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Archive for April, 2009

For all the moms I know

Thursday, April 23rd, 2009


August 2, 2000


We are sitting at lunch when my daughter casually mentions that she and her husband are thinking of “starting a family.” “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 weekends, no more spontaneous vacations.” But that is not what I meant at all. I look at my daughter, trying to decide what to tell her.

I want her to know what she will never learn in childbirth classes. I want to tell her that the physical wounds of child bearing will heal, but that becoming a mother will leave her with an emotional wound so raw that she will forever be vulnerable.

I consider warning her that she will never again read a newspaper without asking “What if that had been MY child?” That every plane crash, every house 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 carefully 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 “Mom!” will cause her to drop a souffle or 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 of her baby’s sweet smell. She will have to use every ounce of her discipline to keep from running home, just to make sure her baby is all right.

I want my daughter to know that everyday decisions will no longer be routine. That a five year old boy’s desire to go to the men’s room rather than the women’s at McDonald’s will become a major dilemma. That right there, in the midst of clattering trays and screaming children, issues of independence and gender identity will be weighed against the prospect that a child molester may be lurking in that restroom.

However decisive she may be at the office, she will second-guess herself constantly as a mother. Looking at my attractive daughter, 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 theirs.

I want her to know that a cesarean scar or shiny stretch marks will become badges of honor. My daughter’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 careful to powder the baby or who never hesitates to play with his child. I think she should know that she will fall in love with him again for reasons she would now find very unromantic.

I wish my daughter could sense the bond she will feel with women throughout history who have tried to stop war, prejudice and drunk driving. I hope she will understand why I can think rationally about most issues, but become temporarily insane when I discuss the threat of nuclear war to my children’s future.

I want to describe to my daughter the exhilaration of seeing your child learn to ride a bike. I want to capture for her the belly laugh of a baby who is touching the soft fur of a dog or a cat for the first time. I want her to taste the joy that is so real, it actually hurts.

My daughter’s quizzical look makes me realize that tears have formed in my eyes. “You’ll never regret it,” I finally say. Then I reach across the table, squeeze my daughter’s hand and offer a silent prayer for her, and for me, and for all of the mere mortal women who stumble their way into this most wonderful of callings. This blessed gift from God . . . that of being a Mother.


Author Unknown

Ritz crackers and Sushi

Thursday, April 16th, 2009

So as many of you may know I went to Vegas for my first time (and my last)..for The ACM show and all the fun that goes along with that. I was invited to a dinner with Jimmy Wayne at a sushi place in the MGM. I am NOT a lover of Sushi…but I AM a lover of Jimmy I thought “Lets DO THIS!”

My self and about 13 other radio people from all over the country were there along with Jimmy wayne and as life would have it I sat right across from Jimmy.  He sang looooola la la la la lola for most of the dinner, and it seemed to take forever til SOME type of food..if you can call it that finally came. Now I am not overweight by accident…I LOVE me some REAL food. So everyone else is eating this kind of wierd stuff and that kinda wierd stuff (squid) and I said to hell with THIS. I remembered (light bulb moment) that in my purse was a snack bag of Ritz crackers from the flight to Vegas. Now normally this would not be the “right” or proper thing to do at a nice dinner…BUT in staying with my true character (which is not always I whipped those Ritz crackers out and proudly ate them in front of the entire table..didnt hide any of it. My guest says to me afterwards..”I cannot believe you did that!” All I said was “believe it.” Now ten years ago I would have never done this for fear of what people might think…but when you hit your forties…TO HECK WITH ALL OF least thats how I feel. So the next day one of the big-wig record people come up and said “I loved it that you ate those crackers at dinner and when you left there were three ladies that commented that they were about to jump across that table and wrestle you for those crackers”… I guess my “moral” of this story is BE YOURSELF and dont ever let others dictate WHO you SHOULD be. Love you all your cracker jack Lola

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