The Mom Blah Blah Blog

Picture a church basement classroom.  Small children sitting side by side cross-legged on a mat, looking up at a teacher as she squats precariously on the edge of a much too small child's chair.  She instructs them to hold their hands up in front of them, interlacing their fingers together, index fingers touching to form a steeple, thumbs forming the doors and they sing; the church is not a building, the church is not a steeple, the church is not a resting place, the church is the people.  They open their thumbs and wiggle their fingers and instil in their minds the visual representation of how the people they meet on Sunday are the integral part of church, not the building.  In that moment the church become a relationship instead of an institution. The church is the people. "David was allowed to keep Bathsheba."  Our pastor says when he is asked to step down in the wake of the discovery of his affair.  He is David in this story, I suppose.  She must be Bathsheba,

I had hopes that 2018 would usher in a kinder, softer year that would take it a little easier on our emotions.  Those hopes have already been dashed as I learned yesterday of the untimely death of Dolores O'riordan, lead singer of the Cranberries and 90s rock icon.  There have been a few celebrity deaths that have been hard to take but I must admit that this is one of the most difficult for me.   I was in early high school when their first album broke through the airwaves and we were offered a bright, lilting, feminine alternative to the mostly male dominated rock scene.  Sure, there was other women making music but there was something special about the Cranberries.  I spent hours with that first CD, Everybody Else is Doing It, So Why Can't We.  The dark cover, a photo of the band on a small sofa was simple and straightforward but somehow comforting.  No Need To Argue, released the next year was the bright counterpart.  The same setting, the same simple composition and a retu

The last number of years have been leading me through a process of self discovery.  We often hear about the teenage years as being the time when people figure out who they are.  Maybe I'm a late bloomer but I have recently been going through a time of soul searching and self examination.  After every new phase of life I feel altered in a way that changes me as a person.  In 2017 I hit a milestone.  It's possible that turning 40 has been a big factor in my introspection and soul searching or it could be that I am having a mid-life crisis!   Whatever the cause, this time of self analysis has lead to a new understanding of my place in this world, as a wife, as a mother, as a Christian, as a woman.  I am waking up to the consequences of the decisions I have made previously in my life as well as the possibilities that still remain. I consider myself a fairly rational and level headed person but I am also extremely empathetic and emotional.  There are quite a few people that beli

I’m not a writer.  I’m a fraud, a sham, a chartitan.  A jack of all trades, master of none.  I feel these things deeply as I read the works of the fellow members of my writing group.  I feel them deeply as I walk around in my skin every day. My inner critic is loud.  He is unscrupulous and harsh.  He doesn’t limit himself to a simple critique of my writing either, he shows up in my day to day life.  Lately I’ve become more aware of him.  Before it was just a quiet voice that whispered in my ear.  He talks all the time!  His voice background noise, static that I could tune into whenever I wanted.  It’s his right to address any part of me that he would like, talking about my appearance, my skills, my work, my hobbies, my weight.  Lately I’ve been addressing this voice, recognising him for what he is, a naysayer, a cynic, my harshest judge. A asked my husband what his inner critic sounded like after he had commented about a project he felt he hadn’t done well enough.  “I’ve never tho

I participated in a writing workshop this summer and the first thing we did as an introduction was a writing prompt about chocolate. This was my submission. It had been a while since I had written anything using a particular prompt. I enjoyed getting into the flow of writing creatively again. One dark, rich and earthy One white, sweet and buttery Different in every way Yet named the same The dark, flavour subtle Sits unmelting I stroke it with my tongue Turn it over, coax the flavour out There is depth A gentle smoky sweetness Nuts, coffee and warm seats by the fire in winter Comfort An invitation to stay longer Linger, settle in. The White It seems to start melting before it even hits my tongue Silky smoothness envelops me Coating my mouth and throat as I swallow It’s summer Bright, light and cool A refreshing walk on the beach Toes stretching out into the calm water I’m drawn more to the dark Always the dark The

Lately I have been in a few interesting and thought provoking conversations.  One of those revolved around an article entitled Why I Gave My Daughter Permission to Kick Your Son in the Balls.  The thought behind the article was that if you have exhausted all options and someone is persistent in assaulting you that you can defend yourself by any means necessary, and that includes kicking them in the balls. Another parent had then asked if it is okay to tell her son the same thing.  If it’s okay to tell a girl to get physical if she has tried to stop the perpetrator then would the same advice apply to a little boy who has been pestered or bullied by a girl.  This is not to say that she is implying a boy has every bit as much right to fight back as a girl but a question of if violence should be presented as an option for either sex.  Maybe we shouldn’t be telling girls that it’s okay to use physical retaliation either. I think this is quite sound reasoning.  Violence