Mom Story
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Mom Story
My name had a brain tumor (Cancer) at young age of 51yrs old she had 1 surgery on Oct 1998 and then 2nd surgery on May 1999. She fought she did so good w treatment . But on Dec 2nd 1999 she passed on her slept so she had the tumor 14 months . At age 52 yrs old so young . Im walking for her and other families that are going through this . Love u mom you are so missed
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Published on May 15, 2018 in Share Your Story
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Mom knows best! Except when she doesn't...according to "judgy" people.
In honor of the recent release of A Bad Moms Christmas , the comedy sequel starring Kristen Bell , Mila Kunis and Kathryn Hahn , we asked some real moms to share parenting stories that prove that mothers are only human. And some are damn genius.
1. Holy... "I left my youngest daughter at church one Sunday! Got about 3 minutes away and ask my two other girls how Sunday School was! They answered and I said 'Tess how about you?' My oldest said 'Tess isn't here!' Needless to say I made a U-turn and raced back to church only to find sweet Tess standing all alone on the sidewalk with her purse and Bible!"
2. There Are No "Bad Words": "Bad words are not bad words, they are 'adult words' and since we are adults, we get to use them whenever we want, and so will she when she is old enough. Every couple months we let her pick one to say, in private, whatever one she wants. You know what she picks? Stupid. And she giggles after she says it and never repeats us or gets in trouble for using "adult words". It's the best rule I've ever come up with."
3. Well, F--k: "When my little sister was younger, she couldn't say the word 'truck,' she would say 'f--k.' Whenever we were at Toys 'R Us, our mom would say 'What toy do you want?!' really loud just so she would say 'A f--k! I want a f--k!' She just thought it was so funny."
4. Happy Halloween: "I can't take my kids trick-or-treating without some 'mom juice' in my cup, but this year some of it spilled in my son's bucket when he asked me hold his candy and I was trying to steal a piece. When I came home to check his candy I had to clean it off and throw a bunch of "infected" pieces away because the whole bucket reeked of wine."
5. Mommy Needs Her Sleep: "When I don't want to hear my daughter in the middle of the night I just turn the monitor off. She usually figures it out."
6. Mommy Really Needs Her Sleep: "I pretend to still be asleep every Saturday morning when my 20 month old runs into our bedroom, gets two inches away from my face, puts her hand on my cheeks and says "Mommy? Mommy?Good morning Mommy?" It's an Academy Award worthy fake pretend sleep act I put on until she runs off.. we are slowly teaching her the single most important rule in our house—that this mom gets to sleep in on the weekends!"
7. I See a Teacher Gawking at Me: "When my son's state report was not accepted because the teacher said it was 15 minutes late (don't mind that everyone in my house was sick that morning!) I charged into her 5th grade classroom after school and proceeded to tell her many things that generally don't come out of my mouth. Everyone around could hear. The principal called me and asked me not to return to campus."
8. BRB, Calling Jessica Simpson: "I would tell my daughters that tuna was chicken for years so they would eat it. They didn't learn it was fish until they were old enough to learn from friends at school."
9. Oops: "I accidentally locked my son in the car with the keys, when both my dog and cat were in there and he wasn't in his car seat. Luckily the windows were cracked enough to open the door after 20 min. It wasn't hot or anything but just funny because he was climbing all around the car."
10. Elf on a Shelf: "My nephew found his elf on a shelf in my sisters bedroom drawer in the middle of summer and asked why he was there. My brother in law thought quickly and told my nephew that Santa heard he was being naughty at school so the elf came to check on him."
11. Grape or Cherry? "I've given my kids Tylenol to help them fall asleep."
12. "George Knew Just What To Do! ... and Lived Happily Ever After": "There's always the classic skipping a few pages when reading them a bed time story just to finish sooner."
13. Genius Mom: "I buy chocolate mint ice cream because I know our boys don't like it, and I won't have to share any with them."
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The intimate, the harrowing, the sweet, the surprising — the human.
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The author is a writer, performer and visual artist based in Melbourne, Australia.
My marriage is splintering. My baby’s just over a year old and my toddler nearly 3. They wake every single night — my older boy is asthmatic — and I’m the one who gets up to help them. My mother has a loving bond with my boys, and it’s good to have another pair of hands and someone to talk to. The tension between me and my husband escalates daily. He wants sex. I want to sleep for 200 years. He sulks.
It’s late. We’ve had visitors, we’ve been drinking. I’m demented with exhaustion and stress. The baby needs a bottle and the toddler demands a hug. My husband sits on the couch and my mother’s on the floor in front of him. There’s an undercurrent, something unspoken, between them. He’s massaging her shoulders. While I get my sons fed and ready for bed, I can see the massage is becoming something else. My husband and my mother are making out, in front of me, in my living room. Unable to deal with it, I ignore them. I should throw a pot of cold water over them, throw them out of the house and out of my life, but I’m so tired my face is falling off and my bones are crumbling, and this is too outrageous to even acknowledge.
“Fuck ’em,” I think. “They deserve each other.” I take myself off to bed but can’t sleep. I hear the door to the spare room where my mother sleeps open and close. I hear them go in. Eventually, my husband comes into our bedroom.
In the morning my husband goes to work, and my mother and I pretend nothing has happened. This is the way of things in our family: hysterics when the cat’s tail gets caught in the door, but if your 16-year-old son takes off into the night in crisis or your 18-year-old daughter slashes her wrists, we don’t talk about it, it didn’t happen. Ours isn’t the only family like this, but with us the habit of denial runs especially deep.
Later, a friend asked, “Why don’t you have it out with her?” (My husband, by then, long gone .) Impossible — she’s pathologically incapable of assuming responsibility and would resort to attacking, crying or inventing excuses. Occasionally I’ve alluded to that night. Last year she wrote telling me she didn’t have sexual intercourse with my husband, and it was painful and unfair to be “falsely accused.”
It took a lot for me to understand my mother, and even more to forgive her.
When I told her I was writing this essay, she responded, “You do what you want to do. I’m not proud of some of the things I’ve done, but I can’t go back to change anything.”
Then I got a second letter, begging me not to cut her out of my life, that she would always love me unconditionally. I answered, pointing out that whether or not penetration took place is entirely beside the point, and if I were going to cut her out of my life I would have done so already. One reason I didn’t is that my sons deserve to have a grandmother who adores them, so I chose to protect their relationship with her.
It took a lot for me to understand my mother, and even more to forgive her, but I’ve learned to see her behavior in a wider context. My mother’s been competing with other women all her life — starting with her own mother over her father’s affections, with me over my father, my boyfriends, my husband, and with her friends over any man around. She’s such a flawed bundle of insecurities that she even needed her children to find her sexually attractive, imposing herself on us in ways so murkily inappropriate we were left demolished, muted, unable to form any kind of response.
Such dysfunction, such emotional disconnection, such narcissism speaks of damage that goes very deep. “I can’t remember anything from before the age of 7,” she said once. “What does that tell you?” I asked, but she remained silent.
Yet. My mother is a warm, charming woman with a playful, accommodating nature; as long as you’re not one of her offspring in emotional distress, she’s generous, kind and helpful. And she’s proud of me — even if she’s never known where she stops and where I begin: “I bathe in reflected glory” is a favorite saying of hers.
Despite the things she’s done, she loves me, tainted though that love is. As long as I play happy and keep my pain to myself, we get on famously. I can stay connected to her because I see her clearly. I know what to expect, and, more importantly, what not to. I treasure the good things we retain. But I can never trust her, and love only goes so far without trust.
Buddhism teaches that our parents give us a body, and the rest is up to us. The spiritual teacher Miguel Ruiz established four agreements for a good life, and the second is: “Take nothing personally. People do what they do because of themselves.” The night she slept with my husband, my mother was driven by her ruined child-self, by the unformed, needy part of her that can’t know right from wrong. In healing my life, I’ve drawn on the wisdom and support offered by friends, daily meditation and practicing self-awareness without judgment — quiet noticing, if you will. My mother may never address the traumas she suffered — or those she caused in my life — but I choose compassion over anger, reflection over recrimination.
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