Every Day Is Mother’s Day

by Dana S. Bader
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Mother’s Day is fast approaching, but don’t get too carried away with visions of breakfast in bed and bountiful blossoms offered up by your husband in honor of your oh so very important role in the family.  Your Mother’s Day will probably begin the same as any other day.  You may have to detach a sleeping toddler from your side, or stretch like a contortionist to climb over the toddler to free yourself from your bed. With only 30 minutes to spare to complete your morning routine, you will need to be awake, showered, dressed, and mentally prepared to wake, clean, dress, feed, and re-clean (usually in the toddler’s case) everyone else in the house in time for the morning school run.  On the way to the bathroom, you may trip over a stuffed cat or even jam an errant Lego into the tender sole of your foot just by tiptoeing over the minefield that litters your bedroom floor from the night before when your toddler first visited your room at 2:00 am complaining that she was thirsty because a purple, hairy monster with a long green tongue stole her sippy cup.

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Big School Blues

by Dana S. Bader
Hits: 117

Deciding when to have a child seemed to be the biggest decision I ever made.  My husband and I met in university, and although we were engaged for one year before marriage, once we married, he was just starting his first job as a computer programmer, and I was starting studies for my Masters.  Needless to say, as a busy newlywed just discovering what it meant to maintain a home, have a job, and complete my studies, it was difficult for me to think about having a child until I felt more settled in life.  However, the pressure was on from family and friends, so I waffled back and forth, and my husband and I had numerous discussions about when we wanted our first child.  In the end, Allah made that decision for us some 10 years after we married, but that story is for a different time.

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Yes, No . . . Maybe So

by Dana S. Bader
Hits: 146

‘No’ is not a word any child likes to hear. Something about that definitive, one-syllable word   sets them off.  I can still remember my youngest shrieking her head off one day when we were in the supermarket.  She wanted ice cream.  I didn’t want her to have ice cream. Lines were drawn in the sand, and the battle began.  It began innocently enough.  She looked up at me from her seat in the grocery cart with her wide, green eyes and said, “Mommy, please I want ice cream.”  Trying to employ what I thought were my sophisticated parenting skills, I said, “Now, I need you to help me shop, but, when we finish, we can eat lunch, and then you can have a treat.”  I was determined to be vague on the ‘treat’ because I thought I could convince her to choose a healthier option. Neither my skills nor my determination worked.  My daughter began wailing, “Ice creeeeeeeaaaam!”  Trying to get the situation under control, baring my teeth in an I-mean-business grimace, I hissed, “No means no – Absolutely no ice cream!”  All hell broke loose, and I had to abandon my shopping, grab my kicking, flailing child, and scamper away to my car as unobtrusively as possible.  It was not pretty.  Worse, I had no food in the house, and I had to go back to the supermarket later that evening after my husband came home from work.

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