Exploring the Deeper Journey of Motherhood

Acts of Gratitude by Sarah Juliusson
I saw a beautiful thing this weekend.  A woman sat down next to me at the bar of a busy neighborhood restaurant.  It was lunchtime on a rainy Saturday – just an ordinary moment in an ordinary day – not a time you expect to witness magic.

Leaning conspiratorially forward, she beckoned furtively to the waitress and asked to pay for the meal of another customer.   Many months ago, the woman had helped her, a complete stranger, in a difficult moment.  This was her opportunity to give back.  The bill was paid with a smile, and she quickly left asking the waitress to deliver her gratitude.

Gratitude.  How often do we express our gratitude to those who have helped us in ways big and small?  How often do we feel appreciated for what we have offered?  As mothers we experience both a bounty of giving and receiving help.  Saying thank you is important, yes, but I find myself musing on the different ways we can experience and express gratitude.

Remember the random acts of kindness movement that began emerged in the 90’s?  Suddenly tolls were being paid for by the car ahead, and flowers gifted on street corners.  Perhaps we can extend the idea to include random acts of gratitude.
Whether it was a moment that occurred two decades ago or support you received yesterday, why not reach out with a simple gift of gratitude?  Envision a world with more thank you cards, more mysterious flower deliveries, more bundles of cookies on our doorsteps….

Consider this our Mama Renew nudge to reach out,

say thank you, bring kindness into our world,

and share gratitude in new and unexpected ways.

Incorporating Mindfulness into Motherhood

Incorporating Mindfulness into Motherhood

How to Love Your Children with All Your Might and Still Raise a Good Kid

Growing up, Elizabeth Lesser was devoted to her dolls. As a parent, however, she's learned that such excessive giving isn't always the best for her children.

There is a Persian myth of the first two parents who loved their children so much that they ate them up. God thought, "Well, this can't go on." So he reduced parental love by something like ninety-nine and nine-tenth percent, so parents wouldn't eat up their children. —Joseph Campbell

My children and I grew up together. I was 22 when my first son took up residence in my womb. I was just a kid—a big kid having a little kid. But it didn't feel to me that I was too young, because I had been planning on having a baby for a long time—since I was about four or five. I was one of those little girls whose greatest joy was to cradle a doll, sing to it, and tuck it into its crib. I would never go to school without arranging the babies and stuffed animals comfortably on my bed, making sure they were warm in the winter and cool in the summer, and grouped according to their current likes and dislikes of each other. I already was afflicted by the motherhood gene: I could feel what my dolls were feeling; I wanted them to be happy and safe; I worried about their wellbeing. My sisters found in my devotion to my dolls a reliable way to antagonize me. I once found a baby doll hanging in my room like a lynch mob victim, the pull-string of the window shade wrapped around her pudgy plastic neck.

For months after this incident, I paid extra attention to the doll, hoping its little psyche had not been traumatized. If such a thing existed I would have found a doll therapist and spent my allowance on the baby's recovery. Even after I stopped playing with them, I never banished my dolls to a box in a closet. I knew that would hurt their feelings. I still have them; they sit silently on a shelf in my grown-up bedroom. I rearrange their seating every now and then.

Can you really love your children less ?

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