If you’re searching for a reason to smile today, look no further because we couldn’t help but gush over a sweet, feel-good moment provided by a group of Canadian teens and our new favorite Grandma.
Mahri Smith, 18, has taken the year off to model and wanted to blow off some steam with her girlfriends. Recently, they went out to a local casino “where there’s the club and dinner area” for a night out. While primping in the bathroom, they encountered an adorable elderly lady. Smith tells Babble, “A lady came in and was so chatty with me and kind … she had said she missed going out with girlfriends and dressing up.”
The teens certainly couldn’t let this woman feel left out! So, Smith encourage the woman to join them for some bathroom selfies. “I just said ‘we are your girlfriends like look at you, you look gorgeous!'” The final result is amazing, of course. After snapping some fun photos, the girls continued their night out while the woman went back to her husband (surely with a fun tale to tell!).
Image source: Mahri Smith
The teen’s favorite part about the whole moment? “Just seeing her face light up when we were talking with her.”
Smith says that she took to Twitter to share the special moment “because it made me smile.” After sharing the encounter on Twitter yesterday, the post has gone viral with over 57K retweets and 192K likes.
Image source: Mahri Smith
“There’s so much bad and negative things going on in the world and I know it brightened my day and seeing how many lives it’s touched makes me feel so blessed that I had the chance to do so,” says Smith.
We agree, this moment has us smiling from ear-to-ear.
“What It Was Like To Become A Dad After I Was Told I’d Never Have Kids“originally appeared on Quora and The Fatherly Forum, and was reprinted with permission.
Image source: Thinkstock
When I was a teen, I knew I wanted children, although I also thought I never wanted to get married. At that time, and really, for all my life, I’ve been afraid of other people’s children. I have all these ideas about how to relate to children that I don’t see many other people doing. I believe in telling children about the things they are interested in. I believe there are no topics that children should be kept from. No taboo topics. If a child is interested in something, they deserve to have me tell them as much that I know as they are interested in.
I always imagined having children that were related to me. I felt that I had a right to bring up my children the way I wanted to, but for other children, I felt I had no right, and I didn’t want to piss off their parents, even if their __parents had given the child to me to adopt. I felt I could relate to children who were related to me. When they did weird stuff, I would recognize it, because I had been like that, too. This has turned out to be true, for the most part. The only confusing stuff is where they take after their mother. I don’t know what she was like as a child, so I can’t automatically understand my kids when they are like her. That’s more mysterious.
I wanted children because, on some level, I loved myself and I wanted to create new beings who were partly like me. I wanted children because I thought I could do a better job than my parents, and a better job than most parents. I wanted children because I have all these theories and ideas about parenting, and I knew I’d only get to try them out on my own children. I wanted children because creating new life is the ultimate creative act. I wanted children because I don’t want to die and I know I have to die. If I have children, then something of me will be left alive after I die.
See how much I wanted children? Perhaps you can imagine how I felt when I found out my body wasn’t plumbed correctly, and I had no way to deliver sperm to an egg.
All my life, I’d assume I could make children, and when I found out I couldn’t, I felt like an alien. I felt inhuman. I could not reproduce. It was an incredible shock. I felt guilty. I didn’t feel like a man. I suggested to my wife that she leave me for a man who could give her children. In a way, I thought having children was the meaning of my life, and now that meaning had been destroyed by some gene that got passed down for generations — a gene, that had I gotten another like it from the other parent, would have given me a full case of cystic fibrosis, and I would have drowned in my own lungs before I reached the age of 40. Perhaps it was best that I could not pass this gene on.
But …
Technology.
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After 6 years of operations and attempts at creating children in a petri dish, my wife got pregnant with a child that was my genetic daughter. A few years later, we thawed out another embryo and had a son.
I love my children because I wanted them so badly. I am so lucky that I lived in a time when medical advances happened so that I could have genetic children, and I didn’t have to adopt. I don’t know if I would have adopted. It was very hard to imagine being able to identify with a child that wasn’t related to me. I felt I could understand my own kids. I couldn’t imagine understanding anyone I wasn’t related to. Had the technological advances happened even a few years later, my wife would have been too old to have children, and I would have been out of luck.
I love my children because I can relate to them. I love them because I parented them. I suffered through the uninteresting time when they couldn’t talk, and I had to change a lot of icky diapers and figure out how to console someone who couldn’t tell me what was wrong. But I knew there would come a time when they would become fascinating people, and I would get my reward. I looked forward to their teenage years. I didn’t believe those years would be trouble for me. I believed those would be a most interesting time, and they would challenge me and change before my very eyes in ways I could not imagine.
It is true. They are people I could never have imagined. They have made me proud in ways I would never have guessed in a thousand years. They are amazing people and I love talking to them and doing stuff with them. I love trying to figure out what is going on with them.
My daughter is 20, now, and she was home from college for a few weeks, and she brought over lots of friends, and we had the most amazing conversations. Finally, she told me what was happening when she was a teen. She told me about boyfriends and crushes I never knew she had. Even my wife didn’t know.
She told me about the time when she was 6, and her nose was running. We were at the park, and I didn’t have any tissues. All I had was a very well-used handkerchief in my pocket. I didn’t really want to use it, and she just told me she thought it was the grossest thing, ever. Who knew? I found the cleanest spot I could for her to blow her nose. Maybe another father would have let her blow her nose on his shirt, but she probably got her ideas about being grossed out about snot from me in the first place. In any case, it was nice to finally find out that we were on the same page on that one. And I would have forgotten that incident, had it not stuck in her memory so persistently.
My son is just about 17. He’s a wonderful piano player, but he hates playing recitals, and I totally get it, because I hated it, too. I don’t make him do it, and we’ve found a teacher who will work with him, anyway, and he loves the piano. He doesn’t love reading music, and for years, I was annoyed about having to help him with that, but now I enjoy the time I spend with him as he is learning new pieces.
His memory is amazing. He works through a piece once, and then a second time, and already he has memorized it. My memory is so horrible that I failed a drama literature class in college because I couldn’t memorize my lines for the required one credit acting “lab.” My memory is so bad that I switched from classical music to improvisation because I could never memorize any pieces, and also because in improvisation, you can’t make mistakes, and no one can judge you to have failed for one little mistake.
Like I say, I get why my son doesn’t want to do recitals, because I know what the pressure is like to not make mistakes, and I know that I only felt relief after a recital, and never any accomplishment. I didn’t want to make him do that just because others thought it was good for him. I knew otherwise because he probably felt very similarly to the way I felt.
I don’t care if no one ever hears him play. That’s not what the lessons are for. The music is for him. For his brain. So he can have something to go to when he needs to calm down. So it can help him organize his brain to help with his memory and help with math and science skills. It’s not so he can show off. It’s just for him to use as he wants.
My daughter also took piano from a young age, but she didn’t stick with it. That was ok, too, because I just wanted them to have a start on an instrument that would teach them about music, but that they could switch to their most favored instrument when they discovered it. Hers turned out to be voice, but she also decided to stop taking lessons when she got to high school. I was disappointed, but also proud because she was strong enough to follow her own path even knowing I would be disappointed. I’m way more proud of that than I am disappointed she didn’t keep on taking lessons. She still likes music, and still sits down at the piano and plays duets with my son, sometimes.
I don’t know why other fathers love their children, but I love mine because I have lived with them for all their lives, and I love who they are and who they have been, and I will love who they become. I love them because I can be free to be myself with them, and that is a gift that no one else has ever been able to give me. Only my kids. I can be the corny dad. The ad dad. The crazy dad. Whatever dad with them. Embarrassing dad. Musical dad. Theoretical dad. Even dad who knows a thing or 2. With everyone else, I have to watch myself in ways that make me tense and sad. But not with them. With my kids, I feel free, and how could I not love people who help me be myself?
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When Jenny Roberts became pregnant with her daughter Olivia over nine years ago, she kept her commercial real estate license active because she wanted to maintain a foot in the door at work. Ultimately, though, after Olivia was born, Roberts realized the high cost of childcare where she lives in western Colorado far exceeded what she was making at work.
“I was probably ready to go back to work when Olivia was quite young,” Roberts said. “But the economics didn’t make sense.”
Roberts’ had another daughter, Ivy, just over a year ago, and she’s now starting to think again about dipping her toe into paid work. The problem, though, is despite an MBA and years of experience, she can’t figure how to make up for such a big gap on her resume.
Fortunately, it seems as if PepsiCo, the parent company of Pepsi, is one step ahead of Roberts and so many others like her, who stepped out of successful careers to focus on caring for children and other family members. The corporation recently announced a groundbreaking new program called “Ready to Return,” kicking off at its New York Headquarters in April 2017.
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It’s a 10-week-long paid internship program, specifically designed for professionals looking to re-enter the workforce after taking two years or longer off work. Its aim is to ease parents and caregivers back into working again by offering them mentorship, coaching support, networking opportunities, and training sessions to refresh skills. They’ll also get the chance to learn more about career opportunities within PepsiCo.
According to the PepsiCo website:
“[The program] is important because our teams reflect the diversity of our consumers and our communities — inclusion is a way of life at PepsiCo. We see great value in the experiences and perspectives of professionals who have taken time away to care for another.”
Irv Cohen, managing partner of the New York-based executive recruiting firm IRC Partners, also sees tremendous value in programs like Ready to Return:
“It’s not a simple transition [to go back to work after a long hiatus],” he tells Babble. “For the person trying to ease back into it, the culture shock can be considerable. That doesn’t mean it can’t be done, but the mindset shift from ruling the roost to being ruled is not insignificant. You have to want to be adaptable.”
Depending on their expertise, skills and career aspirations, Ready to Return participants will work on either a research and development or marketing project. After completing the program, they’ll also be considered for open roles within the company. The primary goal is for people like Roberts to increase their technical knowledge and fill in any holes their absence from the business world has generated. The aim is for participants to revive their confidence in their creative instincts and analytical skills while “embracing technology with an innovation mindset.”
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Going back to work after an extended absence can be daunting emotionally, especially knowing just how much the business world has changed and how fast it continues to evolve. Certainly being a stay-at-home mom is its own kind of reward, but for those who are either longing to get back to work, in need of some extra income, or are looking for new and exciting opportunities, Ready to Return is as exciting a prospect as a kid at Christmas.
“To be empowered again would be such a gift,” Roberts said. “I want to start doing something again in a professional setting where I’m stimulating my brain in an intellectual and creative way.”
The bonus, too, would be doing it within a company that sees its employees as more than just the work they churn out, and within a wider perspective of doing the right thing.
And that’s exactly what PepsiCo seems to be doing. According to its website, the corporation is deeply committed to an approach that “empowers us to embrace a deeper sense of meaning in our daily work by improving products we sell, protecting our planet, and empowering people around the globe.”
These are the kinds of phrases that come out of my mouth every single day, most often directed at my 4-year-old. But what goes through my head as I say each of them is something like this:
“As if my preschooler knows what an email is … ok, he probably does.”
“We certainly couldn’t walk outside and see what the temperature feels like.”
“I suppose we could go to the library and make this an adventure … or I could just find the answer right now.”
I work from home and much of my work is Internet-based. I’m clearly not opposed to technology and all that it makes possible. But it also attaches me to my devices almost all day long. In order to get everything done, I’m constantly working in snippets here and there throughout the day, which usually means jabbing my thumbs incessantly on a tiny screen, day in and day out.
When I listen to the constant technology-based narrative I’m directing at my preschooler, I can’t help but feel I’m sending the wrong message and doing him a disservice.
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Since my smartphone is rarely farther than my back pocket, I turn to it for everything: playing music, seeing what friends are doing, looking up activities and recipes, and sometimes just checking it because I haven’t in the last five minutes. None of these are necessarily detrimental things (aside from the absent-minded checking). And some are even good — listening to music puts me in a better mood and heaven knows I’d never be able to come up with a craft or activity without the aid of Pinterest. But nonetheless, when I listen to the constant technology-based narrative I’m directing at my preschooler, I can’t help but feel I’m sending the wrong message and doing him a disservice.
My gut reaction is to cast all technology aside. Dock my phone upstairs. Turn the computer off. Hide the TV remote. But then I’d lose my job, my husband couldn’t reach me, and I’d be clueless about the world. A technology strike, or even a vacation, isn’t the solution. But seeing how much my kids are soaking it all in, I needed to make some sort of a change.
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I’ve always been a pen and paper girl — my calendar and to-do lists aren’t real unless they’re on paper. So for the past few months, I’ve turned back to my roots. I downsized my massive planner so I could carry it with me (and actually use it). I color-coded it by life tasks: work lists, grocery lists, daily tasks, weekly menus, and appointments I’d otherwise forget. Every time I look at it is one less time I’m pulling out my phone for a reminder (which we all know leads down the rabbit hole of Facebook and Instagram).
A paper planner is great, but it wasn’t enough. So we started turning back to “analog.” I replaced every task that required me to pull out a glowing screen with something that made me more “present.” I’ve now become attached to my old-school analog watch. Again, every time I didn’t pull out my phone to check the time was another win.
We put an actual thermometer outside the kitchen window, so instead of pulling out our phones or turning on the Weather Channel, we simply read the temperature or stepped out the front door. It’s a bonus that it’s a learning experience for my oldest, practicing reading numbers and taking measurements. Win-win!
Notebooks lay scattered around my house, so every time I get a minute to work, I write myself a draft. Whether it’s an email or an article, it goes on paper first. Typing it into my computer later, when my kids aren’t watching, takes a heck of a lot less time than trying to start from scratch after they go to bed.
I’m not eliminating technology from our lives, just removing some of the unnecessary uses. We still stream music for dance parties and find educational-ish movies on Netflix. I think it’s important that my kids do know how to use it, because that’s how the world works. But every time I don’t check my phone for something silly is one more moment they’re getting all of me.
Like most things parenting, this intentional reduction in technology led us towards something unintentional: more constructive, fun time together. Writing in my paper calendar or journal lets me sprawl out next to my son on the floor as he colors. Not to mention using pens, pencils, and markers is therapeutic for both of us, as we color side-by-side. Plus, I’m setting a much better example of what work looks like, as opposed to just “playing” on my phone again. Looking at my analog watch has helped him learn visibly how time moves or how far away something is. Going to the library to learn about volcanoes or dinosaurs instead of just glancing at my phone creates an adventure that my son remembers, instead of just another fact flashing by him.
Above all, I’ve found myself less scatterbrained — I’m not constantly doing a million things at once. I’ve been able to pay more attention to my kids and really make those minutes count, instead of trying to juggle it all. And trust me, there’s enough juggling in parenting, I don’t need to create any more unneeded tasks for myself.
Oh, Barbie. It always seems to be two steps forward, one step back with you.
Don’t get me wrong; I still applaud all your recent victories. That new line of yours, showing you in a variety of body types and skin tones. That was great. And all the new careers you’ve been taking on — from veterinary medicine to game development to politics? Love it.
And now, you’re taking on the STEM world as “Engineering Barbie.” How awesome!
When I first heard the news, I was ready to love that move, too. But then I took a look at you, and something stood out to me: Your “machinery.” I expected you to be working on computers or robots or space ships. But instead, you seem to be restricted to household appliances only — like washing machines and superficial objects like jewelry holders. And I’ll be honest, the world is disappointed.
Listen, girlfriend. You are a powerful, timeless force in our girls’ lives. You were a mainstay throughout most of my childhood. There was no greater moment for me than the opening of the Barbie Dream Store that Christmas morning back in 1988. You’ve got a lot of responsibility on your shoulders, and you’ve faced your fair share of criticism over the years. You seem committed in recent years to fighting negative gender stereotypes, and we appreciate that.
But you need to do better.
Image Source: Thames & Kosmos
Developing STEM-related Barbies is a fantastic idea, as we need to push our girls to challenge themselves and believe they can succeed in largely male-dominated fields like math and science. So the decision last year for Mattel to team up with STEM toy maker Thames & Kosmos to make you was a smart one. And having you come with a “STEM Kit” for little girls to put together all of your machines was great.
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The intent was good, but the delivery wasn’t.
You see, Engineering Barbie could have made anything. Any myriad of machinery and/or inventions would be acceptable — but you chose a washing machine. A WASHING MACHINE. Combined with the clothes and jewelry rack, we are all left shaking our heads. (The greenhouse is pretty cool, though — I’ll give you that one.)
And the thing is, we all know you can do better. We’ve seen it. Politician Barbie rocks. As does Pilot Barbie, Firefighter Barbie, and World Culture Barbies. Also, there’s nothing wrong in general with Barbie having a washing machine and racks to hang her clothes and jewelry. My daughter had a play washing machine and loved it. But don’t pair her up with domestic appliances that women and girls have been pigeon-holed and limited to for decades and call her “Engineering Barbie.” The stakes are too high for our girls on this issue, as only 13% of the engineering workforce is female.
The other criticism is that not only are Engineering Barbie’s machines stereotypical and superficial, but they are also all pink. Again, nothing against pink. I love pink, as does my daughter. But we also love blue, yellow, and green. And while it make sense that Barbie and her equipment are flashy and pretty to attract the attention and love of little girls everywhere, the problem is that over the past few decades, options for girls in the toy department have become increasingly limited. Take a walk down the “girl” aisle and count how many primary colors you see.
I’ll wait.
… See? That didn’t take long, because every single thing you’ll see is pink and glittery.
We thank you for your many career-oriented versions, and we sure hope you continue to foster the ideas of opportunity, intelligence, and courage for our girls — particularly in science and math fields. But maybe instead, Engineering Barbie can get busy building a robot that does the laundry for her. And maybe, just maybe, it can be blue with pink buttons this time.
“Little Girl Befriends Baby Cow That Lost Its Mom“originally appeared on ABC News, and was reprinted with permission.
When a precious calf ended up in this family after losing her mom, little Kinley Gray took her in with open arms.
“They are just so cute. My heart cannot even contain all of that love,” Lacey Gray, Kinley’s mom, told ABC News of the unusual yet heartstoppingly adorable bond the two now share.
Image source: Lacey Gray/Delta Rose Photography
Lacey is a professional photographer from Michigan City, Mississippi. She had reached out to her husband’s uncle, who owns cows, to see if she could borrow a calf for a photo shoot she was hoping to do. Little did she know that would soon lead to her owning one.
“I shot him a text and said, ‘Hey, this is what I’d like to do. Can I borrow one of your calves?’” she recalled of their initial conversation. “He laughed so hard. He said, ‘That is not how that works. You cannot just borrow a calf without the mom going crazy.’”
Image source: Lacey Gray/Delta Rose Photography
She hadn’t thought about that aspect but understood and moved on.
“But the next morning I got a phone call from him, and he was so serious,” Lacey recalled. “The tone in his voice was clearly that something bad had happened. He said, ‘Do you really want a calf?’ He told me, ‘The mama fell, and she’s not going to get up from it. She will die from this. I’m calling you to see if you want this baby, but you have to bottle-feed it several times a day.’”
Image source: Lacey Gray/Delta Rose Photography
Without hesitation, Lacey agreed, not having a clue about what she was getting herself into with raising a cow, let alone a 3-day-old calf that had just lost her mom.
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“We brought her inside the first night. She slept in the laundry room,” said Lacey. “But Kinley ran in there and was kissing all over her. She brought her books. She read her books, and when it was time to walk her, Kinley wanted to do it all by herself. She would walk her all over the yard.”
Image source: Lacey Gray/Delta Rose Photography
Now, barely two weeks later, the precious pair are absolutely inseparable.
“Kinley cries when she has to leave. She always wants to be with her,” said Lacey. “She kisses her ears. She likes to kiss both of her ears instead of just one. She’ll lift Molly’s face up to kiss her on the nose. Kinley will sit down with her and not let our dogs come near her. She wants her all to herself. She wants to feed her all by herself. It’s really sweet.”
Image source: Lacey Gray/Delta Rose Photography
The happy new family did get to have that photo shoot after all, despite circumstances changing a bit.
“I was almost in tears,” Lacey said of shooting the two of them together. “She just has a connection with her. She just knows that’s her family. This is just so crazy and so sweet. I just hope that I can watch them grow all through Kinley’s childhood.”
Ellie Boshers has loved Alice in Wonderland her whole life. So it was no surprise when she chose the Disney classic as the theme for her 10th birthday party.
While Ellie was excited about planning her Alice in Wonderland birthday — jumping at the opportunity to invite friends and help with the decorations — something big was missing. And it all came to a head in the car one afternoon while Ellie was having a “girls day” with her mom. Normally, her grandmother would be with them. As Ellie told her mom how sad she was that she wasn’t, tears streamed down Ellie’s face.
Image Source: Kimber Leigh Boshers
Ellie’s grandmother Rita (aka “Granny”) has been in and out of the hospital for several months. She is now undergoing rehab and recovery at a nursing home after facing several complications from spinal surgery. Because of this, she was not going to be able to attend Ellie’s birthday party.
Granny has had a big impact on Ellie’s life since the day she was born. She often cares for her during the day, takes her to church, and spends countless hours cooking and sewing with her. Naturally, they are quite close.
Though Granny isn’t far away while in the nursing home, this was the first year that she wasn’t able to participate in their usual winter traditions of making Christmas candy and going shopping.
Image source: Kimber Leigh Boshers
Ellie’s mother, Kimber Leigh, has noticed the toll Granny’s every day absence has taken on her daughter. She explained to Babble that, “Not having that time with Granny has broken [Ellie’s] heart. It is not uncommon for her to just tear up or have a full-on good cry out of the blue just because Granny is on her mind and she’s worried about her or she misses her.”
And it’s been hard on Ellie to watch her grandmother struggle in her health and new restrictions. She prays that her grandmother will heal quickly and visits her as often as she can. “I just try to make her feel the happiest that I can and I try my best to make her feel happy,” Ellie said.
As her birthday approached, Ellie couldn’t bear to think of having her party without Granny, so she decided that it was all or nothing. “I decided I either didn’t want to have a party at all or have her there with me,” says Ellie.
Together, Ellie and her mom came up with an exciting plan to move Ellie’s Alice in Wonderland birthday to the nursing home so Granny could be there to celebrate. The facility gave the green light and Ellie couldn’t wait. “I wanted to keep it a secret because I thought it would be an amazing surprise and I thought it would feel really special to her if she was like, ‘Wow I can’t believe she did that!’” Ellie explains.
Image source: Kimber Leigh Boshers
“On party day,” recalls Kimber Leigh, “After we had decorated their activity room, Ellie, a few of her guests, and I walked down to Granny’s room to invite her to join us. She cried.”
Image source: Kimber Leigh Boshers
According to Granny, they were tears of joy:
“All of the girls came into my room and yelled ‘Surprise! we’re here for the birthday party!'” Rita told Babble. “And they loaded me up and we went to the party where everything was already set up, it was wonderful. I thought it was the sweetest thing that has ever happened. Just won my heart to no end. She is just so sweet and so thoughtful and it was just delightful.”
Image source: Kimber Leigh Boshers
That day, Granny got to watch Ellie play games, have fun with her friends, and blow out her candles. It did wonders for her spirit during a long and painful recovery after surgery. “It just makes all the difference in the world, when my grandchildren are here, the sun comes out, that’s all I can say I don’t care how bad I’m feeling, they walk through the door and the sun is shining.”
Image source: Kimber Leigh Boshers
The party was the talk of the facility that day from residents and staff as they admired the costumes, decorations, and most of all, the lively sounds that could only come from a child’s birthday party. Granny is grateful the facility was so supportive of the surprise, saying, “They have just blessed my heart so much, the people here have just bent over backwards to make people feel at home as much as they can, bringing in the touches of home as much as possible.”
Image source: Kimber Leigh Boshers
Getting to celebrate her granddaughter’s birthday was a real joy that made a world of difference. Granny will always remember this wonderful surprise and believes the time she spends with her grandkids brings her healing. “I really do not hurt as bad when the kids are here,” she says. “It’s like you’ve had some kind of treatment. They’re just better than any pain medicine you can get.”
And if you doubted that the Boshers’ love for Alice in Wonderland runs deep,Kimber Leigh shared a photo with Babble of her, Rita, and Granny on Halloween 2012 — all dressed as characters from the story.
Image source: Kimber Leigh Boshers
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“For Years I Felt Like a Bad Mother — Until My Son’s Diagnosis Changed Everything” originally appeared on Modern Mommy Madness under the title, “Finding the Missing Piece,” and was reprinted here with permission.
For almost 9 years, I’ve operated under the belief that I must be not that great at parenting, despite all my efforts. After all, I’d never changed a diaper before I had my first child, so it’s not too farfetched to assume that my struggles are due to my own ineptitude.
Despite my insecurities, part of me knew that I must be a passable mom, because when the nurse handed Maverick to me on September 3, 2008, for the first time in my life I felt a sense of purpose so distinct that it was palpable. As we stared at each other, I thought, we were chosen for each other.
As the years marched on I’ve questioned myself more and more, but that unforgettable moment of meeting my son for the first time was what I always went back to. When faced with a seemingly insurmountable situation, I remind myself that I’m meant to do this. After all, we were chosen for each other.
I was so overwhelmed with the stress of raising a child who didn’t seem ordinary (in addition to his two younger siblings), that I turned to the only thing that has ever helped me process my thoughts: writing. I wrote and I wrote, and people responded, because let’s face it — none of us know what the hell we’re doing. I needed to understand why motherhood was so hard, and why it was only becoming more difficult. I traded ideas with women from all over the world. I read all of the parenting books and applied all of the principles.
Maybe we needed more Jesus. Maybe we needed probiotics. Maybe we needed more sunshine. Maybe something was so significantly lacking that it was screwing up our family dynamic, and if I could just find that one missing piece, everything would fall into place. Maybe Robbie and I needed more date nights. Maybe we needed more money, a different house, a new school, more kids. We tried it all, and nothing worked for longer than a few days at a time.
Although Maverick does not seem overtly unusual, I knew something was off. I struggled to put my finger on what it was, and naturally everyone had an opinion. “He’s too smart,” they said. “He’s just bored.” Robbie kept telling me that Maverick probably had ADHD, just as he did as a child, and assured me that our son would be fine.
“Nothing is wrong with Maverick,” he said, countless times.
Maybe something was wrong with ME. But I needed to figure it out, because we were chosen for each other.
I tried harder to create an interesting, stimulating environment at home to help satisfy his craving for information. His memory is incredible. He can recall in vivid detail the time I took him to the park when he was two years old and he had on his red t-shirt and lost his truck under the monkey bars. He quotes facts about famous scientists and the surface of Jupiter; after hearing a song only one time, he can repeat all the lyrics. He can add large numbers in his head, quickly.
I cut out red dye #40. I cut out processed foods. I limited screen time. I spanked, a lot. I tried time outs, a lot. We took away toys and privileges.
I cried. A LOT.
When no one has a child like yours, it’s very lonely. My friends offered support, but they had no advice.
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The older Maverick got, the harder he became to handle. His emotions were big — exuberant one minute, and terrible, raging fury the next. He was scary, sometimes. Robbie works insane hours, and I was in way over my head. We now had a family of five, and while Maverick loves his siblings, he lashed out at them a lot. Every day was filled with drama, and I kept hitting rock bottom.
Over and over again, I found myself in terrible situations with my kid, not knowing what to do to make it better, and quickly running out of ideas. When no one has a child like yours, it’s very lonely. My friends offered support, but they had no advice.
Our pediatrician said he was perfectly normal. When speaking, Maverick makes eye contact and articulates like an adult. He understands humor — when he was 5 years old, he did a stand up comedy routine for the school Talent Show and brought the house down. Despite what the doctor and even my husband said, I knew they were wrong. Either something was going on with my kid, or something was terribly amiss with me as a parent.
We were chosen for each other. This is what I kept telling myself.
I swallowed my pride and got professional help. By then, Maverick was 7 years old. They suggested psychological testing, but it was expensive, so we waited on that, and toughed it out through talk therapy. I hoped that they could tell me how to best parent him, because I constantly feel like our relationship is war-torn. My son thinks I do not like him. My son questions whether or not he is worthy of love.
Talk therapy, as it turns out, does not help much without a diagnosis. We said that we wanted to go ahead with testing.
“He’s a very complicated case,” said the psychologist, weeks into the testing process.
“No sh*t,” I replied.
Image Source: Harmony Hobbs
After months of evaluation and many more issues at home, Robbie and I were called in to go over their findings. As we sat in the doctor’s office, I thought about how it took not one, but two, doctors of psychology to diagnose our son. I thought about how tired I am. I thought about how I would do whatever they said would make things better. But most of all, I thought about how we were chosen for each other.
And then he cleared his throat, and in one simple sentence, the psychologist explained why motherhood is so hard for me.
Maverick has a form of autism.
Guilt and grief aside, I am incredibly proud of my kid … His super brain is his gift from God, and Maverick is God’s gift to me.
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The way I felt when he told us is almost exactly how I felt when my mother told me she had been diagnosed with cancer — utter relief to finally have a reason for all the madness, followed by grief and guilt. The grief I feel over Maverick’s diagnosis is purely from all of the mistakes I’ve made over the course of his life because I truly could not understand his behavior. I misinterpreted almost everything he did and said, and that makes me profoundly sad.
Guilt and grief aside, I am incredibly proud of my kid. I’m proud of who he is and what he can and will accomplish. He has an enormous responsibility because his brain is special, and I look at this as a gift. His super brain is his gift from God, and Maverick is God’s gift to me.
We weren’t sure how or when we would tell him about what the doctors said, but it turned out that we didn’t have to. Two days after we learned of the diagnosis, I was tucking Maverick into bed when he sat up and said, “Am I autistic?”
“What makes you ask that?” I said, shocked.
“Well, I asked you that a long time ago and you said no. Do you remember?”
“I do.”
“Well, am I autistic?”
“Yes, Maverick, you are. You have a form of autism. It was hard for them to figure out, because most kids with autism aren’t as social as you are. You’re actually really lucky, because you’re good with people and you have a super brain!”
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We spent the next hour lying in his bed, talking about how he’s always known he was different from the other kids, which is why he’s always gone out of his way to be kind to the weird ones. I told him that we’re going to learn about his brain, together, and that he is a very special kid.
“So special,” I said, “That it took TWO doctors to figure out what kind of brain you have.”
We were chosen for each other, and I couldn’t be more proud of us.
“Premature Baby Welcomed Home From Hospital With Parade, Fireworks” originally appeared on ABC News, and was reprinted with permission.
A baby girl who weighed just two pounds when she was born three months early was welcomed home Wednesday with a parade, fireworks and two giant teddy bears in her family’s front yard.
Meredith Celine Mike was born Oct. 24, 2016, at the University of Tennessee Medical Center in Knoxville, Tennessee. She was whisked away to the neonatal intensive care unit after birth and put on a ventilator, according to her mom, Nicole Mike.
“The doctors gave us all the scenarios of what could go wrong,” Mike, 32, told ABC News. “We stayed with her around-the-clock as much as we could and she had nurses with her 24-7.”
Mike, a teacher, spent the month prior to Meredith’s birth on bed rest at the UT Medical Center, a nearly two-hour drive from her Middlesboro, Kentucky, home.
Image source: Nicole Mike
Mike and her husband Blaine spent 10 years trying for a child, but suffered from infertility, an ectopic pregnancy and a failed adoption, according to Mike.
“We had given up all hope,” she said. “I had stopped using any fertility medication and then without any help except for God, we found out I was pregnant on the day after Mother’s Day.”
In the days and weeks after Meredith’s premature birth, Mike said she and Blaine spent some nights “on our knees in prayer all night long.” They watched as Meredith suffered a life-threatening bout of pneumonia, collapsed lungs, heart surgery and the threat of blindness.
“There was one night we thought we were going to lose her and we were told to prepare ourselves,” Mike recalled. “We went into a room they gave us and prayed, prayed, prayed and we went to the hospital chapel.”
She continued, “About 10 minutes later they called us and her levels were back to perfect.”
Throughout the Mikes’ stay at the hospital, they were supported by their Middlesboro community of about 12,000 residents. Teachers at Mike’s school donated their sick days so Mike could stay with her daughter, while Blaine’s employer also gave him time off work.
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Mike said of the community, “Their words were that Meredith had brought our community together. No matter what all else was going on in the world there was one thing they could agree on, to pray for Meredith.”
One of Meredith’s NICU nurses, Loren Crews, recalled that the girl’s __parents and grandparents never left Meredith’s side during her entire NICU stay. She said she was amazed at the support shown by the family’s community.
Image source: Nicole Mike
“[Meredith’s] __parents and her grandparents talked about how the entire community had been praying for her and rallying around her and that there was going to be a parade when she went home,” Crews told ABC News. “We kind of took it with a grain of salt that it would happen, but it did.”
When the Mikes took Meredith home on Wednesday, they received a police escort as they arrived in Middlesboro. The family, joined at the homecoming by Crews and another NICU nurse, Laura Trent, was greeted by pink balloons, signs and cheers from friends and strangers who lined the town’s streets.
When the family arrived home, they saw on their front lawn more decorations of pink balloons and streamers and two 12-foot teddy bears with pink bows. Pink fireworks also lit up the sky above the family’s home.
Image source: Nicole Mike
“It was overwhelming,” Mike said. “A line of about 75 to 100 cars followed [Meredith] home because they just wanted to see her go through the front doors of the house.”
Meredith, whose middle name, Celine, is Latin for heaven, now weighs six pounds.
“Other than frequent doctor appointments for the first few months, she is expected to live a normal, happy healthy life,” Mike said of her daughter, who came home just days after her original Jan. 20 due date.
Meredith was even chosen to be the flower girl at the wedding of Laura Trent, one of her primary nurses, in May.
“They are her forever aunties,” Mike said of Trent and Crews. “We’ve made lifelong friends.”
If you live in or around a city and have ever been pregnant, chances are you’ve dealt with the dreaded subway seat debacle.
It usually goes something like this: You’re super tired and super pregnant. You hop into the nearest subway car — back aching, feet swelling, and (most likely) about five minutes away from needing to pee again — and there’s not an empty seat in sight. You pray someone will look up and notice the hugely pregnant woman before them who may or may not have a long way to go until she reaches her stop. But nope. Everyone’s head is glued to their cell phone, and no one wants to budge.
Well, a new app from a London-based tech firm wants to put an end to all that. It’s called the Babee on Board: Offer Seat app, and it’s designed to alert fellow commuters when there’s a mom-to-be nearby who’s in need of a seat.
According to the app’s website, a pregnant mom can open the app and with a quick finger tap, send a push notification to smartphones within a 15-foot radius. The notification will alert riders that the mom is in need of a seat — without her having to awkwardly ask strangers to give up theirs and without them having to look up from their phones. Best of all, the app uses Bluetooth, so it’ll work underground whether or not you have a signal or Wi-Fi.
Pretty genius, huh?
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And while you might think that the app was created by a pissed off mom-to-be who rode the subway one too many times while having to stand, you’d be wrong. It’s actually the brainchild of Hew Leith, the CEO of the tech firm 10x, who’s been on the other side of the subway seat debacle himself.
As Leith told Mashable earlier this week:
“A year ago an 80-year-old woman, who sat next to me on a busy tube, got up and offered her seat to a heavily pregnant woman. I was mortified. I was too engrossed on my smartphone to notice anything. So as soon as I let the older woman have my seat, I began racking my brains for a solution. By the time the Tube train pulled into the platform at Moorgate, I had the idea to use beacon Bluetooth notifications so pregnant people could let commuters know they’d like a seat.”
There’s just one little (and probably obvious) catch: The app’s helpfulness hinges on whether or not other subway riders have it; and it may take a while for Babee on Board to really catch on. It’s also not free — Babee on Board currently costs £3.99 ($4.98) to download. But it’s for a good cause: The profits are donated to the children’s charity Project Healthy, which makes it $5 well spent.
Hollywood’s most adorable couple, Kristen Bell and Dax Shepard, recently swung by Ellen to promote their upcoming movie, CHiPs; and as per usual, it was pretty memorable. But the best part, by far, was when they recalled how Kristen “prepped” for her “trashy trophy ex-wife” role in ‘CHiPs’ — a role for which large breasts were basically a necessity. Forget the ‘ole padded bra, though; Kristen says she used her own endless milk supply to do the job, and simply skipped pumping for a day.
“I was supposed to be pumping every four hours,” Bell told Ellen. “So it was like [gestures towards her breasts growing bigger].”
Problem solved! (Thanks, Mother Nature.)
Any woman who’s breastfed and used the dreaded pump every few hours knows how it is when you’ve skipped a pumping session or two. Bell speaks the truth when she describes that it was “slightly painful” to fill up over a 24-hour period when her body was used to releasing the good stuff several times a day.
And when her doting husband took pity and suggested she release some of the pressure, she wisely told him no. “You can’t open the flood gates,” Bell explained.
Honestly, truer words have never been spoken. Once you tell the girls it’s go time, well, it’s go time. There’s no turning back.
Thankfully, Kristen’s pumping break was only a day long and 24 hours later her breasts were back to their normal, comfortable size. So she was able to continue breast-feeding her baby Delta (little sister to Lincoln) just fine afterwards.
“This was my version of Christian Bale losing 125 pounds or something,” said Bell.
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And Shephard was super thankful: “I wish there was a way for me to repay it ― like not pee for a couple days.”
The hilarious couple (who are basically the epitome of #RelationshipGoals) also went on to discuss Bell’s boobs (or “life sources,” to quote her husband) with reference to her plunging neckline Golden Globes dress.
When asked by Ellen if either of them were worried about a wardrobe malfunction, Shepard laughed that his wife pumps and/or breastfeeds in front of company so often that they could have fallen out and he wouldn’t have even noticed.
After all, Bell added, “They’re just boobs.”
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Bell’s candor about women’s issues like breastfeeding and depression aren’t just entertaining; they’re refreshing to hear in a world that seems to still be uncomfortable talking about it. She’s honest and open and hilarious all at once, making us breastfeeding moms feel like we aren’t alone in our struggles. She’s also an inspiration for working moms trying to “do it all” by maintaining a relevant career while still being dedicated and loving mother.
And sometimes in order to do that, you might have to let your boobs fill up for a day to look like Pamela Anderson (which was, according the Shephard, the look they were going for). Other times, you sit on a park bench or the subway and breastfeed your child. Either way, Kristen Bell and her super supportive husband want women to know it’s okay — you do you, and you’ll be fine.
A much-needed glimmer of hope and progress was brought to us courtesy of the Boys Scouts of America this week. According to a statement made by BSA spokesperson Rebecca Rausch, the organization will begin allowing transgender students who identify as boys to join — effective immediately.
A historically conservative Christian organization, the Boy Scouts made their first progressive step towards inclusion in 2014, when they began allowing openly gay youth to join. In 2015, BSA also lifted their long-standing ban on gay troop leaders and employees.
And now, after an 8-year-old was recently told that he could no longer be a scout — simply because he had been born a girl — another policy has changed.
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Joe Maldonado was enjoying his experience as a Boy Scout in the Secaucus, New Jersey chapter until it came to light that he had only transitioned to living as a boy two years ago. Due to the BSA’s previous policy of only allowing “boys” as determined by their birth certificate, Joe was told he could no longer participate in Scouts.
Joe looks like any boy you’d see playing outside or riding his bike. Yet despite meeting his Boy Scout requirements for honor, loyalty, and work ethic, he didn’t “meet the eligibility requirements to participate in this program,” according to BSA Director of Communications Effie Delimarkos. All because of his birth certificate. But now Joe and other boys like him are no longer banned from organization.
In explaining the impetus behind the change, BSA Spokesperson Rebecca Rausch said that the “approach is no longer sufficient as communities and state laws are interpreting gender identity differently, and these laws vary widely from state to state.”
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Boy Scouts of America may also have been influenced by its sister organization, the Girl Scouts of America, which already declared that transgender girls are welcome to join. Its official policy states that “if the child is recognized by the family and school/community as a girl and lives culturally as a girl, then Girl Scouts is an organization that can serve her in a setting that is both emotionally and physically safe.”
With as many as 1.4 million people in the United States identifying as transgender, it is crucial that the organizations vowing to teach our children how to be good citizens welcome them. These are kids desperate for a place to feel loved and welcomed. They did not ask for this life or this confusion, but they are living it and trying to forge a path for themselves where they have friends and a safe community.
So kudos to both BSA and GSA for essentially saying “you, too, are welcome here, with us.”
As Joe’s mom Kristie Maldonado tells Babble, she’s grateful for the policy change, and eternally proud of her son’s bravery in speaking out:
“I am glad that Joe and I did not give up and kept fighting for his rights. No child should feel different — they just want to feel accepted by others and not be excluded. I am so proud of him for showing people that no matter how old you are, you can stand up for yourself and be who you truly are.”
Sadly, though, the wound is deep for Joe; and understandably so. He was heartbroken at being forcibly removed from the Boy Scouts, which he greatly loved. He says that despite the new policy, he’ll never return to his old chapter, but may consider another one. We sure hope he does — and is welcomed with open arms.
My kids and I are standing at the bus stop. It turns the corner a block away. It’s a comfortable dependence, in a world where very little ever seems to go as I expect. Everything is as it should be. Violet has her backpack on, her homework done, she’s talking to a rubber snake in her hand. Henry has his backpack on, his hair sort of combed, and he’s kicking dirty snow with his new shoes.
Nothing can go wrong. The day is starting out alright.
Then again …
Henry looks at me and his face is scrunchy. “Dad, I have to go to the bathroom,” he says.
I smile, and try to deter the detour. “Oh man, bus will be any sec. You’ll be okay. You can hold it till you get to school, right?” I say. But his face gives it away. And just like that, I’m a 45-year-old dude standing out on the street in his cheap pajama pants, with a decision to make.
“I have to go so bad!” my boy says.
He’s 5. A kindergartener. I’d do anything for him. But I want to get him on this bus. I have work to do. “You’ll be okay,” I tell him, each of us desperate now to win this tiny war.
“Daaaaad! I can’t hold it!” he says, holding back tears.
Damn it. “You will miss the bus, man!”
“Daaaaaad!”
“Okay, fine!” I tell him. “I’m gonna have to drive you now. Why didn’t you go when you were watching cartoons for the last half hour?!” But he’s already gone, racing back to our front porch a few steps away (lucky lad), bound for sweet relief.
I look at Violet. “I can drive you, hon.”
“I don’t want to drive. I want to ride the bus,” she says.
I’m torn in two directions. It isn’t a big deal in the grand scheme of things, yet I’m thrust into this confused mode when I was least expecting it. It’s familiar ground, though. I’m always so confused with my kids. I feel like I’m always staring at them in bewilderment. How did this just happen? What is my life? Why are we all crying at the same time for different reasons? I want someone to spin me around, look me in the eye, and tell me exactly what to do.
This is a minute scenario. About as small as it gets. But I’m stuck anyway. I’m tired, always tired. I’m mixed up, always unsure.
The love is more powerful than speeding comets slamming into mountains, but that’s the big picture thing and sometimes that isn’t enough. There is a loneliness that comes with being a mom or dad.
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The bus rounds the corner. It’s been one minute since Henry ran off. He won’t be back in time. I picture him up in the bathroom taking his sweet old time. I’m part angry and part laughing and part bewildered, all at once. It was all going perfectly. Damn it!
“Okay, sweetheart, you hop on the bus. I’ll drive Henry,” I tell Violet.
And that’s what happens.
More often than not, parenting leaves me high and dry. The love is more powerful than speeding comets slamming into mountains, but that’s the big picture thing and sometimes that isn’t enough. There is a loneliness that comes with being a mom or dad. I’m a single parent, but I don’t think it’s exclusive to divorced people. I have this sneaking suspicion that a lot of __parents experience raising kids this same way.
We never talk about it, though. To crawl out from under the piles of blankets — of everything we’re supposed to be and of everything we’re supposed to feel at every moment of every day, when it comes to our kids — and to shake our fists at the sky and scream,”Why is this so hard?!” That would be us admitting that sometimes we freaking hate the whole shebang.
Even other parents’ everyday plights are hard to align with our own. Rarely do we relate all the mundane or insane moments that we all go through with other families’. Our kid has a meltdown in the park and we’re immediately self-conscious in front of the other __parents around. Their kid has the meltdown and we’re secretly high-fiving ourselves that it’s them, not us.
That’s the extent of it, really. Here and there our worlds collide. The other 99.9 percent of the time we stand alone.
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Alone. Even if our partner is present. There is this weird isolationism that folds you and me in its arms. Alone as lone can be. In the kitchen. Staring at 10 acres of spilt chocolate milk racing towards the mail on the table. Exhausted. Now this! Somebody’s weeping. Somebody’s punching your thigh. Somebody’s calling your name. Something’s burning. Something’s rattling in the washing machine.
No one knows, I grumble to myself. No one knows how much I hate this sometimes.
The love, though.
It’s funny how it works.
We recharge. We reboot. I lose myself to a 6 PM tide. I yell at the kids. Then by 7 PM or so things turn around on their own. Somehow I get them upstairs, all three of them. Alone. By myself. Me and them. They brush their teeth and put on their PJs. I feel bad for hollering. I feel guilty and dumb. I wonder if I’ve damaged their tiny hearts forever, as I lean against the hallway wall between their bedrooms and watch them do their thing.
They run by me, excited for a little cartoon time or a story before bed. They’re giggling. They’re wound up when I need them to wind down. But they’re happy as hell. Just look at ’em.
It’s a lonesome ride to get us all here every night. But here we are again. I think it might all be worth it. This lonely parenting thing is hard. But I think it might be worth it.
The story of Donna*, an MCC Client, humanizes the embittered debate over U.S. Immigration reform. Recently, her husband was detained for an extended period of time by Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE). In his absence, Donna struggled to be the sole provider for the family and to care for her two young children. She recalls:
It is an ugly, hard situation I don’t wish on anyone. It is a very bitter sip to swallow, like a nightmare, every day hoping to wake up. It affected my family emotionally, as well as our health. I was almost never at the house, just to make dinner for my daughters and go to my other job. It wasn’t the home that [my husband] and I made with our children; it wasn’t complete. With his empty chair at the table, [we couldn’t eat dinner in the dining room.] We spent Thanksgiving alone. I thought, “My God, will we have to spend Christmas like this?”**
Stories like Donna’s are all too common and highlight some of the most heartbreaking ways that the American Immigration system fails families. Politicians on both sides of the isle have long decried our inadequate immigration policies. For liberals, the current system is outdated and fails to address and serve America’s changing demographics. For conservatives, the system is already too permissive and presents a threat to national security. Much of the recent media coverage has centered on whether undocumented immigrants who currently live in the United States should be allowed a path to citizenship while remaining in the U.S. or should be required to return to their country of origin before becoming eligible to apply for citizenship. These characterizations are oversimplifications of the realities of immigrant families.
Many immigrant families are comprised parents and children with various immigration statues.
As Donna’s story illustrates, when a parent is forcibly removed from a family, the entire family suffers the effects of the separation. Research suggests that a parent’s detention or deportation can disrupt a child’s sense of security and potentially cause irrevocable emotional and psychological damage.
At __maternity Care Coalition we are steadfastly dedicated to serving the families with the highest need. We envision a world in which all families and individuals have access to affordable healthcare, are economically self-sufficient and children thrive. MCC will continue to advocate for immigrant families by ensuring they are connected to integrated services and aware of their rights. We will also continue to educate the MCC Community about the need for a comprehensive and compassionate approach to immigration reform.
Recent rhetoric, inflammatory tweets and escalating tensions are scaring families. The City of Philadelphia’s reaffirmation of its status as a Sanctuary City has provided a bit of hope. Another bright spot: her husband was released in time to spend Christmas with his family, but Donna knows her ordeal is far from over. She says, “[We must be] informed and prepared for whatever may come. We must fight. We [must] never give up.”
*Client’s name was changed to protect her identity ** translated
My husband and I had our first child in 2007. Soon after, the country sunk into a recession that spiraled many families into financial doom. We didn’t feel the effects of it until a few years later, though, when I was newly pregnant with our second child, and my husband lost his job — the one that provided our family’s sole income, as well as our health insurance.
When it became clear that another job wasn’t on the horizon, I panicked the way only a mother does — especially a hormonally charged one.
The truth is, we really weren’t sure what we would do. We had some savings, but it was quickly being depleted. We had __parents who could help, but that was limited too, and not something we wanted to rely on for very long. Without health insurance, we didn’t know how we would pay for my prenatal care, our baby’s birth, or for either of our children’s pediatric care.
So we ended up doing something we never thought we would do: We applied for SNAP benefits (food stamps), Medicaid, and WIC. We qualified for all three, though I didn’t end up using the WIC benefits as much as the others.
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We were white, we were college educated, and we were from a wealthy suburban town.
I mention our race and class not to say that our plight was particularly unusual, or to elicit a “woe is me” kind of response. But I mention it because it wasn’t until my family was in a state of financial panic that I realized how very privileged a life I had led up till then.
Neither of my __parents were wealthy — far from it, in fact. My parents divorced when I was young, and I was mostly raised by my single mother, who had struggled financially herself. But there was always a sense that we would be just fine. My mother had parents who were able to support her financially when she went through tough times, and even helped her move to the wealthy suburban town where I ended up going to middle school and high school.
That high school is where I met my husband, who also came from a more humble home than many of the kids who lived in our town. Still, he attended an Ivy League University, and both of us earned Master’s degrees in our fields. Financial ruin was not in the cards for us, we thought.
And yet, here we were — relying on government aid.
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We went on to do so for a little over a year.
Thankfully, Medicaid covered all the medical care I needed while pregnant. It covered my birth, as well as both of my kids’ vaccinations, well visits, and sick care. The SNAP benefits we received were limited, because they determine your monthly amount by your income, and we had some income coming in from part-time work that my husband did while applying for jobs. It definitely helped with our grocery bills, but didn’t cover them, even after we cut back our spending significantly.
I am grateful for the assistance we received, but even with it, that year put us in debt — and we’re still climbing out of it.
But it also taught me some valuable lessons that I will carry with me for the rest of my life.
Image Source: Wendy Wisner
Until I was on it myself, I didn’t realize the intense stigma that families who rely on public assistance face. It took me a while to even admit to family and friends that we were using it.
To me, it meant that our financial crisis really was that deep (which frankly terrified me), and it signified that in some way we weren’t strong enough to get out of this mess ourselves.
But those are all inaccuracies; just stigmas created by a culture that is frankly not kind enough to families who struggle. I have since learned that our family was one of millions who were affected by unemployment as a result of the recession — many of whom had always worked hard and been successful.
I also learned that it’s a total myth that people who rely on public assistance only do so because they’re lazy, or looking for a “handout.” Public assistance actually picks people up out of financial ruin and poverty, and the fact is that you never know when financial demise will befall you. It isn’t something that anyone can plan for, and not every family has an easy way out of it, no matter how hard they work, or how well they plan.
Image Source: Wendy Wisner
Besides all that, it is important to remember where you are coming from when you judge other people who rely on government aid. If you come from a race or class that hasn’t historically been vulnerable to social or financial inequality, you simply cannot know what it is like to struggle, and what roadblocks people are up against as they struggle.
The phrase “check your privilege” is something that is used nowadays a lot. I know it’s phrase that makes some people uncomfortable because it sounds like a criticism. But what it is more than anything is a plea to not judge someone unless you have truly walked in their shoes, and to recognize that many of us live in vastly different worlds than each other, largely based on things like what race and class we were born into.
Image Source: Wendy Wisner
I don’t profess to know the depths of what it’s like to struggle financially for much of your life. And I recognize that my family is lucky, because although we still feel the effects of that one dire year, we are recovering, and will be fine. But when I hear about families who are struggling, and who are relying on government aid to help them, I feel their struggle in my bones. Because I know exactly what it’s like to worry about whether your children will be able to see a doctor, or whether or not your rent or electric bill will be paid.
Food, shelter, and medical attention are not things that any family should have worry endlessly about or struggle to provide.
So, please, next time you hear about a family who’s receiving public assistance to get back on their feet, don’t judge them. Instead, pray that they will get the help they need, so that they can recover, and live a full and plentiful life.
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Since 1938, new __parents in Finland have been sent home from the hospital with one unique, yet simple gift: A cardboard box, filled with everything from clothing to diapers to toys. It’s part of a government-funded program, intended to give new __parents a little financial relief and all babies an equal start.
But it’s not what’s in the box that’s proven to be most beneficial — it’s the box itself.
Finnish “baby boxes” are designed to be a baby’s first bed; which is why they come with a small mattress on the bottom and a fitted sheet. And while it may seem a bit against nature to put your sleeping newborn in a cardboard box, they have actually been credited with dramatically lowering the country’s infant mortality rate.
Those numbers haven’t been lost on the rest of the world — and now, it looks like similar programs are starting to catch on here in the States.
The Baby Box Co. has teamed up with New Jersey’s Child Fatality and Near Fatality Review Board (CFNFRB) to launch the first-ever state-wide baby box program.
Each one will come stocked with plenty of newborn essentials from participating brands — including Pampers Swaddlers diapers, Pampers baby wipes, Vroom activity cards from the Bezos Family Foundation, Lansinoh breast pads and nipple cream for breastfeeding moms, a onesie, and more.
It will also come bearing a unique design inspired by one of the state’s most treasured family vacation spots: the Jersey Shore!
Image Source: The Baby Box Co.
In a press release obtained by Babble, The Baby Box Co.’s CEO Jennifer Clary stated:
“Every parent has a right to the necessary tools to care for their infant and every child deserves a safe and supported start in life. New Jersey officials and health professionals have come together in a collaboration which embodies this truth, ensuring that basic child-care resources and education are universally accessible to families statewide.”
And that “safe and supported start” will hopefully have big impacts when it comes to the state’s infant mortality rate — which currently sits at 4.4% (versus the national rate of 5.98%), according to the CDC.
“The Baby Box initiative is a promising addition in ongoing efforts to reduce the tragedy of SIDS,” added Judy Donlen, RN, DNSc, JD, Executive Director of the Southern New Jersey Perinatal Cooperative. “We are especially excited about the benefits for new parents provided through Baby Box University, an innovative, electronic gateway to resources and information.”
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Unlike the Finnish baby box program, New Jersey parents won’t all be handed over a box on their way out of the hospital — but the steps towards getting one are pretty easy.
According to the Baby Box Co., parents-to-be should:
1. Register at BabyBoxUniversity.com
There’s no cost to register — everything about this program is completely free — but parents must provide proof of their New Jersey residency, including their mailing address and other contact information.
2. Watch a quick informational video.
The 10-minute video is all about empowering parents, providing them with free access to educational tools online through the Baby Box University. (So don’t worry, you’re not being sold anything.) But you will have to take a short quiz afterwards. Once you complete it, you’ll get a certificate of completion and be able to select local pick-up or direct delivery of your Baby Box.
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According to a 2016 report by the CFNFRB, an estimated 93% of infant fatalities associated with Sudden Unexpected Infant Death Syndrome (SUIDS) were directly related to the safety of sleep environments — which makes the proven success of baby box programs even more reassuring for parents and medical experts everywhere.
Here’s hoping more states follow New Jersey’s lead!
The role of activist is a new one for me. I didn’t grow up in a politically active family, nor did I feel comfortable having political conversations. I was more of a people-pleaser, than a rabble-rouser. But even though I put on the coat of activism later in life than some, I have done so eagerly and passionately.
Along with this renewed hunger to work toward advancing positive change (and prevent disastrous change, as well) is a desire to instill a strong sense of activism in my children. I want them to grow up knowing that they have a voice and we the people have power. “Don’t just complain; do something about it,” I often tell them, and I want to be a good model for what “doing something” looks like.
For many of us, “doing something” was marching in the Women’s March on Washington — or one of the hundreds of sister marches around the country and the world — this past weekend. We showed up and we rose up. We used our voices, and we marched on for a women’s rights, equality, and basic human decency.
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I marched in Chicago on Saturday, and although the introvert in me was a bit apprehensive about it, the experience surpassed anything I could have imagined.
The energy, the kindness, and the optimism were all contagious. Just as the resilience and determination on the faces of the marchers and in the voices of the speakers was uplifting, empowering, and motivating. And the camaraderie, friendship, and shared vision of what our country stands for was like seeing a rainbow in the midst of a torrential downpour.
One of the most powerful moments of the day, without a doubt, was when an L train passed over us marching. The conductor honked several times and gave us a fist of solidarity. The train was filled with signs of support and people waving and cheering. I don’t have a photo or video of it, but it is firmly etched in my mind and heart.
Adding to the collective energy of the day were also the large numbers of men and children participating. This wasn’t just a march of women, but a march of humanity. There were women of all ages, sure, but there were also men — young and old — and children.
So many children.
Children learning to use their voices, seeing what it means to stand up for what’s important, and stepping into the role of “activist” with innocent eyes and a hopeful heart.
Being an activist isn’t some radical idea, and it doesn’t have to be an all-consuming role. Being an activist simply means being an engaged citizen, standing up for what you believe in, and making you voice heard. And by the looks of things this weekend, these kids have it down to a T.
In the words of Roo Shattuck, a 4-year-old who marched in Boston with his mother (and one of my friends), “We marched because we hope Donald Trump will make kind choices. We wanted him to see us hoping!”
Here are just some of the many — many — children who turned up on Saturday to spread that same message:
"Respect Existence or Expect Resistance!" #thefutureisfemale #womensmarchla #womensmarch #whyimarch #babiesofinstagram
A photo posted by posy joe (@juxta_posy) on
“I want a president that’s nice to ladies.” (Image Source: Kaitlin Stanford) Image Source: Kaitlin Stanford “This is what a feminist looks like.” (Image Source: Kaitlin Stanford) Image Source: Karen Stegall “Trump is not nice” (Image Source: Shawna H.)
Are you listening? #womensmarch #boswomensmarch
A photo posted by Elizabeth Warren (@elizabethwarrenma) on
Image Source: Monica Bielanko Image Source: Jen Anderson Shattuck Image Source: Kaitlin Stanford Image Source: Kim Zapata Image Source: Lisa Neglia image source: jenny sowry image source: jane heyer Image Source: Christine Organ image source: ellen franzone
