When I think of parenting, I try not to think about how my parents raised me. They were just kids themselves when they married and by the time they divorced, they had barely made it past their mid-20′s. For me, I want to my son to look back and not say that I was a SuperMom, or I didn’t have a clue. I want him to say ,”She was extraordinary.”

Extraordinary parenting is not about opening your wallet. It’s about finding an island in the flurry of life, slowing down and enjoying that time together. Giving yourself, tuning out the outside noise, listening to the inside and what’s coming from the inside of your children. It’s about time spent together and focusing on your kids and nothing else. No distractions, no internet, no smartphones, no television. That’s extraordinary parenting.

This little boy, the love of my life. My heart, pride and joy will be gone from my home in the not-to-distant future. Sure, there are years attached to that future, but I see him growing and changing every single day. Knowing my time to show him the extraordinary in life is limited has been more than difficult for me to fathom.

As a parent, our time is always limited with our children. One moment,we’re their entire world and in the next we don’t get a second thought. That’s why it’s always been important for me to share the beauty of the world, relish in his laughter and for us as a family to live exuberantly. I want him to know he’s always loved. That no matter what he does, no matter how bad it is, that I’ll still love him no matter what.

I’ve always told him that as long as he tells me the truth, I’ll never be angry with him. While I might get upset, anger won’t be part of the equation. My mother told me the same thing. However, due to her temper issues, it never worked out that way. As a parent, I hold myself to a different set of standards. It’s saved a lot of time, headache, heartache and clashes.

Childhood is a time of innocence. As parents, we’re taking these developing minds and personalities and helping mold future leaders of industry and thought. Part of what children carry throughout life is learned at home. While their thoughts and ideas will develop and change, our children still need to know we believe in them. We believe in their thoughts, dreams, and ideas, even if it isn’t our ideal.

No matter what, I want Peanut to know how much he is loved and that I tried to show him the extraordinary in every day.

That’s my dream for every child: extraordinary parenting.

Parenting is the hardest job I’ve ever had and will ever have. It’s made even more difficult by the constant interference of media. Especially when it’s bad media. When the media makes me #ashamed to be in the media business.

Why am I hashtagging #ashamed? Because of this:

The State of Georgia has taken it upon themselves to place billboards such as this all over in hopes that it will shame parents, or their children, into looking at their weight issues and make them “deal with it”. My friend Leah brought it to my attention again, here: http://www.mamavation.com/2012/01/shaming-the-fat-kid-is-not-solving-the-obesity-epidemic.html.

Quite frankly Georgia, you piss me off.

Do you know what it’s like to be President of the “but you have such a pretty face” club?

I do.

Do you know what it’s like to be told “I’d date you, but you’re too heavy”?

I do.

Do you know what it’s like to be told that if you lose thirty pounds, someone will buy you a new wardrobe?

I do.

Do you know what it’s like for your boyfriend’s mother to look at a photo of you and say “she’s pretty, but don’t you think she could lose some weight”?

I do.

Do you know what it’s like being told “I can trust you with my boyfriend, because he’d never date someone like you”?

I do.

Do you know what it’s like to be out in public with your husband and people don’t assume you’re together because of your weight?

I do.

I’ve had a weight problem my entire life. My sister has always been much slimmer than me. I ate less, exercised more and yet was shopping for “husky” jeans while she was shopping “for cute” clothes. Believe me, that’s enough to damage the psyche of any child. Throw in the above and a million more things I could add and there is damage no child will ever recover from.

Believe me, my weight in the beginning was not a lifestyle issue. No one in my very large, very active family was heavy except my paternal grandmother.

As an adult, having seen these advertisements on the interstate in Georgia, I was gobsmacked. The audacity of these legislative suits who thought an ad campaign shaming children, embarrassing them for their weight problems, was a good idea is beyond reprehension.

Do not get me wrong, childhood obesity is a serious problem. Shaming a child with a weight problem is not how you deal with it. The shame makes the weight worse. Don’t believe me? I know what I’m talking about. The shame makes that child seek comfort. You know how that child finds comfort?

Food. 

It’s a twisted, two-headed snake. You have to have food to live, but not live for it. However, it doesn’t matter how smart the child is. Food causes a chemical reaction in the body akin to a high.

An opioid is a chemical that works by binding to opioid receptors, which are found principally in the central and peripheral nervous system and the gastrointestinal tract. The receptors in these organ systems mediate both the beneficial effects and the side effects of opioids.

Let that sink in.

Food for me is a drug. I didn’t realize it until I was sitting in bed the other night reading Dr. David Kessler’s book “The End of Overeating”. However, it’s not like I’m eating all the time, or binging. It’s the opposite. I have to have my trigger foods in the house.

When I have a food that is high in fat and sugar, I can’t stop eating it. I know I’m full. My stomach and brain don’t make the connection.

I’m a drug addict needing that high.

But, in order to get that high, since I was already accustomed to the previous level, I have to eat more. Even though my stomach is uncomfortably full, my brain doesn’t register satiety. It’s like a smoking gun and I like the smell.

Robert Downey, Jr. described addiction as having a loaded gun in your mouth and liking the taste. He is right on. I like the metal in my mouth, finger on the trigger. It tastes good.

Seeing this happen to other children is UNACCEPTABLE.

If this campaign speaks to you, and you’re moved by my words, then join us. Let your opinion be heard tonight on Twitter and Facebook. Let them know what you think, how you feel. Join my friend Leah Segedie and others as she leads us in a Twitter chat tonight from 9-10pm EST using the hashtag #ashamed.

If you would like to voice your opinion you can do it directly AT The Strong 4Life Campaign.

Twitter: @Strong_4_Life

Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/S4LGA

Logic never wins. Especially when you’re dealing with an 11 year-old boy who thinks he can out-logic you, the parent. Peanut had a four day weekend and it was filled with logic issues, none successful.

First. Don’t debate breakfast with me. Trying to tell me you’ve eaten breakfast when all you’ve done is grabbed a cheese stick out of the fridge and ran to get on the computer won’t allow you to be a winner. Add some fruit. Maybe a piece of toast. Sure, I can call that a light weekend breakfast.

Second. A kids Clif bar is not for lunch.It’s a snack. Don’t tell me “well, it’s got x grams of protein” nor “I promise there’s not that much sugar.” I do read labels you know.

Third. Grabbing my head in a wrestling hold and trying to pull it down low enough so I can smell the sulfer seeping out of your teeny tiny buttocks is not a win. Logic will not help you there. It’s not a medical issue that I inspect your flatulence.

Fourth. Showers are non-negotiable. You’re 11 and hair is sprouting in places I don’t want to know about. Get thee to the bathroom and scrub the stench off of your little furry pits.

Finally. Don’t argue with me about bedtime. I’m not going to argue with you. I’m going to tell you to get over yourself and go to bed. End of story.

Do you ever feel like logic is going to make you lose it? I know that the daily logic battle is far from over, but at least I can prepare myself.

School is out for a four day weekend while semesters are changed and the kids classes are setup. Quelle horreur for the parent of an 11 year old boy who thinks he can go from sixth grade to world ruler without brushing his teeth regularly.

Instead of trying to figure out what we could do together, since I’m enemy number one on the anti-cool list, I’ve left him be today. He’s played video games, read, ran around like a mad man and in general, we’ve stayed out of each others hair. Works for me, you know?

I’ve gotten a bunch of work done and enjoyed a super sweet boy — since I’m leaving him alone — and instead of my desk or the kitchen table, I’m curled up on my sofa with a lapdesk. There’s only one problem. In order to fill my coffee cup, I have to go through an entire process of setting it all down on the floor, fix my coffee and then set up all over again.

Ugh. Yes, ugh. Don’t judge. I’m willing to be we’ve all been in the same conundrum before.

Cue Peanut to saunter into the living room wondering where I had put his new library book. Peanut. Walking around. Coffee cup. Empty. Peanut. Standing there looking at me. Coffee cup, begging to be filled.

LIGHTNING STRUCK!

“Peanut, sweetie, would you make Mommy a fresh cup of coffee using the Keurig and measure out two teaspoons of half and half for me? Pretty please.” For a minute, he looked at me like I’d grown two heads, then sighed, rolled his eyes and said “you know, it’d be a lot easier if you weren’t doing Weight Watchers and I didn’t have to measure the half and half.”

Keurig.com

Score one for Mom! Fresh coffee and I didn’t have to move! Now I understand why my Mom taught me how to brew coffee when I was eight! It wasn’t that she didn’t like making coffee, she knew she had a kid who could do it for her.

Which makes me wonder, why isn’t there a super secret handshake Mom’s club where you are taught these secrets when pregnant? If there were, Peanut would have been brewing coffee for a long time…

I have been playing games with Mr. Y or I should say he has been playing them with me. I got an email from my attorney last week for an address to have him served. I asked Mr. Y what the address was. His response was cut and dry, “The sheriff’s office knows how to find me.” One of the many pleasures in being married to a cop. I continued to ask two more times with the same response. Naturally I asked, “Is this what you want?” He responded with “We’ve already discussed this.” Okay then! I got the address on my own and mailed my attorney. The following day, Mr. Y told me that he wasn’t sure what he wanted. Really? Why not tell me that when I asked. I know it’s a power thing for him but I’m not allowing it. I am taking back the power and controlling my own destiny. He was served on Monday. I asked him one last time if this is what he wanted. He played the game and said, “I have 19 days left to decide.” He doesn’t understand that there is nothing left to decide or to think about. He made his choice and now he has to deal with it. For my sake and my children’s, I am moving forth with the divorce and putting an end to the power struggle. It is actually a big relief on my shoulders. I am still in the midst of the storm but I know that God has a rainbow waiting just for me at the end.

It’s been a long time since I’ve written on Mommyality. In fact, I was worried I didn’t have anything left to offer. Peanut is now 11 and with his growing older, it means times are changing. I’ll be an empty nester in a little over six years when he goes off to college.

That’s a tough pill to swallow.

Being a mother has been the hardest yet most fulfilling job I’ve ever had, or ever will have. I love it with all my being.

As I work him up this morning, I took the rare opportunity to crawl in his bed and cuddle. Kiss on his cheeks without him pulling away and just breath in the scent of my little boy turning into a man. In case you’re wondering what the scent is, it’s a combo of Old Spice and Irish Spring bodywash.

All of this made me realize I have so much more to share. I have a whole lifetime of my own Mommyality. Mine isn’t about diapers, breastfeeding or potty training, but something that goes beyond that. I’m more worried about how I’m going to help him when his heart is broken for the first time, or how I’ll deal with the inevitable peer pressure he will face.

So, I do have a lot to offer here. Mommyality is just growing up, right along side Peanut.

I’ve never been happier.

I’m a little over the old design. I’m ready for a change and it’s time for me to update. So, sorry, right now everything is plain and white, but over the next week, I’m going to be updating the site and making it gorgeous. I could have taken it off line or worked on the layout on a subdomain, but wanted to make it live.

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If you have any comments about what you’d like to see, please let know!

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XOXO,

Lisa

I met a boy who broke my heart.  He also touched me deeply.  His unbridled sense of enthusiasm and welcoming demeanor was at odds with the bad stuff he has encountered in his young life.

Joe (not his real name) befriended me at the Thompson Child & Family Focus Holiday Chapel Service.  As I took my seat in the row behind him, he turned around and with a firm handshake, welcomed me to worship.  We exchanged a few words and smiles, before he invited me to move up and sit beside him.

I readily complied and enjoyed the service even more as he “guided and instructed” me on   how to follow along, the difference between the Bible and Hymnal, and who all the players were.

Mr. JD, Thompson’s spiritual director who was leading the service, is the “guy who owns this place, I think,” said Joe.  Of course, I knew differently but there was really no reason to set the record straight.  I mean, what difference could it make to Joe if I told him that hundreds of generous donors and volunteers have a hand in creating a safe haven like Thompson?

For Joe, understanding the complexities of a nonprofit operation would pale in comparison to the essence of this annual Christmas service and the abiding care he receives from JD and the Thompson “family.”

This 11-year-old boy continued as my teacher, explaining that the smoke from the Altar candles was God’s spirit with us in this very room. And, that God is always with us, no matter what.

His role as interpreter and experienced participant was not directed toward me alone. He asked me to change seats a couple of times when he determined that a very little girl behind us was having trouble seeing the goings-on at the front of the Chapel.

We shared some food together after worship, and he asked me if I would come back again to visit him.  I don’t know exactly why Joe is living at Thompson’s psychiatric residential treatment center because that is confidential. But, I know that because he is here, it means someone who was supposed to love him instead chose to hurt or neglect him.

And here at Thompson, Joe will get the best professional treatment and support available – leading him from trauma to stability and success.

That one hour with Joe was the best gift I’ll receive this Christmas season.  While he navigated me through the steps of the service, he shared the confidence and strength he is just beginning to embrace. In doing so, he wrapped up joy and hope and handed them to me.  This child, who has known the worst of humanity, is finding hisway.

I’m glad he broke my heart.  I know the pain will lead me to do more to help children like Joe redeem their lives.

Full disclosure:   Kathy Rowan has worked as a public relations consultant, volunteered and contributed to Thompson for the past six years.

 photo credit: tozofoto(Merry Christmas)

Hello! I wanted to introduce myself and share a little about what you can expect from me. My name is Esther. I am currently married and separated from Mr. Y. We have five kids. Sarah, Rebekah, Asher, Ruth and Matthew.  We haven’t been separated for long. Less than a week to be exact. I am Christian and draw my strength from God. But I am also a woman that has been scorned. I will have my weak moments.  I will have my strong moments. I want to share that here because I don’t want others to feel alone like I was feeling. I want others to see that no matter how little control they think they have, they have control.

Am I mad that my husband of the last decade, just walked out? Yes. Did I make mistakes over the years? Yes. Did he make mistakes over the years? If you ask him, no. But it’s a marriage. We have both made mistakes. We have had five kids together which means that there should have been some working things out instead of running away. Now I am working on just holding out hope while he has his “space” and as he referred to it yesterday, “vacation”. This is a story that you’ll definitely want to be reading about. Adultery, toxic family members, alcohol and abuse all mixed in with a love story that had passion. Apparently a passion that has been blown out. I hope as I take you along my journey, I will be helping someone else. This is not a story that is going to be about trashing on men or even Mr. Y. I still love him no matter how much he destroyed our family.

DISCLOSURE: To protect my children, I will not be using their real names. I will never mention Mr. Y by his first name either. The facts will be real and they may not be pretty. On either part. I don’t think I can truly help someone else if I can’t fully disclose my own actions.

Bet you didn’t think I was ever going to show up over here again, did you? Well, I haven’t meant to ignore Mommyality, however life has totally gotten in the way. And when I say life, I’m talking about every damn germ on the planet ever trying to invade my body. Life has been hard in the trenches and I’m sorry, but I’m not a camo kind of girl. Let’s just say my yoga pants are worn and tired now.

First off, I was invaded with a lovely staph infection. Fun. Even more fun? It was under my arm and had to heal…and I couldn’t shave. I looked ready or swimsuit season under one and like BigFoot under the other. Oh, and even better? I couldn’t use anything under one arm for odor control, gross! Hence my permanently wrinkled pits from all the bathing I did. As soon as I started to feel better, the flu came to visit and it sucked. Finally, as soon as I start feeling human? My little germinator brought me a gift that only schools give the best…a stomach virus.

I know. It’s like staring at the sun, you don’t want to look away from the train wreck I’ve been. However, it gets worse. I know you’re wondering how it could get worse…but lemme tell you, it does.

I started watching reality television. 

Oh my. I can’t believe I just confessed that. However, confession is good for the soul and I’m here to share my sins. Forgive me readers, for I have watched Basketball Wives, Love and Hip Hop, too many episodes of crazed brides and Martha Stewart — 3 times a day.

Now, Martha once a day isn’t so bad. However, when you start watching Martha in a fever induced daze, things get ugly…especially around your house. Nothing lives up to Martha’s perfection. Picture me sitting there, one beautifully shaven armpit, the other looking like Magilla Gorilla and I’m telling myself “I can be Martha. Martha loves me. She just wants my life to be as perfectly perfect and organized as hers. And? She’s a bad girl who’s been to prison for insider trading. I get street cred.”

Yeah….

Go ahead and tell yourself that when your sick and see where you wind up. Curled up on the living room floor, because you don’t have the energy to haul your ass back to the sofa, after trying to craft a wreath made of toothpicks, hot glue and handmade gum paste flowers or something. You’ll also find yourself crying over toilet paper origami when sitting on the toilet during the stomach virus debacle, or as it’s now known in my house “that day Mom lost her mind”.

 photo credit: macwagen

Heh. I’m one of those people when sick…crazed and maniacal. However, I was an herbaceous smelling crazed and maniacal, as I had to bath in tea tree oil soap.

Now that I have that load off of my sagging chest — hey, I’m nearly 40, my chest is going to sag until Dad ponies up the cash for the boob job I’m waiting on — there are a few other things to share.

Mommyality is getting a makeover. I’m in the process of building out the new theme, but it won’t launch until after Christmas. And? I have a new writer coming on board for a while. She’s a well-known blogger who needs a space to get some things off of her ample busoms. We’re going to call her Esther. She’s living her own form of Mommyality. It’s intense, emotional and will make you sit back and reevaluate your entire life.