This book is an anthology of stories that mothers swore they would never do as mothers until they became mothers. I wrote a chapter. I do not profit from the sale of this book.
Lose the Cape! Never Will I Ever (and then I had Kids!)Most of us had grandiose ideas of what we would be like as parents; what we would allow our children to do and all those things we would never allow. We swore we would never let our child watch more than 30 minutes of television, or sleep in our bed, or eat chicken nuggets or God forbid, guzzle cheese from a can (gasp!). Yet, the moment those little bundles of joy entered our lives, reality took over. Soon enough, we realized that before children, we knew nothing about being parents.From breastfeeding to co-sleeping, pledging to feed our children all-natural, home-cooked meals and so forth, there often comes a point in time where surviving parenthood supersedes your views and your “nevers” slip away. Right?Never Will I Ever is a collection of essays by mothers (and one brave dad!) who share their stories of how they evolved as parents and learned that when it comes to raising children, we can never say never. This is a a special anthology not only funny stories, (and there are some laugh – out – loud – funny stories!) but also some that are so moving and touching. These parents reveal the true tales of parenthood. We believe many will benefit from reading these stories and learning to ‘lose the cape.’”
The Dirty Bottle Under the Bed
I was raised in a Stepford community. You know that town where everyone was perfect; well no, they weren’t anywhere near perfect, and some of their stories would make the devil blush, but the town was full of families who plastered their skeletons with make-up: a basic foundation of delusions-of-grandeur and denial (one that matches the skin tone), a little blush on thecheeks for false innocence, the piercing eye effect from the latest issue of Forbes Magazine, a high brow and nose that points up for the pig-nostril look, dramatic eyelashes to overplay the role of the victim, and projection — a basic red lipstick so as to leave a mark when they kiss your…. The things every good Baptist wears to church on Sunday Morning.
Only thing is, children are gullible, and as a child in that kind of community, I knew better, but I still fell for it. I fell for it all. And that was the mother I was going to be.
The Beaver Paradigm. I was going to be the one who goes to church every Sunday, who is active in the PTA, who baked from scratch and led every fundraiser to victory. My children were going to be children who excelled at academics and sports, who would NEVER make a scene at a restaurant or clothing store, who are always dressed for a Kodak moment (never wearing food around their mouth or boogers on their noses that gross people out) and impressed people with their extensive vocabulary and cotton-picking hearts.
The house is always spotless and smells of confectionary sugar and spices, and people who leave dirty laundry on the floor probably shouldn’t reproduce. Healthy meals are cooked by mom paid for by dad and enjoyed atthe dinner table by everyone sparked with conversations inspired by after-school-specials and laced with love. Spankings are not necessary because in this world, children respect their parents, and a simple “Gee you shouldn’t be doing that” will get you a heart-felt apology. Everyone operates in this black and white Norman Rockwell print with harmony, peace, cheesy music and meatloaf dinners.
That was the master plan, at least up until the point when I had children.