Tag Archives: Mother

My Sympathies to Anthony Weiner’s Mom

Update from Weiner World: Anthony Weiner is at it again.

And Anthony Weiner’s mom is on my mind.

Now in his third public exposure, so to speak, Anthony Weiner’s peccadillos have again brought shame to his family and ridicule from around the world.

Who would have thought that this schmuck would still be sexting his private parts to random women online?

I feel very sorry for Huma. I can’t imagine the agony she’s had to endure, trying to keep her head high and her personal life out of the spotlight.

I also feel sorry for Anthony Weiner’s mom, who never in her wildest dreams imagined her baby boy would grow up to be a sexting addict.

So this post first published three years ago feels very deja vu.

And once again the message to Anthony Weiner’s mom is heartfelt.

Dear Anthony Weiner’s Mom,

We don’t know each other, but I’ve been thinking about you lately. Wondering how you’re holding up.

Yes, you. Anthony Weiner’s mom. I’m concerned about you.

Can we talk, mother to mother?

You see, I have adult children, as you do, although none of mine has been involved in a sexting scandal, as far as I know. Nor have they embarrassed the hell out of me on an international stage. Not yet, anyway.

Now don’t get me wrong. I am not saying my children are perfect, not at all. Are they wonderful human beings? Yes. Have they made poor choices in the past, mostly involving liquor consumption and sky diving? Yes.

But here’s the thing. We are meant to fall deeply in love with our children from the day they are born. I did, and I bet you did, too. Unconditional love. From their first uncertain steps to making the soccer team to graduating from college, our kids made us kvell over accomplishments both big and small.

Whether we should take credit for any of that is debatable, but admit it, every success made us glow knowing that we nailed the parenting gig.

Because we adore them unconditionally, we forgive them for their shortcomings. Kids are kids and make errors in judgment.

As parents, we hope they learn from their mistakes. It’s called growing up.

That’s why my heart goes out to you, Mrs. Weiner. Your son hasn’t grown up. He doesn’t get that it’s not all about him. That beautiful wife and son of his do not deserve the suffering that he has inflicted. But this is not your fault.

I know you love and support your son. Just between the two of us, though, be honest. Has he tested every last nerve? Do you really want to just smack him upside the head? Do you wish you could send him to “Time Out” for a long, long time?

If he were my son, that’s how I would feel.

My point is that whatever emotional roller coaster you’re on right now, please don’t allow parental guilt to be part of the ride. It is not your fault. There were many times when he made you proud.

But he screwed up, big time. Many times.

He did. Not you.

So continue to stand by your son, as any mother would do. But don’t tear your hair out wondering what you did wrong. Maternal guilt can be a killer. Just don’t even go there.

Between you and me, I think there is a lot of sympathy out there for you, especially from other moms. Moms who can’t fully relate, but know what it feels like to suffer in the wings while a child is in free fall. To agonize when your child has let you down, really hard.
Most moms I know would give you a hug, Mrs. Weiner, and tell you to hang in there.

And I am one of those moms.

 

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Doggone it, It’s Mother’s Day

Doggone it, It's Mother's Day

A few weeks ago Pete and I went out to dinner with our friends Linda and Bill.

I called Linda to make arrangements. “We’ll pick you up,” I offered. “Six forty-five okay?”

“Sounds good,” Linda answered. “I can feed Greta, Parker and Charlie before we leave.”

“You think we’ll be done by 8:30-ish?” I asked. “Max and Wyatt should be fine, but I worry about them being alone for too long.”

“Totally get it,” Linda said.  “I want to get home to our guys too.”

A mother’s job is 24/7.

At the restaurant we met up with two other couples. It was a lively scene, a boisterous atmosphere, and the eight of us had to practically yell to be heard.

Of course we all pulled out our cell phones to share the latest photos of our families.

“Look how big Max is getting!” Susan exclaimed as she peered at my phone. “How much does he weigh now?”

“Last time we checked he was 41 pounds,” I said, as Pete nodded in affirmation. “He’s going to be a big boy.”

“He did the cutest thing today,” I added.

Mimi cupped her hand to her ear. “Who did the cutest thing? Your daughter?”

“No, Max,” I shouted. “Look at this photo. Adorable, right?”

Mimi smiled. “Awww. Look at his face. Such a handsome boy.”

Bill pulled up a photo on his phone and shared it with me. “Look at them! They are all so precious,” I crooned as I scrolled through photo after photo of his three darlings. “Are they still sleeping in your room every night?”

“At least two of them,” he answered. “I keep telling Linda to move over and make room.”

Linda acknowledged that this was true.

“We hardly go out anymore,” she confided. “We’d rather just stay home on a Saturday night and cuddle with our guys. There’s nothing better, right?”

Pete nodded vigorously. “Why go out when we’ve got everything at home? Netflix has changed our lives.”

“Speaking of which,” I said, tapping my watch, “where are our drinks?” I searched the restaurant for our waiter. “Geez, they’re slow here.”

“I hope Max and Wyatt won’t be upset if we’re late,” Pete said. “Maybe we should bring them a doggie bag to make up for it.”

 

Doggone it, It's Mother's Day

Doggone it, It's Mother's Day

Mother’s Day is on Sunday, and there is still time to find something special to let the mother in your life know how much she is appreciated. What, you forgot haven’t gotten to it yet? With the lovely Mother’s Day selection at Hallmark, there is no need to look further. Check out these adorable Mother’s Day gifts that you can find at any Hallmark Gold Crown store or Hallmark.com.

 

Doggone it, It's Mother's Day

Thanks to Hallmark, one of my lucky readers will receive this giveaway pack including a “Some Things We Hold Onto Forever” pillow and “Love Only Grows” framed print as well as Signature and Kim Mallory greeting cards. Simply leave a comment below and a winner will be randomly selected.

Happy Mother’s Day to all moms, no matter who it is you mother!

I received this giveaway box from Hallmark but received no other compensation.

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With Love to My Mother

Last weekend my family celebrated a very special occasion: my future daughter-in-law’s bridal shower. Surrounded by love, I was overwhelmed with gratitude for the blessing of family and friends.

With Love to My Mother

That’s me third from right, with my two daughters on either side. My mother is on the far right. My daughter-in-law and her mother are on the left.

My mother joked, “It all started with me,” and she was right. To honor her this Mother’s Day, I am sharing a post I wrote several years ago.

♥♥♥♥♥

Capturing lightning bugs and dropping them in a glass jar with holes slit in the lid. Running full force into flapping bed sheets drying on our clothesline that smelled like sunshine. Licking bits of cookie dough from my sticky fingers. Bike rides and lots of books and flashlight tag with the neighborhood kids and sleepovers and Saturday matinees and piano lessons and summer camp and July 4th fireworks …

These are the things of which happy childhoods are made.

curly hair, little girl, swing

My mother’s greatest gift was being a mother who knew that.

She and my father gave my brother and me a childhood filled with the important things in life: love, acceptance, passion, and humor.

She also knew when discipline was necessary and stuck to her guns despite my wailing protestations, something I found out years later was one of the hardest jobs of motherhood.

Cute I may have been, but I could be a handful, and I knew my mother looked forward to Saturday nights when she and my dad went out to dinner with their friends and got away from us kids for a few hours.

While my dad left to pick up either Sharon or Kay Lynn or Pat, our favorite babysitters, my mother let me sit in the bathroom and watch while she applied her makeup and shimmied into a girdle. I admired her skill in painting her lips red without going outside the lines. To me, she looked like a movie star.

I experimented with her lipstick, blotting my lips on a tissue just like she did to remove the excess, pretending I was glamorous. I got close to the mirror and kissed my image, saying dahling, dahling (my mother never said this). I powdered my nose and dabbed a drop of Chanel parfum on my wrist as she did, so I could be just like her. 

When I was about 12 years old people started telling me I looked like my mother. That filled me with happiness. If I bore a physical resemblance to my mother, I figured everything would turn out alright.

My mother taught me there is sweet a satisfaction in finishing the Sunday New York Times crossword puzzle and making a perfect pie crust, both of which she can do marvelously.

My mother taught me about traditions, why making the same Thanksgiving dinner year after year is OK. Why piano lessons are good for you even though you hate them. Why nice girls don’t swear or call boys. Why a dose of laughter, along with a vitamin and green vegetables, must be part of your daily diet.

My mother, the best mother in the world, taught me how to be a mother myself.

mom, grandmother, daugher, grandson

My mother, grandmother, me and my first child, 2-week old Evan.

Happy Mother’s Day, Mom, with all my love.

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Mother’s Day is Every Day

This is a Midlife Boulevard bloghop. Take a look at the posts shared by other midlife women at the end of this post.

This Mother’s Day, May 11, is the same day as my oldest child’s 35th birthday.

Wait. What? How can he be 35 years old? Aren’t I about that age?

Thirty-five years ago, my son arrived five weeks early, slightly jaundiced but a healthy size, suffering no worse for the wear other than, due to this sudden appearance, his mother’s lack of preparation. She never had made it to even one Lamaze class or a parenting lesson. Never learned how to do a cleansing breath. Missed out on Diapering 101. She (I) was clueless.

The first night home, the crying was incessant.

From both of us.

The early days of motherhood were fraught with both delight in my newborn and intense insecurity. Was I doing the right thing by jiggling my baby until my arms hurt because he wanted to be held? Or was I stifling his independence? Was I providing a sense of security, or damaging him for life?

Yes, these are the worries that crossed my sleep-deprived mind.

But I was lucky. I had the best role model in the world: my mother. She never told me what to do, but supported me and let me know I was doing a good job.

Six years later Evan’s sister arrived, and three years after that, another baby girl.

Mother's Day is Every Day

By then I realized that motherhood is something you must learn on the job. No amount of preparation can teach you how to comfort a colicky baby or disguise vegetables in applesauce.

Three kids and 35 years later, the memorable moments are countless. First days of school with new lunchboxes. Tryouts for basketball and tennis and soccer. Holidays and summer camp and weekends at the shore. Middle school drama and college applications. Friends and enemies and frenemies. Sweet moments, sad moments, times of tears and distress, of laughter and hugs to make it all better.

Mother's Day is Every Day

I remember …

The way we used to get down on the floor to build Legos with Evan and he would suddenly get up and say, holding up his index finger, “I’ll be wight back!”

Emily’s insistence on calling Roy Rogers (destination for her favorite chicken nuggets) Walter Rogers.

Laurie’s refusal to smile. “Smile, Laurie,” we would beseech as we pointed the camera. She just opened her mouth wide like she was saying ahhhh.

Mother's Day is Every Day

When your children are little it seems like time is going ever so slowly. Now, with the benefit of time and experience, I wish I could relive those days with the wisdom I acquired later in life, with a little less anxiety.

Mother's Day is Every Day

I wish I had known as a young mother that, in spite of my concerns and undoubtedly my mistakes, everything would turn out alright.

Mother's Day is Every Day

It’s been better than alright. It’s spectacular.

 

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A Letter to the Mom of Anthony Weiner

Update from Weiner World: Anthony Weiner is at it again.

Now in his third public exposure, so to speak, his peccadillos have again brought shame to his family and ridicule from around the world.

Who would have thought that this schmuck would still be sexting his private parts to random women online? And with his little son lying next to him?

Ewwww.

I feel very sorry for Huma. I can’t imagine the agony she’s had to endure, in front of the media, all this time.

I also feel sorry for Anthony Weiner’s mom, who never in her wildest dreams imagined her baby boy would grow up to be a sexting addict.

 

Dear Mother of Anthony Weiner,

We don’t know each other, but I’ve been thinking about you lately. Wondering how you’re holding up.

Yes, you. Anthony Weiner’s mom. I’m concerned about you.

Can we talk, mother to mother?

You see, I have adult children, as you do, although none of mine has been involved in a sexting scandal, as far as I know. Nor have they embarrassed the hell out of me on an international stage. Not yet, anyway.

Now don’t get me wrong. I am not saying my children are perfect, not at all. Are they wonderful human beings? Yes. Have they made poor choices in the past, mostly involving liquor consumption and sky diving? Yes.

But here’s the thing. We are meant to fall deeply in love with our children from the day they are born. I did, and I bet you did, too. Unconditional love. From their first uncertain steps to making the soccer team to graduating from college, our kids made us kvell over accomplishments both big and small.

Whether we should take credit for any of that is debatable, but admit it, every success made us glow knowing that we nailed the parenting gig.

Because we adore them unconditionally, we forgive them for their shortcomings. Kids are kids and make errors in judgment.

As parents, we hope they learn from their mistakes. It’s called growing up.

That’s why my heart goes out to you, Mrs. Weiner. Your son hasn’t grown up. He doesn’t get that it’s not all about him. That beautiful wife and son of his do not deserve the suffering that he has inflicted. But this is not your fault.

I know you love and support your son. Just between the two of us, though, be honest. Has he tested every last nerve? Do you really want to just smack him upside the head? Do you wish you could send him to “Time Out” for a long, long time?

If he were my son, that’s how I would feel.

My point is that whatever emotional roller coaster you’re on right now, please don’t allow parental guilt to be part of the ride. It is not your fault. There were many times when he made you proud.

But he screwed up, big time. Many times.

He did. Not you.

So continue to stand by your son, as any mother would do. But don’t tear your hair out wondering what you did wrong. Maternal guilt can be a killer. Just don’t even go there.

Between you and me, I think there is a lot of sympathy out there for you, especially from other moms. Moms who can’t fully relate, but know what it feels like to suffer in the wings while a child is in free fall. To agonize when your child has let you down, really hard.

Most moms I know would give you a hug, Mrs. Weiner, and tell you to hang in there.

And I am one of those moms.

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My Mother’s Greatest Gift: a Daughter’s Love Story

Capturing lightening bugs and dropping them in a glass jar with holes slit in the lid. Running full force into flapping bed sheets drying on our clothesline that smelled like sunshine. Licking bits of cookie dough from my sticky fingers. Bike rides and lots of books and flashlight tag with the neighborhood kids and sleepovers and Saturday matinees and piano lessons and summer camp and July 4th fireworks …

These are the things of which happy childhoods are made.

My mother’s greatest gift was being a mother who knew that.

curly hair, little girl, swing

She and my father gave my brother and me a childhood filled with the important things in life: love, acceptance, passion, and humor.

She also knew when discipline was necessary and stuck to her guns despite my wailing protestations, something I found out years later was one of the hardest jobs of motherhood.

family photo

Cute I may have been, but I could be a handful, and I knew my mother looked forward to Saturday nights when she and my dad went out to dinner with their friends and got away from us kids for a few hours.

While my dad left to pick up either Sharon or Kay Lynn or Pat, our favorite babysitters, my mother let me sit in the bathroom and watch while she applied her makeup and shimmied into a girdle. I admired her skill in painting her lips red without going outside the lines.

Once they had left, I experimented with her lipstick, blotting my lips on a tissue just like she did to remove the excess. I kneeled on the sink to get close to the mirror and kissed my image, saying dahling, dahling (my mother never said this). I powdered my nose and dabbed a drop of Chanel parfum on my wrist as she did, so I could be just like her. 

When I was about 12 years old people started telling me I looked like my mother. That filled me with happiness.

I was an awkward pre-teen with oily skin and clothes that never fit right, but if I bore a physical resemblance to my mother, I figured there was a glimmer of hope.

My mother taught me there is sweet a satisfaction in finishing the Sunday New York Times crossword puzzle and making a perfect pie crust, both of which she can do marvelously.

My mother taught me about traditions, why making the same Thanksgiving dinner year after year is OK. Why piano lessons are good for you even though you hate them. Why a dose of laughter, along with a vitamin and green vegetables, must be part of your daily diet.

If I am like my mother, I am the person I always wanted to be.

The greatest gift from my mother, the best mother in the world, was how to be a mother myself.

mom, grandmother, daugher, grandson

My mother, grandmother, me and my first child, 2-week old Evan.

Happy Mother’s Day, Mom, with all my love.

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