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capturing the moment

Very busy at work. Oh, an editor from Reader's Digest is going to call me this morning to talk about one of my posts from Raising Hell. He may want to use it for a new section in RD, or at least quote me on it.

So, while I clear my desk and anxiously await the phone call, I'll just repeat the post in question, which I wrote on Mother's Day of 2002 and which is one of the few things I've written that I actually printed out and put into a notebook. Just to keep reminding myself of certain things.

Defining Moments

My defining moment as a mother came in 1994, when DJ was 18 months old. I was standing in the cold, bare hallway of a hospital, listening to my child wail and scream from behind a closed door. He was getting a spinal tap and I swear that the needle they were using was larger than he was. They wouldn't let me in the room. It was 1am and I stood in the hallway, pacing and crying and listening. Suddenly the crying stopped. I panicked, thinking they had done something terrible to my child. I ran down the hallway and looked in the tiny window on the door. A nurse was holding DJ, soothing him, rocking him and singing to him. He was cradled in her arms, wearing nothing but a diaper and a scowl. As she rocked him, the scowl turned to a half grin and he fell asleep, his face pressed against her chest.

It was then I realized a number of things.

That I could not always make it all better. Sometimes, someone else besides mommy would be there for my kids, wiping their spills and putting band-aids on their knees.

That this would not be the last time that I felt that sense of helplessness with one of my children. Motherhood is rife with helplessness. From infancy to adulthood, there are moments where you can only stand by as your children combat broken hearts, broken dreams and failed attempts. And all you can do is hug them and listen to them and know in your aching heart that they are learning how to cope.

That you feel every single things your kids feel. When they are getting a shot, you feel that pain in your arm. When they fall off their bike, you feel their scrapes. Your heart sinks after every missed free throw and strike out, after every break up and denied college application.

That you can only protect them so much. You can keep them from crossing busy streets and make them wear helmets and seatbelts. You can get them immunizations and make sure they wear their hat when it's cold out. You can protect them physically, but you cannot put a helmet or a seat belt on their hearts and souls. You can only hold their hand and offer them worn out cliches about time healing old wounds.

That no matter what, no matter what trouble they cause you, what backtalk they give you, that you will love them fiercely and unconditionally and forever. That you will still walk into their bedroom at 1am just to make sure they are breathing, even when they are in their teens. And you will look at their faces and listen to their soft dreaming sighs and your heart will fill with smiles.

That there will be times, many times, when you hate being a mother. When you can't make it all better and when there is too much whining and not enough cooperation and lost homework and messy rooms, and you run into your room and slam the door and wish you could do it all over again. And then you realize. If you could do it all over again, you would be doing this very thing.


I have no trouble believing Reader's Digest would want to publish that. Very nice.

thats beautiful
my dear
you know i'm not a mom
although i do think i'd love to adopt
one day
but i am a godmother
an auntie
a big sister
and a sorta dyke den mom from hell
for a life long cast of characters
but this post of yours
really puts it all together for me
you're a sweet wonderful
bitchy beautious mama
keep rocking

I get RD thanks to my dad. Please tell us if and when.

You summed it up perfectly. Nice writing.

great post, I loved it.

kids are amazing but parenting is where it's all at. thanks. t

how timely that you'd post that today. i'm relearning all of these things with my new daughter. that was beautiful, thanks for sharing it.

A very poignant and well-written story, Michele.
It put a lump in my throat, anyway...

Now I'm sobbing uncontrollably...this is beautiful. Keep us posted on the RD article!

Reader's Digest, eh?

Now I'll be able to read you at the computer, and in the..


library. Yeah, that's it. The Library.

(Seriously, though, that's a great story, and congrats as well!)

Cool. I think that you could easily get some of your other RH posts into RD as well....some of them are side-splittingly funny, and plus, they pay you about 400 to 500 for every anecdote.

Just the right post at the right time, Michele. I found out last night (via IM because he lives with his Dad -- how very New Age, huh?) that my eldest son has suffered his first heartbreak.

After telling him the little girl is very lucky his Momma doesn't live in Oklahoma anymore, I tried to tut-tut him with platitudes like "ya gotta kiss a lot of frogs."

And then I cried myself to sleep.

Thank you. I needed this post.

Wonderful, thanks! Busy Baby got one as a newborn and, though I'm a nurse, it was one of the worst things in my whole life.