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There used to be four of us. Birthdays, vacations, anniversaries –- two parents, two children. Now it’s different. Four has become seven. Two sons, two parents, one wife, one girlfriend and one mother-in-law. When your kids find worthy life companions, you don’t argue or complain about the normal being other than the old configuration, almost never hanging out – just the four of you.

I may be the wrong person to post about television and movie censorship for kids. I, after all, was raised by parents who did not believe in censorship of any kind. My older brother and I spent the entire 1970s in the back seat of the family car at the drive-in movie watching one blaxploitation movie after another. Chock-full of sex, violence, and profanity, these films drew my parents in like bees to honey. If you censored out the inappropriate subject matter in these movies in accordance with one of those child-censoring services or devices, all you’d have left is the opening credits and a small portion of the closing credits … without the music … because Shaft was a bad mother shut your mouth …

In my twenties, I fell in love with BMWs.  I loved their history, their styling, and their ability to live up to pure car enthusiast standards in terms of performance and handling.  I scraped together all my money and stretched my budget completely thin to buy my first BMW.  I absolutely loved the car.  I loved how it drove, loved how it looked and I meticulously hand-washed and waxed the car to keep it beautiful.

When I was attempting to get seven-year-old Emma and six-year-old Riley to bed one evening, I realized that I could not find Riley. I had sent her to the bathroom to get her toothbrush, and she never returned. I walked into the bathroom and found her sitting on the closed toilet with tears running down her face. Between sobs, she managed to choke out, "I just want ... to get the thing ... that holds the toothpaste ... and you can get out the last drops!"  

I spent the whole of Wednesday buried under my covers feeling sorry for myself. My daughter Paige and I have been fighting like cats and dogs as of late, maneuvering our way through the typical mother-daughter dynamics (I hate you! I love you!). I'm not exaggerating when I say that there have been some knock-down, drag-out screaming matches and threats of boycotting each other -- 4-ever! It's completely unrelenting.

As a divorced woman who read dang near every self-help book on the D-word I could find, I am very happy to recommend one of the few that helped me de-code my emotions: Falling Apart In One Piece by Stacy Morrison, editor- in-chief of Redbook.

Who Needs Toys?

Comments: 8 comments

The most enlightening advice I've received as a parent has been about toys. When celebrating our first Christmas my aunt warned me not to buy my son too many gifts because he'd be more entertained by the wrapping and boxes. She was totally right. And as my son quickly approaches his third birthday, he is still intrigued by the most unusual things. Like a kitten, he will play with a bit of string or a piece of ribbon for hours on end.

Somewhere along the way, I lost my career.

Recently at Mommytrack'd, Leslie Morgan-Steiner wrote about companies offering to let new moms bring their babies on the job. And for the thousandth time, I wondered if I ever would've been able to pull that one off.

One of the worst things about experiencing postpartum depression or anxiety is the fear.  Fear of what's happening to you.  Fear that no one else will understand.  Fear that you'll never get better.  I'd like to help allay those fears, even just a little bit.  I can tell you right now that there are A LOT of people who understand, and with help you'll DEFINITELY get better. 

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