Main  |  Submit New Link

Popular site (top10)  |  Top rated site (top10)  |  Recommend site (1)  |  Mutual site (3)

Category List  |  RSS/ATOM Site (1)  |  RSS/ATOM Feed (137)  |  Randum jump

RSS/ATOM Feed (137)

Distributing RSS/ATOM feeds which displayed here.


   

Finding Myself in Words  from The Momoir Project  (9/2/2010 11:14)

By Karen Bannister I live my life like I write, on a whim, without an outline. Don?t get me wrong ? I am a passionate organizer. I write grocery lists, chart family finances in a spreadsheet and have even made a living — received accolades — as an event planner. But when it comes to major decisions, I move with the wind. When I enrolled in university, I let drama choose me and I studied to be an actor until I realized I couldn?t act. When I left university with a degree in theatre but no talent, I let arts management take over my life until I realized there was no heart in it. I went back to school, to study another subject, one that sounded exotic, until I realized I wasn?t much good at that. And then I had a child. I chose one day to stop taking the pill and in the heat of the moment, convinced my husband we didn?t need an alternate contraceptive. Then, the way the wind blew that night, my son was conceived. Two years later, the wind blew again and my dau ...

Lonely, But Never Alone  from The Momoir Project  (8/26/2010 10:03)

By Danielle Christopher I shut my eyes really tight with my back turned to my young children. I am fighting not to cry in front of them. The lonely ache of missing my mom overwhelms me so much I can barely breathe. The whir of the dishwasher beside me drowns out the loud shouting from the kids who are playing eight feet away in the play room. Normally, my townhouse feels big, but not today. The kitchen is cleaned up from lunch that was barely eaten. It is supposed to be quiet time. My youngest is due for her nap soon. By the sounds in the next room, it will be hard to slow my girls down. I really could use my mom today. She has been gone for 26 years. Being a mom now, I miss her more. Hours have flown by in a sleep-deprived diaper haze since my husband left for work. My three-year-old is a tiny tornado. My nineteen-month old is miserably teething. The rain pelting on the roof makes me wonder if it will cave in. The weather cancels our plans to go to a park which is their ...

Flying Solo  from The Momoir Project  (8/20/2010 10:50)

By Liesl Jurock ?I licked my Mommy!? the boy in the seat behind me yells to the flight attendant. ?That?s nice,? she says, squeezing down the narrow airplane aisle to mediate between passengers. The father across from me has asked someone to move so he can sit with his daughter. I avoid eye contact with the father, pull my novel up in front of me. Two rows in front of me, a baby is screaming that repetitive cry that pierces the ear with its high pitch. I am a fellow parent. I know the agony of taking children on planes. But I can?t deny the voice in my head, ?Will you please shut that baby up?? I am alone on a business trip, and no one knows I?m a mom. And I?m not telling. In front of me, there?s this monitor with an array of entertainment options. Buttons, buttons, buttons and all mine to press. I don?t have to share my console, don?t have to watch kid shows, don?t have to keep one earphone off in case I?m needed. I?m not needed. During the layover ...

Epidural  from The Momoir Project  (8/14/2010 10:37)

By Karen Bannister When I was in labour with my first child, during the first stretches of pain, the nurse leaned into me and asked if I wanted an epidural. I had prepared my answer in the last months of my pregnancy, weighing the pros and cons but ultimately deciding that in a choice between pain-filled and pain-free the answer was obvious ? who wants pain? And so I arched my back, held tight to my husband?s hands and prayed that the horrible stories about mistakes leading to paralysis were just urban legends, letting the doctor insert a terribly large needle into my spine. I lay back in the bed and enjoyed the next 8 hours of labour blissfully unaware of the tug, pull and stretch my body was undergoing as my son descended the birth canal and squeezed from my body. He was born, with the doctor cheering me on, with the medical staff telling me when to push. I felt nothing. I don?t really believe this. I am a rational person and I know there is no evidence in medical ...

Win a Free Writing Class: Apply for a Scholarship  from The Momoir Project  (8/6/2010 11:06)

For those of you who have always wanted to learn to write your stories of motherhood, but can’t afford the Momoir classes, here’s your chance. The Momoir Project is offering its first-ever scholarship to two deserving moms. The first scholarship is open to any moms who want to join the fall online session of Writing for Moms. The second scholarship is open to Vancouver-area moms who want to join the fall session of Writing for Moms. These classes begin Thursday, September 16th and run every other Thursday evening for six sessions. The classes run for 6 sessions, spread over 12 weeks and will introduce you to the basics of writing a good memoir. Through readings, in-class writing assignments and sharing your stories with other moms, you will connect with other moms, get inspired and learn a lot about yourself. You must legitimately not be able to afford the classes, and be able to articulate why. You do not qualify if you have already paid for the classes, or if youR ...

Shielding My Son from Violence  from The Momoir Project  (8/1/2010 10:58)

By Liesl Jurock As my son and I were playing outside the other day, we watched a bird land on our roof. “Mommy, can I step on that bird?” my three-year-old son asks. “No!” I yell, “Why would you want to do that?” “So, I can smush it,” he smiles. “That is… that is… just wrong, Lucas. We don’t hurt animals.” “Why?” he asks. “Because we just don’t. It’s mean. It’s horrible.” I try and convey in my tone how offended I am by his suggestion, but in his eyes I see a twinkle. I can see he?s enjoying getting a reaction out of me. I change the subject, unwilling to fuel the flame of rebellion. I don’t want my son to want to hurt others. For this reason, I’ve carefully sheltered him from any television violence. So much so that he doesn’t know what a gun or sword is. We call them “tools” which he equ ...

A Real Mom?s Guide to Scrapbooking  from The Momoir Project  (7/26/2010 3:42)

By Lizabeth Pirstl Like many new moms, the allure of textured papers and delicate adornments tempted me. Friends showed me their elaborate and stunning scrapbook pages. For months I resisted ? until the day a friend casually mentioned how much her five-year-old daughter loved looking at her baby scrapbook. That’s when it hit: mommy guilt. A week later, I crossed the line ? from non-scrapbooker to scrapbooker ? but I was determined to go on my own terms. My daughter’s book would be simple and inexpensive. A complimentary background here, a butterfly sticker there, maybe a caption or two. With a plain scrapbook and some simple paper, I went to my first crop night ? an evening for moms to get together to eat, drink, gossip and work on their scrapbooks. O verwhelmed by a sea of papers and tools, and intimidated by the foreign lingo, I panicked. I cropped until I had sliced each photo to within an inch of its life. Back home, I stashed my supplies away. ...

In My Mother?s Shoes  from The Momoir Project  (7/21/2010 10:49)

By Danielle Christopher The shakes start again. I inhale and exhale in an effort to calm my nerves. I swallow hard to chase away the tears caught in my throat. The book I brought to read stays unopened in my lap. Music filters through the sanitized air. There are conversations buzzing around me in the waiting room. This waiting room means something different to me today. ?Danielle.? I gather my things and follow the nurse to the changing room, put on the pastel gown that does not close all the way. I sit clutching my belongings, waiting for my name to be called, waiting to go into the ultrasound room. For the first time, I feel like I know my mother. She was diagnosed with cancer for the second time when she was 36, the age that I am now. But I am here today to prevent getting cancer. To prevent dying from breast cancer, as she did when she was 38. Waiting is torture. After I kissed my kids good-bye this morning, I drove through the suburban streets, anxious and terrifie ...

Roots  from The Momoir Project  (7/14/2010 11:37)

by Karen Bannister The line between us is an invisible cord that runs our voices across a vast stream, from one end of the country to another. I am in the East, tucked within the tan walls of my modern, suburban home. My son is running and yelling loudly around my feet while my husband prods him on with encouraging pokes and laughter. She is in the West, held within a home of stillness and order, surrounded by the beauty of open land and ocean air, my father?s breath beside her. And yet, in spite of this distance we find togetherness in our daily talks. ?I can hear him,? she says and I note the difficulty in her voice. I ponder regularly how the distance hurts her, as I nurse my own discomfort at being a family living apart. ?Yes.? And I go on to describe to her what he is doing and how he is doing ? growing and changing so greatly in the year that has now passed between her visits. I send her pictures regularly and occasionally, we try to convene in front of the computer, ...

My Mother, My Everything  from The Momoir Project  (7/7/2010 10:28)

by Erin MacNair I have dreams that frighten me, stir me to wakefulness, often. Most of them lose their power in a respectable few minutes, but others stay lingering, like a bad ghost watching at the bedside. Tonight, a bad ghost. This was a dream about my mother dying, me having to call and break the news to my brother. I pushed the thought away and stared at the ceiling, a feeling of creeping dread fingering at my thoughts. ?Paranoia,? I tell myself, paranoia, not premonition. Not this time. Tomorrow, we were going out on the town and I won?t let some hairy dream ruin it. ?I?ll have the omelette.? I decide, eventually. Mom went for a salad, a paired down affair of interesting greens and snazzy dressing. We were enjoying this rare moment of mother-daughter time, sans children. How often had I taken those everyday occasions for granted, before I had my own kids, before I knew what ?busy? really meant? I settled into my cushioned seat and surveyed our surroundings. Despite ...