For the mother who wants nothing, more than hugs.

For the mother who needs nothing, beyond time spent together.

For the mother where words of cheerful greeting find they can never be enough, but are still said anyways.

For the woman who held your hand as a newborn, when fingers curled around a significantly larger one; who held your hand at two, at four, at fourteen and, now, whose hand often seems small wrapped tightly inside your own.

For the woman who is more than “mother.” (Aren’t we all?) But who made being mother her priority.

For the woman who surely had her own dreams, but helped you realize yours.

For the woman who holds your own children, her tender grandbabies, as if they were her own, only softer because she’s come to understand even more, if possible, the reality that nothing else matters beyond love like this.

For the women who didn’t have a mother-love like I’ve described.

For the people who have mothers but have, equally, wounds to heal: look around and know that the world is your mother and that, sometimes, mothers are not born by a birth, but by love, dedication and guidance. (And, often, this mother is best found in ourselves.)

I know, more, that as I raise my own kids with the most earnest love I’ve ever felt, that I’ll also be the source of many pointed fingers and awful tales, and rightly so.

I hope, sincerely, that a good mother is made not always by action, as so often easily and idealistically declared, but, too, by intention and by honest, love-filled labor.

Because we are mothers, but we are not perfect.

We are women, but we are much more.

So, to my children and to the mother who bore me (and to everyone), I offer up my deepest, most heartfelt gratitude for the most excruciatingly difficult role a person could ever play in another’s life and for, equally, a position for which there truly are no words.

(But I’ll say them anyways.)

Happy Mother’s Day, Mom.

Photo: Author’s own.

The post (Happy Mother’s Day to All.) {A Poem} first appeared on Jennifer S. White.

I’ll admit to being a mother who once rolled her eyes when other moms couldn’t have playdates because it was “nap time.”

Not that I’m unaware of the extreme importance of keeping regularity within a child’s scheduled day—my daughter’s school breaks have always been one-part wonderful time off and one-part complete upset from lack of typical structure.

Still, it always seemed so annoying—and, I’ll admit, selfish—that other moms frequently wanted to get together at their houses because of so-and-so’s nap time—only now, I completely get it.

Because the thing is, in relation to most subjects both including naps as well as those completely separate from parenthood, one of the worst things to encounter is someone who thinks they understand a situation fully, but really don’t understand it at all—like me…with naps…before my second child was born.

Yes, my first daughter napped, but, looking back, not really; not much at all and almost never in her crib (it’s a long story). My second daughter, however—now five months old—naps three times a day, at the same time—well, until daylight savings time recently hit.

Our entire day is pretty much spent getting her to sleep, letting her sleep and then nursing her when she wakes up. (You know—it’s like I have a baby or something.)

More than this, though, I’m glad that she’s learning to self-soothe herself to sleep and has a time for her growing brain to rest and flourish (all the reasons babies and children nap in the first place). And now I get it—a mother’s job is to figure out how to go about daily life, including the needs of an older four-year-old child who obviously still does not nap, while giving these napping youngsters what they need.

There’s one afternoon of the week where we have activities and are largely not around. My baby is young enough, thankfully, that even though she’s angry to not be home cozy in her crib, she’ll sleep a little in the sling that I’ll wear, as her portable little mommy-bed. This allows her to doze and my other child to get out of the house a bit. (I’m sure when the weather warms up here in the Midwest, the stroller will be another welcome, occasional change.)

But back to having other friends who are also nap keepers: how are two nap keepers to play? My current answer: they don’t.

This leads to what many mothers I know, myself being one, experience: more solitude away from other adults than one human being should endure.

Not every young mother out there has family close by—this is one real “dilemma” of modern, American society. This means we don’t have Nanas over every day to keep company or lend us an ear or a hand to be held, while reminding that, “This too shall pass, dear.”

Additionally, it’s ideal for mothers to have friends with kids at a similar age—there’s a shared experience of life happening; one of dirty diaper mounds and exhausted eyes and tender mommyhearts and moments when only someone else going through it understands that some good days mean simply not yelling at someone. Yet, if my ideal friend also has young kids and we both have nap times to deal with, then how can we be real-life buddies, outside of texting and Facebook and Instagram? So far, I haven’t figured that out.

What I have figured out is this: There are spaces in life that happen and challenge—especially, ahem, the social, extrovert parent—who needs companionship and conversations of full sentences not about poop or potties, and these spaces are not for us, but for those we love.

In other words, it’s important—crucial, actually—to recognize that my own self-care is important—I will never be a woman, or condone a woman, who doesn’t care for herself and her own needs, using family as an excuse. Regardless, I chose—and would choose again and again—to have children. This, currently, means partners in the bathroom (always), food stains on random furniture (sometimes), and most friendships happening virtually or part-time, as opposed to random coffee get-togethers and anytime phone conversations.

But it doesn’t mean I don’t miss my friends, with kids or without. It doesn’t mean, either, that I don’t think of myself as a woman separately from “Mommy”—but, right now, I am Mommy.

So, I’ll let it slide when other moms, in my future, internally roll their eyes at my, “I’d love to play…at my house,” or, “Maybe after lunch, but before two, or after three-thirty, but before five? Somewhere in there?”

And I’ll keep, too, the knowledge secreted away that one day I will no longer be nap keeper—and this day will come much too soon.

Photos: Flickr/thejbird; Flickr/peasap.

The post The Nap Keeper: A Tale of Friendships, Naps & Motherhood. first appeared on Jennifer S. White.

There’s something nearly ubiquitous about moms—they give you tons of advice that you proceed to ignore and then later wish you hadn’t.

Moms are right quite a lot of the time, and I have a vague understand of why, now that I’m a mother too.

And it’s simple. It’s not complex:

Mothers have your best interests at heart.

So, here are ten things that my mom was right about.

1. People need space. When I was 14 and in a relationship with my boyfriend (now husband), I was definitely inappropriately possessive.

My mom told me that this type of behavior has the opposite desired effect. She also told me that if I wanted him to want to spend time with me, that I needed to give him the freedom to do whatever he chose.

Not shockingly, she was right.

If you’re in a relationship, you’ll find that, ironically, when you stop demanding attention that it’s usually more likely to come your way.

2. Take your shoes off in the house. This isn’t necessarily sage wisdom, it’s just good common sense.

3. Don’t be late. I was always late for high school. My hauntingly annoying alarm clock couldn’t even wake me up.

My mom explained to me that when you’re late, you’re placing more importance on yourself than on others.

In short, you’re being a self-centered asshole.

She was right.

4. Say please and thank you. They make everything sound nicer.

Please, stop farting and go use the bathroom.

Thank you for hugging me after my temper tantrum instead of fighting back.

You get the idea.

5. Be kind. My mom is the sort of lady who is kind to everyone.

She doesn’t treat anyone like she’s above them and she’s polite, even to absolute strangers, and, you know what? She’s got a lot of wonderful friends and people who love her.

See, nice guys (and gals) do win. So there. (Oops, wait a minute, my mom taught me not to gloat.)

6. Clean up. My mom is absolutely amazing at keeping a clean house. I am not. This did not work on me (but I tend to think that I’m still in the ignoring advice phase and will shortly be bumped up to the she was right, this works so much better status).

Regardless, I do feel better when I get off my rear and do the dishes and wash the laundry and, you know, take care of my surroundings…because I live in them…and that’s what you do.

I’ll be sure to keep you posted on progress in this arena. (Although, for more accurate information, you should probably just go and ask my husband.)

7. Find joy in your daily life. Oh, I could write an entire book on the merits of this mindset. Come to think about it, I’ve definitely written several articles.

One of my absolute favorite things to do with my mom is go to the grocery store. Yep, the grocery store. Why? Because we have fun!

If you can’t smile and laugh and find the simple joy in those small, seemingly inconsequential aspects of your life and of your day, then, in my not-so-humble opinion, you’re missing the entire point—and you’re definitely missing out.

8. Eat together. We always ate together. It was a big deal in my family.

Sometimes you live alone and sometimes you work alone and sometimes you simply can’t or don’t eat with others—but try to as often as you’re able.

Once you do, you’ll understand immediately why this makes life better.

Food and love are meant to be shared. (And if you think that food and love are not one and the same, then you obviously haven’t tried my gingerbread.)

9. Say excuse me. For example: No, I’m not mad at you, but thank you for saying “excuse me” and going to the restroom.

Moving on…

10. Work hard—and then accept that some things are not within your control. Okay, that might have been a slightly lengthy intro line, but it’s true.

My mama always said to put effort into everything that I do.

If I’m driving, I pay attention to the road. If I’m listening, then I’m not thinking about what I want to say.

She taught me that life requires elbow grease and gumption—and then you have to learn to go with the flow and accept those moments where no amount of personal effort will change your circumstances.

Life is what happens to you while you’re busy making other plans. (Although, that was John Lennon and not my mom talking there.)

Still, same principle.

My mom has a lot of faith that things generally work out for the best if you also try—and, I don’t know about you, but I might be working on putting  #10 into practice for much of my life.

My mom actually taught me a lot more than 10 good things. (Don’t worry.)

She also taught me where the forks go on the table and how to shop frugally—but those didn’t make it on this list because they’re boring.

So thanks, Mom. If I can teach my little girl, your granddaughter, an ounce of the wisdom that you’ve imparted to me, then I’ll consider myself a success.

Now, if I could only remember where those darn knives go…

Photo: Gordon/Flickr.

This article was first published by elephant journal.

The post 10 Things Your Mom was Right About. first appeared on Jennifer S. White.

His hand moves down the back of my neck.

I feel his caress linger in places that make my skin jump as his palm trails down my side.

Momentarily, I’m more inside of my body—feeling the rhythm of my heartbeat and breath—than I’m typically capable of during even my best days on my yoga mat.

I feel my breath catch when he takes his hand away from me—so that he can catch her as she’s about to fall.

I watch the steadiness come back into her own breath once she realizes that her daddy is there—by her side—making her feel safe again.

I let out the slow exhale that has temporarily stalled, both at my instant reaction to her near thud and to my own disappointment at our brief—but warm—touching.

I’m moved by his dedication to her.

I’m also reminded of when it was me who housed the majority of this attention, and I recognize that the difficulty of such a critical transition is most likely what leads to mother-daughter jealousy and unnecessary but bitter—and often subconscious—mother-daughter battles.

I’m glad that I’m not envious of my daughter.

Surely, I admire her.

I admire her easy charm and her winning smiles. I admire, too, the assertiveness with which she reminds me that I have to share this man I’ve married, and then generously gifted to her.

She lets me know that we do, indeed share him, when she comes up and wraps her arms around his neck while I’m hugging his waist.

She suggests this, also, when she climbs in between us on the couch—or, rather, up onto his lap where my head had been resting.

More, she tells me—sometimes subtly and sometimes not so subtly—that part of this bargain of the joys of motherhood—especially when mothering a female child—is to never insist on being number one or, at the very least, his only number one, when you’re parenting a daughter with a man.

A daughter whispers—albeit silently—things like this:

Dear Mom,

Yes, don’t forget that you’re his wife.

Please continue wearing pretty clothing for him and, for the love of God, change out of your yoga pants before he comes home from work.

Please kiss him, tenderly, lovingly—brazenly—but be mindful that I’m watching too.

Hold his hand when you’re walking with him or driving side-by-side in the car—but turn and smile back at me or hold my hand as well.

Be kind to him so that I know you love him—and so that I see what love should look like and what I can aim for myself.

Go out with him—be a couple—but come home to me and always kiss me goodnight.

Encourage him to be patient with me and to talk with me, even if it’s an uncomfortable subject for him to address. This helps me learn how to open up and share my thoughts and needs with others.

Be sexy and womanly. Wear things that make you feel special and sassy, but don’t degrade yourself and do things that make you uncomfortable in order to please someone else. I want to know that sex is a positive experience and something meant for me to enjoy too.

Don’t treat me like I’m your equal when I’m young. I’m not. I’m your child and I need a mommy. However, remind daddy as I grow older that I might always be his little girl, but that it’s okay for me to also be a woman. This will help me be proud of—and comfortable with—my developing body and, further, this shows me that I can lean on you when I need to (because I will).

Remember these things and, above all else, don’t forget, Mommy, that I am not you. Please try your hardest to avoid caring for me through the experiences of your own youth. I’m an individual and I want to grow intomy  best self, not yours or your ideal version of me.

On the other hand, sharing your own experiences with me let’s me know that I can share mine with you as my life unfolds.

So, Mom, help my daddy understand my wants and wishes because I need you to be on my side—but that doesn’t mean that you shouldn’t also be on his. Because that’s another thing.

It’s alright for you two to argue, as long as it’s civil and courteous and as long as I see you resolve it healthfully—this helps me see that I can expect bumps on a relationship’s road, but that this doesn’t mean things won’t and can’t work out. Still, I don’t want to see you fight—I’ll think it’s my fault and this hurts me more than you know. (Remember that some things should be done behind closed doors, when I can’t see.)

Thanks, Mom.

Oh—and one more thing—I love you.

Love, Your Daughter

Photo credits: Steven Depolo/Flickr; Author’s own.

This article was first published by elephant journal.

The post What Our Daughters Want Us to Know. first appeared on Jennifer S. White.