The boundless love a parent has for their child is matched only by their capacity to embarrass them.
Your Mom ALWAYS Knows
I am 24-years-old and have a wonderful, healthy, relationship with my mother. I love my mom. She's the person I go to when I need to think through a problem, and when I want to talk to someone about my day. Perhaps like many young adults, I am continuing to develop my open communication with my mother. It's gotten better over the years, but I am guilty of not responding to texts and not updating my mom, when I probably should have.
The Honey Bucket Story
Growing up on the outskirts of St. John’s, on a dirt road where all the houses backed onto the forest, could be a magical place to a ten-year-old boy.
History of Mothers Day
"There is nothing as cozy as the mother’s lap, no flower as beautiful as our mother’s smile, and no route as easy where the footsteps of our mother have been imprinted. Let us rejoice this mothering. Let us feel blessed and privileged for having such affectionate mothers in our lives who have sacrificed their own elations to make us smile. Let us just put an effort to make this day great and big for them."
64 Crayons with a Built-In Sharpener
When I was little and anticipating that first day back to school, I so wanted that big box of crayons with the built-in sharpener in the back.
There was always an aching emptiness in my heart as a child, a constant draining feeling that I was missing something. Maybe it was the relationship with a father that every child yearns for. My dad was always there until he wasn’t, until his priorities were not his own child, but his own selfish acts. It wasn’t my fault, it never was, it wasn’t my mother’s either it was nothing but his own. My mother who raised me alone with 3 other kids, would often reach out in search of financial support, I remember hearing his spiel of excuses and always justifying them. So, it left my mother to raise me alone. (as a child) I started to think I was unimportant and was of no value in my father’s life. My mother would often reassure me that he didn’t think of me as a burden and he did truly care for me and loved me, and that he was trying, but was he? It pained me to see her lie so I didn’t grow to resent him, I always saw right through the pain in her eyes, and I heard what she refused to say. Whenever he did provide support, it was very little. It was even more difficult for my mother to get by due to her depression, so I watched her suffer even more because of this. Nine years after he went back to his native country, I had finally managed to afford a trip to see him. I thought that maybe this trip would rekindle the bond that we once had when I was a child and maybe I wouldn’t have to constantly feel bad about him never being around. This trip was what I needed. I needed a father. At least that’s what I told myself.
The Gift Arrives
It came in the mail. The letter. A priority envelope… with three envelopes inside. When my aunt asked for my address, letting me know my mother wanted to send me a Christmas and birthday card (note… the request came in February, well after Christmas and before my March birthday), I predicted most of what I received at the end of March.
The Messy Truth
When originally starting The Un-Traditional Mother, my goal was not only to let everyone struggling know they are not alone but was also to shed some ugly truths. So many people and celebrities glamorize parenting that it can lead your brain to believe that you are not enough. After all, when the facts come out and the cameras are off, sometimes parenting is not exactly... well, it's messy.
A Father's Pride.
Thrift shops are a relatively new concept in my life. Growing up in Colombia, there was always someone that could use your hand-me-downs. From relatives that cannot pass on the opportunity of getting anything for free to domestic employees that hint at the fact that there is no room in the closets because it’s been a while since you did a spring cleaning. The same goes for old appliances: as long as there is the remote possibility of repairing them, someone will take them off your hands when the new replacement arrives. There is also the guy in an old pickup truck that drives by the neighborhoods announcing over a PA system that they pay for your scrap metal and broke-beyond-repair appliances.
A Love Most Cruel
As a child, I imagined I must have been adopted……... I crafted these beautiful intricate storylines in which I was magically swept into an impossibly beautiful, kingdom. There would be singing, dancing, all the food I could eat, and apologetic explanations of how you had somehow stolen me away.
The sound of the Crunch
I was born in Chardon, OHIO. It's basically in the town of Middlefield. I grew up there till I was around 7 or 8 years old. It was a small apartment with only two bedrooms. At that time, my brother and I were still young enough to share a room. It was right across the hall from our parent's room. It was just a tiny apartment where we lived.
My Dad dying changed my Mum
My childhood was a seemingly happy one, I was the youngest of four girls and although there is a big age gap between me and my eldest sister; we still had a lot of fun that I can vividly remember. However, there are more sad memories than happy ones. It is no secret to friends and family that my parents were mildly neglectful; my dad loved a drink after work and he wanted my mum with him, regardless of the fact that there were four children at home that needed looking after. I remember my parents being at home a lot more at night when I was young but as soon as the sister above me was old enough, we were left on our own for hours on end. This was an age before mobiles and where we had to have a list of phone numbers
A Full Circle Love Story
My parents’ love story is by no means an epic romance, or a romance at all really. Their marriage was in fact something that probably should never have happened. But it is still a love story. They met as fresh-faced 20-somethings, both off on very different ventures into adulthood which, by happenstance alone, brought them to the same geographical location at the same time. My mother was a post-college graduate seeking literary inspiration from mountains, an ideal that was instilled in her early on in the stories of Heidi’s adventures in the Alps. My dad, a rebel, was seeking to escape to a place where the road was open and adolescent legal troubles would not follow. Both wannabe hippies in their own rights led them to Santa Fe, New Mexico in the late 1970s.