and my God. Those platitudes slip far too easily from the mouths of those who tuck their own child into a safe, warm bed at night: Can you begin to imagine your own child, flesh of your flesh, lying lifeless in a casket, when “goodbye” means you’ll never see them on this Earth again? Grieving mothers- and fathers- and grandparents- and siblings won’t wake up one day with everything ’okay’ and life back to normal. I have a new normal now.

As time passes, I may gain gifts, and treasures, and insights but anything gained was too high a cost when compared to what was lost. Perhaps, one day, when I am very, very old, I will say that time has truly helped to heal my broken heart. But always remember that not a second of any minute of any hour of any day passes when I am not aware of the presence of my child's absence, no matter how many years lurk over my shoulder, don’t forget that I have another one, another child, whose absence, like the sky, is spread over everything as C.S. Lewis said.

My child may have died; but my love - and my motherhood - never will.

*

If you are a grieving mother, you don’t need to be alone in your journey. Here are just a few groups, many started by other moms who want to support you:

• No Other Mother - KeKe Collins

• Family Survivor Network

• Mothers of Murdered Sons & Daughters - Daphne Alston

• India’s Purple Ribbon (Domestic Violence Awareness) - Sonya Chapple

• Weeping Mothers

• Mothers on the Move - Darlene Cain

• Bound for Better - Kathy McNight

• Coalition of Concerned Mothers

• Tears of A Mother’s Cry

• A Mother’s Love Will Never Die - Sharon McMahan

• Roberta’s House

Many of the above are focused on those who have lost a child to violence and centered in the DC/Maryland area. Here are a few other resources:

• Everytown Survivor Network

• Moments That Survive (a story wall for survivors of gun violence)

• Bereaved Parents of the USA

• Compassionate Friends

• Cope Foundation

• Good Grief

• SUDC Foundation (for those affected by sudden unexplained death in childhood)

• NICU Helping Hands (for those experiencing miscarriage, stillbirth or loss of child due to SIDS)

• A list of various resources

• Books and other resources

IMPORTANT: If you or a loved one are in crisis & need immediate help, call 988 or go to: https://988lifeline.org

NO MORE PATIENCE FOR WEAK ALLIES

Early voting in Maryland’s upcoming primary begins on July 7 – and July 19 is the last day to vote!

With the election just days away, I want to share why I’m voting against an incumbent running as a champion of gun violence prevention and abortion rights. My feminist political litmus test is how a candidate will lead on those two issues, which I consider the most fundamental women’s rights – to live a life we choose and keep all of our children safe. That’s why I’m supporting Max Socol for State Senate in District 18, who’s challenging the long-time incumbent, Jeff Waldstreicher, a conservative Democrat with a record of inaction.

I've been a gun violence prevention activist since 20 first-graders and six educators were killed in America’s deadliest school shooting in 2012. As someone devoted to this issue for 10 years, I regularly hear: “If nothing changed after Sandy Hook, it never will.” This cynical refrain is inevitable after every major national gun violence event. We heard it again after a white supremacist murdered 10 people in Buffalo, followed by America’s second deadliest school shooting, in Uvalde, Texas. I understand why people feel helpless, but I reject this hopeless shrug.

To quote Cory Booker, I believe gun violence is the civil rights issue of our time. As a mother, I see gun violence as, among other things, a reproductive health and racial justice issue – because other women’s children don’t have the same right to life as my white kids. As someone who had an abortion at 20, I believe the ability to decide when to have children is a fundamental freedom for anyone with a womb. I consider these two issues as foundational. What can we build if we can’t stand strong on those basic things?

IF YOU DON’T LOOK AWAY, THERE’S NO CHOICE BUT TO FIGHT.

Over the past decade, our struggle to end to gun violence has been a perpetual frustration of one step forward, two steps back. Just recently, on June 23, the Supreme Court issued a disastrous ruling declaring – for the first time – an individual right to carry firearms in public for self-defense, the biggest expansion of gun rights in a decade. Two days later, President Biden – the strongest ally the gun violence prevention movement has ever had in the White House, signed into law the first significant national gun safety legislation in three decades. A devastating loss followed by a hard-fought win.

When I started volunteering in 2013, I learned that 86 people died by guns every day in the US. Every year, that number ticked up. At latest count, more than 110 Americans are killed with guns daily. Like many, I’m angry that – despite the best efforts of many good people – more lives are taken by guns every day. But the cynics are wrong – both that nothing has changed and that nothing will. While overall gun deaths haven’t declined, that doesn’t mean nothing has changed.

In fact, I’d argue that everything changed after Sandy Hook – and again after Charleston and Pulse and Las Vegas/Sutherland Springs and Parkland and Dayton/El Paso. Each event brought new people into the movement. The largest surge after Sandy Hook was Parkland, when advocates like me slept four hours a night for months building a grassroots operation that could accommodate everyone who wanted to help. Over the past decade, we’ve built infrastructure for long-term change, to hold every new person joining our cause and keep going until we end gun violence. The gun lobby had a four-decade head start, but our movement has grown quickly, strengthening every time our nation’s attention turns toward this issue, becoming more and more undeniable. Today’s movement is ready for the latest influx. 

WE HAVE THE POWER, WE JUST NEED TO USE IT.

 After Sandy Hook, most Americans assumed change on a national level was inevitable. Instead, some of the only progress made that year was Maryland’s Firearms Safety Act, which strengthened state law but left many loopholes. In the 10 years since, I’ve worked with other activists and legislative champions to build on that foundation, advocating in Annapolis for the most basic gun safety laws – requiring a background check on every gun sale, removing illegally possessed guns from convicted domestic abusers, and keeping guns away from those who are a danger to themselves or others – things most people assumed were already in place. Honestly, it’s baffling we had to fight for any of it – and that, despite a Democratic supermajority presumed friendly to gun safety legislation, we faced strong opposition, legislation was weakened and took years to pass. I’ve learned that not every legislator who claims to support the cause can be counted on in this fight. 

We’re at another tipping point right now – as we were after Sandy Hook and after Parkland, where support for the gun violence prevention movement is surging. We have more volunteers than ever and politicians are making promises again. But to realize the potential for real change on this issue, there’s something we need to overcome – legislators who say they care and do nothing.

In Maryland, we need to look at legislators like my state senator, Jeff Waldstreicher, vice-chair of a powerful committee, who has been in office for 15 years and is running for re-election on the issue of gun violence. He’s not the champion he claims to be. As we learned watching live-streamed committee hearings, thanks to Covid, he often stands with Republicans, voting for amendments to weaken good bills, before he votes with Democrats to pass it. In a cynical ploy, Waldstreicher maintains a progressive voting record, while playing an obstructionist role blocking or weakening progressive legislation.

 For example, with a bill requiring background checks on long guns, the law that ultimately passed only requires checks on sales; transfers were excluded from the final legislation. Similarly, he supported amendments to weaken police reform efforts after George Floyd’s death. At a local Black Lives Matter rally at the time, he was the only D18 rep not present. A quick Twitter search shows no results from his account for the name “George Floyd.” Police violence is gun violence – we can’t make progress without confronting our history of racist policing – but it’s not evident that’s clear to him. 

THIS IS ABOUT SAVING LIVES – IT’S URGENT.

 In recent years, Sen. Waldstreicher introduced a few minor gun bills, all of which went nowhere – a state repeal of the disastrous Protection of Lawful Commerce in Arms Act (slated for a hearing this year that was inexplicably canceled and never rescheduled) and another bill to keep guns out of polling places (which languished in his committee for two years). Introducing legislation and then not fighting for it makes you seem like an ally but helps no one. People are dying while the Maryland Senate strolls toward mediocrity. It’s unacceptable to me for my elected representative to be a part of that inaction. Where’s the funding for violence interruption programs? Where’s the urgency to implement evidence-based solutions? Where’s the leadership our state has demonstrated in the past?

 Since Waldstreicher can’t run for re-election on his failed record on gun safety, he has instead appropriated others’ successes by claiming credit for the work of women serving alongside him. In a campaign letter to a constituent, he wrote that he was “leading the charge to ban ghost guns.” He’s doing no such thing. Being on the committee doesn’t mean he’s “leading” anything. He even tried to convince me of the same thing – lying straight to my face, telling me in a conversation before the start of the 2022 session (and separately, to another Moms Demand Action volunteer) that he was going to be the sponsor of ghost gun legislation (as if I wouldn’t know!). Even if we agreed on everything, I can’t support someone I can’t trust (unfortunately, there are many examples to show he’s not trustworthy - here and here and here and here and more).

 To set the record straight: Senator Susan Lee and Delegate Lesley Lopez have been championing legislation to prohibit ghost guns for years. They deserve our gratitude for their hard work ushering this complicated legislation through the General Assembly. Can Senator Waldstreicher point to any action he took to get this legislation through the Senate? I testified at the Senate hearing and listened to every word. He didn’t even speak. In fact, I’ve attended hearings for years and could count on one hand how often he’s spoken. That’s not leadership – it’s another mediocre white man skating by, taking credit for women’s work, and it isn’t what we need in Annapolis. 

 Equally troubling, Waldstreicher has repeatedly used the phrase “cracking down on gun violence.” That’s not how someone who cares about social justice thinks about gun violence. It’s the language of someone who voted with Republicans in favor of Governor Hogan’s crime bill, legislation full of failed ideas of criminalization rather than prevention. It’s the language of a champion for the regressive, anti-reform Fraternal Order of Police. That he was the only Montgomery County rep endorsed by the FOP in 2018 shows how disconnected he is from his community. Gun violence is a public health epidemic arising from decades of structural racism, enabled by a toxic gun culture that fights against basic regulations, like background checks. “Cracking down” on those impacted doesn’t solve anything. 

WE NEED TO BE BOLDER IN WHAT WE’RE ASKING FOR.

 Personally, I don’t care if a politician shows up at private events to hold court on how supportive they are. I want to hear what they believe – and will fight for – loudly and publicly. And then see them do the work. Commonsense, research-driven solutions to this public health epidemic exist, but legislation to support them continues to be underfunded and unambitious. It’s time to stop settling for bills watered down by moderate politicians, especially those elected by some of our state’s most progressive voters. We expect difficult conversations with legislators from more conservative parts of the state, but to be repeatedly disappointed by a legislator representing Montgomery County? Residents of Kensington, Silver Spring and Chevy Chase shouldn’t have to convince our senator to stand strong on an issue as fundamental as keeping our families safe from gun violence. 

On issue after issue, Waldstreicher has failed to show his district 18 constituents that he shares our values or will fight for them. I want to be represented by someone willing to go to the mat on what’s important, which is why his primary challenger has my support. Max Socol is a community organizer and true progressive who has been equally frustrated by slow progress on issues like gun violence. As the General Assembly continues to engage with these issues, our community would be better served by someone who was a co-founder of the Silver Spring Justice Coalition, then a slippery politician with lots of excuses for why nothing can be done. Max understands that to make real progress on a community-driven vision of public safety, we need to reform our criminal justice system and listen to the communities most impacted by violence. Like me, he doesn’t accept the excuses for inaction that we hear from too many Democratic leaders.

Max’s introduction to politics was through Rev. William Barber’s Poor People’s Campaign, an heir to the legacy of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. His campaign isn’t just about getting elected – they are building a grassroots coalition around issues from gun violence to abortion. He’s also strong on other issues critical to our most vulnerable neighbors – like renters’ rights, affordable housing, food security, environmental racism and more. Which is why people are really responding to his campaign. His supporters have made more than 65,000 voter contact attempts, knocking on over 40,000 doors in the district. They’ve even been competitive in fundraising, raising nearly $200,000 from over a thousand donors – critical against one of the biggest fundraisers in state politics – without taking money from special interests like the lobbyists and big developers who support the incumbent.

I’ve spoken more about gun violence here because that’s my direct experience, but on another issue of “supreme” importance to me, I know Max will fight like hell. As a former abortion clinic escort, he understands that a woman’s right to choose is as personal and fundamental as it gets. On the other hand, I was disturbed to learn that Sen. Waldstreicher was among those responsible for a failed effort to enshrine abortion rights into our state constitution ahead of the Supreme Court’s overturning Roe v. Wade. Citing Waldstreicher’s “failure to lead,” Pro-Choice Maryland has endorsed Max’s campaign. They know this is no time for weak allies.

LIVES ARE ON THE LINE & I’M DONE BEING PATIENT.

 While states giving more rights to guns than women are critical election battlegrounds, even those of us in the bluest part of blue Maryland have work to do to elect real champions. We don’t just need to defeat pro-gun and pro-life extremists, we need to vote out politicians who undermine our work and later ask to pose with us for a picture (or don’t ask, just take photos – including at a vigil - and use them for political gain).

 I’m done standing by politicians who aren’t standing strong when our children’s lives and their future are on the line. If we continue to settle for incumbents like Jeff Waldstreicher who have nothing to show for their time in office, nothing will change. It’s time to demand more and elect progressive champions – not politicians offering weak-kneed, tepid support, but those who will fight alongside activists like me for real change. I know Max will fight for my values, including gun violence prevention and a woman’s right to choose. In this election, we need to be bold if we want real change.

 There’s one thing the “nothing will change” cynics are right about: the change we’ve seen, it’s not enough and it’s happening too slowly. We have to do better. We have to stop being patient. When it takes five years to pass the most modest reforms, we’re failing. We’re failing our children. We’re failing the most vulnerable, impacted communities, where families are caught in a cycle of violence, losing person after person. Lives are on the line – our children’s lives. On their behalf, we're asking for too little and getting even less.

To support Max’s campaign, you can donate to my fundraiser here. I’ve already matched almost $800 in donations (including one from Shannon Watts, who’s not feeling very patient either!) and I’m only $425 from reaching my goal!

Disclaimer: I write this in my personal capacity and not to reflect the views of any organization.

Mamas, Pace Yourselves!

American women are angry—thousands in the streets, tens of thousands contacting their representatives and posting their stories to social media. And American women are exhausted.

Last week was (another) long, hard week. We officially have a(nother) Supreme Court Justice whose elevation was not stopped by credible allegations of sexual misconduct. It may be that only 50 heartless people – following one misogynistic sexual predator (our president) – cast the deciding votes, but American women heard one thing loud and clear: “Even though we now feel the #MeToo pressure to pretend to listen to you, and even though we say we believe you, we will never care about you.”

Ladies, we need to pace ourselves—one protest, one nomination battle, one full out sprint was never going to fix our country. The horrible things happening are very real. An accused attempted rapist has just been given a lifetime position of power by a serial abuser of women with the help of a bunch of white men (and Susan Collins) who have learned how to say, “We believe you,” while simultaneously showing us they couldn’t care less. There’s no good way to spin this. It’s bad. For decades to come, our daughters’ bodies will be governed by people who do not value women or their bodies.

But—important as it is—it’s not the only important thing that happened last week. On the same day as Kavanaugh’s confirmation vote, the Noble Prize committee shone their spotlight on two people working to stop sexual violence against women in war zones: “At a time of growing global awareness about injustices against women, the Nobel Peace Prize was awarded…to two people who have brought attention to the most extreme forms of violence they can face: a Congolese surgeon who treats victims of wartime rape and an activist who was a sexual slave of the Islamic State.”

Mamas, if we are going to build a better world for all of our babies, we need a plan. If we’re going to fight the good fight, we have to pull back and put a bigger frame around the moment we’re living through. And even more critical, we have to hold what motivates us, all of the pain and injustice of this moment, in one hand, and in the other hand, hold the things that sustain us—what’s true and good, and even those silly frivolous things that make us happy. If we can’t do that, if we can’t see how long the arc of the moral universe is, we will not be able to bend it in the direction of justice. We will be too hopeless and exhausted to do the work. And, ladies (and gentlemen), we have so much work to do.

When my kids were still babies, I remember feeling crushed by a weight of sadness thinking about mothers who have lost children to the gun violence epidemic in our country. Even before the massacre of 20 first-graders at Sandy Hook, watching the public pain of Trayvon Martin’s mother was more than I could handle. I remember thinking about those mothers while looking at my babies’ soft, sweet baby faces, and thinking, how can both of these things be just as true? The joy they brought me and the pain of other mothers?

It felt disrespectful to the tragedy of mothers surviving their child’s murder to forget their pain and the cause of it for even a moment. As someone whose anxiety had often wrapped itself around real world political events, anchoring me in depression, overwhelm and inaction, that wasn’t such a surprising thought. The surprise was my constant amazement, no matter what else was happening at the time, at how filled with exuberant happiness my babies were. My babies! When I had always thought of myself as melancholy at best. Listening to them giggle, playing together on the floor at my feet, while I read the news on my phone each day, it suddenly felt just as disrespectful to ignore the beauty of my life, which was no less real than any pain. I felt a duty to my babies to let the happy in, unapologetically. But I also felt a duty to them, to other mothers, and to myself, to do something.

As different as the disproportionate impact of gun violence on communities of color may seem from sexual violence against women, listening at that time to black men talking about not feeling safe in their own bodies, I felt a deep connection. What they were expressing was very real to me, even as a white woman. I know that fear. Deeply. What I didn’t know then was, when the injustice of the “not-guilty” verdict of Trayvon Martin’s killer finally drove me to take real action, that action would eventually lift the crushing weight I felt about other mother’s children being killed. Doing something about it freed me from the paralysis of the anxiety and grief that had gutted me.  

Moms, we are building a better world for our children because we love them. This work is going to take a lifetime. The injustice we feel so profoundly in moments like this is not new even if the feeling that something urgent must be done about it is. We cannot sprint. We will not last. We need to let our activism into our lives – and for moms that means playdate postcard writing parties, inviting a friend with kids to march with you, side by side, pushing strollers together, and bringing the kids to canvas unreliable voters in swing districts. Moms don’t have extra time, so if we’re serious, we need to be smart about this.

I learned something from an anti-racist workshop for white people that confused the hell out of me at first. Included in a list of characteristics of white supremacist culture was this: “a sense of urgency.” Other things mentioned made some kind of sense – defensiveness, worship of the written word, paternalism, fear of open conflict, the right to comfort, I had heard those things before. I became obsessed with trying to understand — wasn’t a sense of urgency a driving force behind social change? How could not having a sense of urgency be a good thing?

Then I watched this skit with Dave Chappelle and Chris Rock on SNL a week after Trump was elected in 2016. Chappelle is watching Election Night returns with two white women and a white man, interjecting some (humor and) perspective into their increasingly despondent reactions as it becomes clear that Hillary isn’t going to become president. At the end, Chappelle says, “Don’t worry about it. Eight years are gonna fly by.” And Rock, who has joined them, jokes, “Come on guys, get some rest, you got a big day of moping and writing on Facebook tomorrow.” The skit ends with the two black men howling with laughter when the white guy says, “This is the most shameful thing America has ever done.”

Slavery was legal in the US for 245 years. A “sense of urgency” is white people panicking about a 4-year presidency while black men laugh, even though we all know the impact will be felt more by people of color. It’s what makes white activists over-promise and under-deliver time and again while communities of color see no meaningful change. It’s what makes us think we don’t have time to be inclusive, and to call on the same people again and again because we have important work to do and we’ll worry about diversity and inclusion the next time we host an event or choose new leaders or publish an opinion piece. It’s “sacrificing potential allies for quick or highly visible results… sacrificing interests of communities of color in order to win victories for white people.” It’s what allows a white woman, photographed crying after the Kavanaugh vote, to say, “How are we going to find the strength to keep fighting? Are we going to be out here for another 30 years? I don’t have 30 years left.”

America has done a lot of shameful things. That doesn’t make what’s happening now is any less shameful, and god forbid eight years of this, but I think we need to take the first half of Chris Rock’s advice—we need to rest—so we don’t get stuck in the moping on Facebook bit. And that doesn’t only mean we need go to sleep instead of biting our nails and reading Twitter past midnight. It means we have to make room for our lives.

These boots are made for marching, and canvassing, and watching superhero movies with the kids. Because I need a life that has enough room for fun boots, family and social justice!

Black women have been the foot soldiers at the forefront of nearly every social justice movement in recent history—and they do this while working to support families, raise kids, and sometimes even take a little care of themselves. I’ve never heard a woman of color say, “We can’t do this anymore.” They don’t have a choice. Their children are being shot and killed, they have the largest pay gap of any other group, and we still expect them to vote to save us all. White women, I’m talking to you specifically, we need to take a page from black and brown women. Take a step back—get perspective, get sleep, get stronger. Get a massage, go dancing, get your nails done. And then get back to work.

There’s a nonprofit I know run by a (white) man who hasn’t taken a day off in a decade and won’t sleep on a bed until everyone has a bed to sleep on. That’s very noble. I guess. I’m willing to bet that those without beds to sleep on tonight wouldn’t sleep any better if they knew he was crashing on his couch. When I heard about his dedication, my first thoughts were, “He clearly doesn’t have a wife or he’d have a bed,” and “he clearly doesn’t have kids or he’d take a day off.”

None of us are only our political passions, and 24/7 is not a sustainable pace. I know it’s hard to sleep when the patriarchy is spitting in your face, but they have been spitting in our face for our whole lives and we need a good night’s rest. We don’t need to become political monks to make a difference. In fact, we have to find ways to be active that fit into the lives we have built for ourselves. We’ve all heard—at least from flight attendants—that we need to put our own oxygen mask on first. We know that means that we can’t take care of other people if we don’t take care of ourselves, but that doesn’t mean we know how to do it.

Maybe this is how. If you’re annoyed with your friend who posted on Facebook from the movie theater when she told you she couldn’t show up at the phonebank you recruited her for, maybe that anger should spark a second thought after, “What the hell!” Maybe it’s ok to go to a movie. Maybe you need to take a break and go to a movie. Seriously. Go. And don’t feel guilty. As long as you keep coming back, you should also keep stepping back.

Some things are less important and it’s time to let go of the extra stuff we don’t need and don’t enjoy. There’s no room for time sucks that exhaust us. Maybe we don’t need to show up at every soccer practice—instead maybe swap with another mom to take each other’s kids so you can take turns doing something more central to living with intention. That doesn’t mean we skip your daughter’s first game. It’s ok that that’s important. We all need to figure out that balance, every single day, and preferably without feeling like we are failing everyone.

I spent the last year so focused on the volunteer work I do that I hardly ever saw my friends. The work felt so important to me that I really believed that there was nothing I wanted to do more. I was happy, I was driven, and I had purpose. I was annoyed when people tried to distract my attention. One night, our neighbors came over and my friend demanded that I take a break, just for the night. Sitting on my living room floor, with my friends and my husband, drinking a glass of wine, listening to music and playing a game I love, I felt like I hadn’t heard music in forever. It sounded so beautiful. And it made me remember something I’d forgotten—I also love this. This is also important. This is also my life.

We need to be ourselves while we do this work or we will not last. We aren’t suddenly going to become different people who don’t care about anything as much as we care about the Supreme Court. More likely is that many of us will make deep personal sacrifices while the temperature of the country is running hot, and then we’ll burn out and stop showing up. We can’t do that.

The work we need to do is too important to stop showing up. It’s actually infinitely more important that you’re still showing up a year from now than that you make phone calls to voters every single night from now through Nov 6. We all absolutely need to do something about this hot mess—our country and our sanity depend on it—but we need to find a pace we can maintain. We need to have a life, love our families, be who we are, and also continue to fight for justice for all families. You can be a politically active person and still be everything else you are, too.

This weekend we’re going to have perfect fall weather. I’m planning to take my kids canvassing in a swing district. But, even this fall, when it’s so critical to get more sane people to the polls, fall means more to me than just Get Out The Vote. It means spending time outside with my family, it means warm apple cider, and it means cute boots. That’s right, I’m not going to pretend I’m not a woman who also likes cute boots. This weekend, I’ll be canvassing with my kids, walking around in my cute boots, and then taking them out for a treat because door knocking is hard work and we’ll deserve a break.

You can be serious about political change and still live a life that sustains you, whatever makes you happy and strong. Just ask Lauren Duca. Or just listen to what the politics writer for Teen Vogue said to Tucker Carlson when he told her to “stick to the thigh-high boots” in an interview on Fox News: “A woman can love Ariana Grande and her thigh-high boots and still discuss politics. Those things are not mutually exclusive.”

Life’s too short for boring boots. And it’s definitely too short not to stand up for what you believe—in the cutest boots you can find. Women, it’s ok, we got this.

Mothers Shouldn't Need to Bury Murdered Sons

This is a little different from what I usually post, but I am doing it out of love for another mother, actually three other mothers, two I've never met, and when too many moms are burying children, something they should never have to do, and too many children are growing up without their fathers, it feels too urgent not to share.

On top of the devastating tragedy of losing someone to gun violence (something more than 30,000 families experience every year), families are often financially unprepared for the unexpected and massive expenses that follow. And these tragedies are more often happening to families who are the least able to afford to pay for funeral services, especially when the money is needed so quickly.

A woman I work with in the fight to end gun violence suffered an unimaginable loss this week when a 5th family member was lost to gun violence. A passionate fighter, she is a survivor whose 17-year-old son was murdered in an attempted robbery 13 years ago. She is a deeply committed violence prevention advocate who volunteers with several organizations fighting to end violence. And now she has lost another beloved family member to a drive by shooting in Baltimore.

In 1990, her 16 year old nephew was killed. In 2004, her 17 year old son was killed. In 2016, she lost both a 24 year old nephew and a 23 year old cousin. And now, at the end of July 2017, her family was impacted by gun violence for a fifth time when her sister's 23 year old grandson was murdered in what sparse media coverage has called "unremarkable" and "like so many before," while acknowledging that for the victim's family it was "perhaps the most remarkable event ever." If only they knew the whole story. Four of these young men were fathers -- her son had a baby boy who was born a few months after he was killed, her cousin also had a son, and her nephews each had 3 daughters.

In this family alone, five mothers have buried their murdered children, something a mother should never have to do, and 8 children are now growing up without their fathers.

We can't bring back their beloved son/grandson/nephew, but we can make sure that his family, who wishes to remain anonymous, is not experiencing financial distress as they struggle with the emotional distress of losing a 23-year-old young man to senseless violence.

The goal of the campaign is to raise $6,076 by this Monday, July 31st (as of 5 pm on Sunday night, the campaign has raised $2,219 from 43 donors in 13 hours), or the family will not be able to hold a proper funeral service as planned. If you can give, it's urgent that you give now. Please contribute whatever feels generous to you -- every donation matters, every dollar raised is one less worry for this family.

I hope you will contribute and then share this link: gf.me/u/bmu6d2

Moms Built the Pyramids

My littlest one started kindergarten this fall. I’m happy. I’m sad. I’m headed back to work.

At least, that’s the plan. Kind of a scary plan. I’m worried about whether I will fit into my interview suit. I’m worried that it’s impossible to find a job in this market, or so I keep hearing. I’m worried that my kids will struggle to adjust to aftercare. I’m worried that there will be nothing left for me if I’m working full-time again. And, maybe most of all, I’m worried about how to explain my stay-at-home mom years to a potential employer.

So, naturally, I turned to Google for all the answers. I started my search with “resume how to explain stay at home mom,” and after reading the handful of articles that populate the first page, as one does, I’m kinda pissed.

Every single article I read about returning to work after being at home with kids had this one piece of advice—include all of the volunteer work you have done.

The idea that someone might have just stayed home to care for their kids seemed unfathomable, and these articles assumed that if that was all you did, you’re obviously be headed for a career in child care or preschool teaching. In which case, it might be ok to mention the word “mom” to explain that time. But even then, only kinda-sorta.

For a woman hoping to return to a professional career, it is absolutely assumed that you will have headed the annual school book fair or organized a charity fundraiser or… Just what exactly have you been doing with your time?!

Well, I did. I fundraised. I event planned. I blogged. I organized. I phone banked. I staffed (not "manned"!) tables. I advised. I volunteered to recruit more volunteers. I said yes to everything. 

I gave it all up for free! All my milk. As we women do. As women always have.

I worked hard as co-president of our co-op preschool. I served on my college’s marketing advisory board. I joined together with some amazing women to do gun violence prevention work that has meant more to me than any of the paid work I’ve ever done. I did a lot of things for free. We all did it for free. And we did it while we did all the mom stuff, and all the life stuff, and even, sometimes, a little me stuff.

I enjoyed doing everything I did. (Well, almost everything—could’ve done without the compulsory parade marching.) All in all, I feel like my time was spent well. I was happy to help. I met great people, created a community for myself and my family, did a bit of good work, and most importantly, had something for myself, where I could be an adult and separate from my kids for a few hours here and there. So that I could stay sane while I stayed home.

But… I also felt like I had to do it. Not any one thing specifically, but… something…

What if I didn’t volunteer? What if I spent the time “just” being a mom, “only” being there for my kids during these formative years? What if I did it because it meant a lot to me and I could, and I didn’t add all of these volunteer gigs with resume-ready titles?

From the day my maternity leave ended and I didn’t go back to work, I knew that I would eventually be working on a resume to “return to work”—as almost all moms these days eventually do. And, from the beginning, I was terrified of that dreaded “resume gap.” I knew I’d need to show I was doing something. I’d need references to say that I wasn’t one of those women who will stay home forever. I didn’t just watch my kids—I had ambition, drive… I would, one day, work again. Someone would want to hire me and pay me.

And that’s what I’m pissed about—the compulsory nature of it. That it’s required. That there’s a clear expectation that women, especially moms, will work for free. That women’s free work makes the world go round. And that I have to put it on display in that way if I hope to return to the kind of work that the people pay you to do. You know, the kind of work that’s valued, compensated, not assumed, expected.  

One of the best pieces of journalism I’ve ever read—the kind of article that stays with you and transforms forever how you view something—was called, “Internment Camp: The Intern Economy and the Culture Trust,” written by Jim Frederick in The Baffler magazine. Pretty academic, but what really stuck with me was what was written on the spine of the magazine (do I date myself?):  

Interns Built the Pyramids

That was back in 1997, when I was in my 20s, happily on my way up, up, up a career ladder. I hadn’t been able to afford doing an unpaid internship in college, which is why I started working in the publicity department of a publishing house, instead of the editorial department, where I wanted to be. One was paid, the other was not.

Back then, I wasn’t thinking a drop about having kids, and I had no idea of the lattice my career ladder would become. It looked so straight-to-the-top from where I was standing. I also wouldn’t have imagined there would be a day when I would have the luxury of working for free.

There’s an old New Yorker cartoon, with a young woman standing in front of her boss’s desk at a publishing house, with the caption, “My Daddy can’t afford to send me here anymore.” I know I’m lucky that my kids’ daddy can afford to “send me there.” That I can afford to do the volunteer work I have done, which has often meant paying for the privilege. Literally. Hiring someone for however many hours I had to be at a meeting or making calls or whatever. Or doing it while the kids were (earlier) napping, or (bad parent) watching tv or (later) running around like motherless heathens. And when I haven’t paid with cash, I’ve relied on another mom’s free labor, for which I would later trade for my own free labor.

As this era of my life comes to a close, I am grateful for the things I have been able to do—from working in my kids’ schools to the activism I’ve been able to do for political causes that matter deeply to me. I’m also wondering how I’ll continue to do any of it when paid work takes over my week. Some of it because I’ll want to. And some of it because I will still feel like I have to.

Working for pay doesn’t exempt moms from being asked to give up your time for free, even if it does help a little with saying no. For men, having a full-time job does often exempt them from even being asked in the first place. Those men who do show up to help with the “women’s work” are actively choosing to be there. For moms, you have to actively choose not to be there. 

I’m not trying to say that men don’t also do volunteer work, but they seem to give up their unpaid time much less easily. I’m sure stay-at-home dads face even steeper climbs back to work, in many ways, and feel different kinds of pressure to justify why they took time away from work for pay and what they did with all that free time they had while they were home. I hope this becomes less true as more dad take time away from work to be with their kids. I also hope that the expectation that you do something else, on top of parenting all day, subsides as men join in all the stay-at-home fun.

As they say about getting your period—if men did it, it would be a sacrament. If men stayed at home more, it would be understood that you don’t need to add to it to make it a full life. And this very normal thing that so many women do—take some time off to raise their young kids—wouldn’t require an explanation beyond what it was. I’ll bet moms (and dads, because that’s what makes all of the difference!) in countries with year-long paid childcare leave aren’t asked to account for that time.

So, while I feel like I’m coming out of a grown-up unpaid internship, I also know it’s not actually ending. It’s a life-long expectation that women will always be there to do unpaid work.

This may all sound like the biggest “first-world-problems” post you’ve ever read, and in some ways, it is. But this isn’t a wealthy issue or a white women’s issue. Or even a stay-at-home mom issue. This is true of all women. Women at every level are expected—whether they work or not—to offer their labor for free. And don’t forget to smile while you do it!

Care-giving of aging parents (no matter whose parents they actually are, because it usually falls to women, even when it’s their inlaws), tending to sick or injured friends or neighbors, childcare for other women… This is the work that falls to many, many unpaid, often—but not always— poor women. These are not things we can just step away from because no one is paying us. The world would stop if women stopped doing these things for free.

Sometimes, it’s poor women supporting other poor women so they can work. Sometimes it’s rich women supporting the classical music or ballet or other frequently mocked but unprofitable things that wouldn’t happen if those women didn’t do that work for free. Or it’s any and all women working for direct aid organizations—diaper banks, homeless shelters, disaster relief.

All of those things—from childcare to the PTA to the ballet—are important things that we’re all grateful are being done by someone. And we would only notice it if it stopped happening. Which it won’t. Cuz women don’t roll like that.

What’s maddening is that it’s a simultaneously dismissed and expected part of stay-at-home motherhood. Not to mention that it’s challenging to pull off while actually also raising a kid or two. There’s a saying, “Women hold up half the sky.” I would like to add, “…and many of them are doing it for free.” 

A Stay-at-Home Mom is Not a Housewife

I really wanted to post a blog today, but my house… Well, we’ll get to that.

Decades ago, I wouldn’t have been called a stay-at-home mom. I would have been called a housewife, and I would have been judged by the cleanliness of my home and how stylish a dinner party I could host for my husband’s boss. Or at least that’s how I imagine it.

This is not actually as bad as this situation can get.

When I asked my mother what she was called when she was home with kids, she said she didn’t remember being called a stay-at-home mom, but she added, “No one would have dared to call me a housewife.” So, when I was a little kid, in the 1980s, that term was already an insult to a certain kind of woman.

Recent time studies have shown that we spend a lot less time on housework than we used to and I think that’s something to celebrate.

This is where we're supposed to eat. But there are so many other options--what's wrong with sitting on the floor anyway?

When we agreed that I would stay-at-home with our first kid, my husband and I also agreed (or rather, I declared) that we would still be sharing the housework. Just because I was home didn’t mean dinner on the table with slippers and whisky at the door. We’re nowhere near Mad Men level wifely expectations, but it’s also not exactly how I thought it would be.

I hate the laundry. I hate the dishes. I hate making dinner every day. I hate cleaning. But most of it does fall to me. And I spend most of my time on strike. Or conscientiously objecting. Or just not doing.

This is where we find our bathing suits. On the living room couch. What, don't you?

And yet… I know what my husband feels like when he comes through the door and the evidence of a play date with ten kids is all over the house. And I know how I feel when there is a “to-do” every direction I look. It escalates the silent voice in my head from something like stress, to anxiety, to complete overwhelm.

But I try not to be seduced by the shallow joy of living a life that looks like a Pottery Barn catalog. I don’t (not really) clean up before playdates or even grown-up guests. We do clean up superficially for our parents, but that’s a whole something else.

This was once a lovely room of neatly shelved storage items. Now it's where we try to fit more of things we're trying to hide from view.

I think it is a gift to other mothers not to clean your house before they come for a visit. I remember feeling so grateful when I first went to a friend’s house and there were piles of clean, unfolded laundry—and probably even some dirty laundry. There was a lot of laundry. It was everywhere. It felt like home.

And the real gift she gave me was not apologizing. Not even skipping a beat. (She also told me never to apologize for being late.)

This is actually genius, if I do say so myself. Get a big enough basket, put it beside the door and only check the mail every few months.

It just was what it was. She had three kids and a dog. Her kitchen was, well, being used. Her kids’ room wasn’t messy, it was a playroom.

I vowed that day to make sure that my house was never too clean when another mom visited. I like having friends over whenever my kids or I decide we want company, and I wouldn’t be able to do it if I had high standards—or cared how high anyone else’s standards are. I want people to see my messes. At least enough of my messes to know that it’s more than okay not to be on top of… Everything. All. The. Time.

This is always like this. It's where the papers go. They may fly off the desk as the kids run by, but we just put them back up there. Twice a year, we get to the bottom of this mess and vow it will never look like this again.

So, before I dive into this mess today, I took some photos to share with you. Hopefully, it will help you feel like you have something more important to do today than clean. 

Does anyone with a kid not have a Lego mess?

I have a daughter. If she's not cleaning her room, why would her dolls?

And a son. This isn't actually too bad, but stickers on furniture is a particular pet peeve of mine.

Books not on the shelf just means they're reading.

This. This is actually my genius plan to get rid of half of the crap we own so we can spend half as much time cleaning (or stressing about cleaning). Unfortunately, these boxes have been here, waiting to be filled and donated, for longer than I care to confess.

So there it is. My mess. Now you can feel better about yours!

For more, check out my blog, Crazy Like a Mom, like me on Facebook and follow me on Twitter.

14 Reasons Why Parenting is So Hard

I spent a ridiculous $10 on this pair of socks today, but I know there will be a day when I will want to give these to a mom who will really need them, need to put these cozy socks on at the end of a long day, lay down in her bed and stare down at her toes and know it's gonna be okay. And there's a decent chance that mom will be me.

Why is being a parent so damn hard? If you are one, you know. If you try to explain it to anyone else, you seem insane or inept.

Parenting is seemingly full of easy, mundane tasks, but somehow it adds up to something that is, somehow, really difficult. Change a diaper, make a lunch, go to the park, run an errand… (Oh dear lord, run an errand…)  None of the individual components is anything to write home about…

And yet… the exhaustion, the mania, the loss of sanity, the doubts, the I-can’t-do-it and the everyone-else-is-doing-it-better… It’s so hard to explain why it’s so hard…

Maybe if we take a moment to think about what makes something seemingly so easy actually so incredibly hard, we wouldn’t feel like we’re losing our minds. And maybe we could even think of some ways to make it at least seem a little easier.

1.      The Learning Curve

Before we left the hospital for the first time around, the pediatrician evaluating our daughter made her stop crying… and made us feel totally inept. But, as he reassured us, in 24 hours, we will be the experts on our baby. No one will know her better. It was true. The learning curve is steep—you know nothing and then you suddenly know everything. Except: the learning curve stays steep—you know nothing over and over again. Think you’re doing a good job at this parenting gig? Just wait a week… or 5 minutes… and you’re bound to fall flat on your face. Again.

Solution: Enjoy the three weeks when you’ve totally got this thing, because it will pass so quickly. And know that, during the three weeks when you totally don’t got this thing, that era will end just as fast.

2.      The Anxiety

I may have an official diagnosis, but I think all parents suffer this in one way or another. Some of the most couldn’t-give-a-fuck parents I know have surprised me by sharing anxieties I know well. One mom told me, “As a person, I’m never anxious about anything, but as a mom, I’m like a crazy person.” There’s just a lot to worry about. Someone took your god-damn heart out of your body and let it walk around out in the world like it wasn’t vulnerable as hell and like you wouldn’t feel like a dead person if something happened to it. By it, I mean your kid.

Solution: Meds. Seriously though, just knowing it’s normal takes half the worry away. The other half, there’s no solution. So at least you don’t need to look for one.

3.      Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell

Bad for gays in the military. Bad for parents. But we do it all. the. time. We’re going through something—yelling too much, worrying that our kid’s obsession with YouTube is going to turn him into a weird, basement-dwelling collector of stupid toys, that sort of thing, ya know, just for example—and we don’t tell anyone about it. Which makes us feel like the only one. Which makes us feel like a failure. No one else is telling us about their inability to get their kids out of their pajamas before 4 pm, so we’re not gonna be the first to confess.

Solution: Confess. Storytelling saves lives, people! Sharing your struggle might just bring another parent back from the brink. And sometimes that other parent will be you.

4.      Our Baggage is Heavy

All of the ideas that we internalized as kids, the ones we didn’t even know we had until we became parents, not all of those ideas are good ones. And they’re super hard to shake. It took me two years to leave my first kids with a babysitter, probably because I don’t think I ever had one as a kid. But it nearly drove me crazy, as a stay-at-home mom, to think that I needed to take my daughter with me everywhere I went. And that’s just a little one. Not a single one of us was parented perfectly and we carry that with us—sometimes repeating it, sometimes obsessing over not doing things the way they were for us. And we each have our own! If you’re co-parenting, you both have baggage—and it’s not ever going to be a matching set.

Solution: Literally no chance your kids won’t have baggage of their own because of that thing you did just the other day—or all the YouTube videos you let your 5-year-old watch alone in the basement while you slept upstairs. At least you got some sleep. And made your kid more interesting.

5.      So Many Shoulds

Parenting wouldn’t feel half as hard if we didn’t feel all of the shoulds, all the time. Some come from strangers—“Your baby really should be crawling by now,” but a lot of what we think is coming from outside is really just a loud echo in our own brain. My seven-year-old really should know how to ride a bike by now. I really should spend more time reading with them at bedtime. I should be working to give my kids a good example as a feminist mom. I really should be home for every sick day, make it to every end-of-the-week performance, get down on the floor and play, not forget that birthday they were invited to because it got lost in my email, step back and let them do more on their own, get outside to play every time the sun shines… It. Never. Ends.

Solution: Every single time you hear the word “should” come out of your mouth or nag you inside your own head, ask where it’s coming from and then tell it to go back there and leave you alone.

6.      Kids are Insane

Seriously, check the DSM. There are times when they are textbook crazy.  They are tiny little dictators (narcissism) with unpredictable mood swings (bi-polar) afraid of the most absurd things (anxiety) and crying at the drop of a hat (depression). Or rather, over the color of their plate at lunch or how you promised you’d do that thing you totally did not promise to do. At least as far as you can remember. Kids are not adults—they are not reasonable, they can not be talked to as if logic is gravity and agreed upon by everyone, and they will often make absolutely no sense at all. Actually, maybe they are exactly like adults.

Solution: Time away. Step away from the crazy. Take a break, take a bath, take a walk, take a weekend. You cannot spend every waking moment with a child and keep your sanity.

7.      We Hold Grudges

We do. And they don’t. One minute they hate us, we are the worst parent in the world, how could we be so cruel as to ask them to brush their teeth or pee before they go to bed. The next minute, they need us to hug them and cuddle them while they fall asleep. It must be weird to have to seek comfort from the very person who caused your distress. But it’s just as weird as to be yelled at one minute and hugged the next. We can’t always roll with it like they do. We’re not built to go from, “This is the worst day of my life,” to “You are the best mommy in the world” (or, more likely, the other way around) in 5 seconds flat. They finish their tantrum and then need us again, but we’re still kinda pissed that we were just screamed at for ten minutes. It’s hard to let it go. We’re just not as resilient as they are.

Solution: Just know it’s coming. And try to let go like they do—it’s kind of amazing. You will fail, but even trying to come close will be better than trying to face the situation like a mature adult. Cuz that’s just not gonna work. At. All.

8.      Everyone is Watching

From the minute you reveal your pregnancy (or start showing to strangers), you are being judged. Your parents, your in-laws, your boss, your best friend, your sister, that guy on Facebook you went to high school with, and most of all—other moms. Everything you do is under a microscope. You feel like there are only two options—perfection or complete failure. Neither of which you are very likely to achieve. Luckily, this one is hardly ever true in reality. Yes, there will be comments you will need to learn how to ignore. But most people are so caught up in their own selves, they really don’t think about you as much as you might imagine.

Solution: You may feel like you’re being watched, but look around. Mostly it just feels that way. Anyone who is watching either (a) cares, or (b) doesn’t matter.

9.      You are Alone

Whether you stay-at-home or work or some combo, parenting can be very isolating. Making plans can feel Herculean. Making parents friends can seem scary. Being with a kid all the time is one of the loneliest things you can do. It can make the most introverted person crave being with other adult people like never before. This is probably the worst part of being a parent today. We are not meant to parent alone. And yet, here we are, in our little houses, separated from each other, with little support, little camaraderie. It’s so fucking lonely and it totally sucks.

Solution: That village that it takes to raise a child? It takes one of those to support a mother or a father, too. But it doesn’t exist unless you seek out fellow villagers. Our only option right now is to build it ourselves.

10.   The Roommate Issue

For those of us lucky enough to be co-parenting, whether that’s with a spouse or another adult who loves you and your kid, we should be really grateful. And mostly we are. But other humans are different from us—they have different ideas about bedtime, different triggers that make them yell, different ideas about just about everything. I had a roommate in college who wanted everyone to use one sponge to clean dishes and a separate sponge to clean the counters and table. I can see how it makes sense (different kinds of dirt and all, it’s probably more sanitary or something), but the rest of us just stared at her while she was explaining it like she was a Martian speaking Cantonese. Living with other people is hard. Parenting with other people is hard. Sometimes they say weird things about sponges.

Solution: Try to remember that parenting with someone else is also a gift. Even if they can be a total idiot sometimes. Because you can also be a total idiot sometimes.

11.   The Hours Stink

24/7 forever. Middle of the night. All day, every day. Until death do you part. Or college. Although I’m 40 and pretty sure I’m still stressing out my mom pretty much every day.

Solution: None.

12.   You Are Indispensable

I had a class in high school called “Health and the Human Spirit,” from which I learned everything from how to use a condom to how to talk about racism. One thing that has stuck with me forever is this little pearl of wisdom—the source of all stress is the feeling that you are indispensable. If you think no one else can do your job, or do your job as good as you can, or that you are as important as the only heart surgeon in the world who is always on call, you will be stressed. It’s like never taking a vacation from work because you think you can’t get anyone to cover the work you do and the work you do can’t wait. The thing is, as a parent, you are completely indispensable to your children. They need you. It’s hard not to feel the weight of that all the time.

Solution: You need to learn how to step away. True, maybe no one else can do your parenting job as well as you, but you won’t be able to do it as well as you if you never let anyone else step in to help.

13.   No Exit

You can’t run away. If you do, you’re no longer a parent. But, oh boy, are there ever days when you will want to run away. You will fantasize about driving away in a convertible, Thelma and Louise style, and never looking back. You will want to start over in a new city where no one will call you “mama” 1,000 times a day. You will have all kinds of thoughts like that and you will never do it. Because really, you don’t want to leave.

Solution: Even if you have a great life, there are moments where you will want to leave your body. Or at least your town. They will pass.

14.   The Stakes

There’s nothing more important. Nothing matters more. You have to get it right. Or at least not completely screw it up. My kids came into this world so completely perfect, for the first few years, I just kept thinking, “Just don’t ruin them.” But maybe this is less complicated than we think. Someone once told me that kids take your average—they won’t remember the worst days and they won’t remember the best ones either. Mostly, they will remember how you made them feel, day-in, day-out. Just the regular, boring days. Those ones.

Solution: Just know that everyone fucks up. As some very-unwise person once told me, “You don’t do crack and you have the internet. You’ll be fine.” 

For more, check out my blog, Crazy Like a Mom, like me on Facebook and follow me on Twitter.