Home Birth or Hospital Birth?

Homebirths are on the rise. At least, that’s what an article I read online stated. It seems that maybe doctors are softening their opinions on it a little. Really? Because the arguments I was reading against home birthing were exactly the same ones I read back in the Nineties when I had my babies at home. With special emphasis on the safety issue which is the card they always seem to play.


Let me tell you a few stories, all of them true, all of them mine. My first baby…waters break at home but labor doesn’t start…call doctor, he says wait a few hours then go in…do that…nurse does litmus paper test and says that my water did NOT break…o.k. something felt like a ballon popping inside me and gushed at least a quart of liquid out that was not urine but..what do I know…. So staff proceeds on the info that waters have not broken…rolled into labor room when it is time…nurse gets out long thin crochet hook to “break” my waters with…doctor stops her to do manual exam… he exclaims “that is not the water bag bulging, it is the baby’s head, he’s coming down the birth canal!!!”…baby born fifteen minutes later. There could have been significant damage if they had tried to “break” my waters.

My second baby, my contractions are erratic but getting pretty intense, I go to hospital…nurse examines me…dilation not what doctor would like to see…she doesn’t even come in…tells nurse to send me home…when I complain doctor tells me on phone that I ‘m not really in labor… the contractions just SEEM intense…go home, eat something, take a warm bath to relax and get some sleep. I’m crying because she won’t listen to me. Forty-five minutes later in the middle of a freezing Maine winter night, my son is born in the front seat of our Ford Escort under a street light. My husband delivers him.

Babies number 3,4,5,and 6 are born at home with amazing midwives who listened to me, worked with me and monitored the unborn babies way more than my first two were. It’s peaceful, relaxed, and comfortable. I can’t even begin to compare them with my other births. It was beautiful and calm.

Baby 7 is on the way. I’m much older and more at risk because of the multiple births. We opt for the hospital again. I’m thinking with all the experience we’ve had birthing babies this should be a whole different game. Wrong! Again, no one believes I’m in true labor until a nurse wanders in and catches me on the floor on all fours panting through a contraction. She decides to admit me…yeah…but I’m in transition labor at this point. I tell her she needs to call the doctor. She replies that he is not too far away and please let her know when I feel the urge to push. When I can catch my breath I growl “that will be too late”…she leaves the room with a patronizing smile but returns with another nurse in a few minutes after my husband hollered out the door, “I can see the baby’s head”…the nurses deliver my little girl.

Baby 8 is a different hospital and different doctor but same old story…sent home from hospital because I’m not in “real” labor…contractions are erratic but registering 10’s on the pain scale… almost give birth on my front lawn but husband shoves me in to car…hospital is three minutes away…baby born ten minutes after we get there.

Baby 9 was a c-section because her umbilical cord was caught between her head and my cervix. Every contraction limited her oxygen. I was thankful for a hospital and for the procedure but if I had been planning a home birth my midwives would have caught this in plenty of time to get there.

So my experience has been that home birthing is safer but I don’t think it is the place as much as the midwives. They listen to women in labor. They know that no two women labor the same and no two pregnancies are ever the same. They are much more flexible in that way. None of my “bad” birthing would have happened if the caregivers had listened and believed in ME and my ability to feel what was going on. That’s what needs to change to truly make births safe, sane and happy. That’s the view from my side of the street, what’s yours?

The Jodi Arias Case

WARNING- THIS MAY BE TOO GRAPHIC FOR SOME READERS. I will try to soften it as much as I can. I am a mystery buff. I was introduced to Miss Marple and Hercule Poirot at an early age by my grandmother. She loved Agatha Christie! So I did too. Sherlock Holmes I found on my own when I was about twelve. I just read (for the umpteenth time) a compilation of his works. I started reading about real life murders in my teens. I have been especially fascinated with serial killers. It’s my guilty little secret.


When we were still married my ex used to tell me I was trying to find a way to kill him and get away with it. He meant it. To which I would reply “No, dear, I’m suicidal. I’m trying to find a way to kill myself and make it look like you did it.” I didn’t mean it… not all the time, anyway.

So I’m kinda sorta following the Jodi Arias trial, as much as one can with no TV and a busy spring schedule. Watched a few testimonies, read some articles, looked up some things but nothing has really explained exactly what happened. Not to my satisfaction. I probably should declare that I believe her to be guilty. That wasn’t really any doubt for me after a few days of research.

What I really wanted to know was how it happened. Travis was bigger and stronger. How was it that he couldn’t defend himself? Did he not want to hurt her? Why didn’t he run out of the house? These were the questions running through my head?

Last night, I decided to figure it out myself. I started with autopsy photos, went on to crime scene photos, pored over testimony and did it all again. It was not making much sense until I found out that between the time Jodi was taking pictures of Travis in the shower and the time the camera accidently took a picture of Travis on the floor by her feet was 62 seconds. He didn’t have time to overpower her or run away. I started all over again and here is what happened according to me.

He did try to defend himself. The deep cuts on his hands prove that. Cuts all over his body seem to tell the story of him running away while being chased as does the blood evidence I witnessed in all the crime scene photos. He obviously ran from the shower where the attack began and down the hall to his bedroom. Here is where speculation and knowing human nature comes into play. I think he tried to close the bedroom door to block her. She was too close. As he turned to close and lock the door he once more presented his front to her. She stabbed something vital (it might have been the heart stab they found) and he went down. I think that’s when she slit his throat. The carpet behind the door had the highest concentration of blood. At that point, she retrieved the gun she had brought with her and shot him. The gun shell was found just outside the door in a pool of dried blood. The whole thing probably didn’t take five minutes.

Here is where the absolute cold blooded killer part shows up for me. While she took a series of pictures of him in the shower she knew she was going to kill him. She had to have the knife right there with her. Nothing else fits the time frame. She knew she was taking the last pictures ever of a living Travis. How cold is that?

And why did she drag his dead body back to the bathroom and shove it in to the shower stall? That had to have taken an enormous amount of physical effort on her part. What was the point of that? And talk about cold blooded. UGH! We will probably never know the answer to that one. Only Jodi herself knows that and she’s not talking. That’s the view from my side of the street, what’s yours?

Forget It

Somewhere in my scrounging I picked up a book called “Leaves of Gold”. It was published in 1938 and according to the handwritten inscription it was given to a young woman by her college sorority. It is a beautiful book with gold trimmed parchment paper pages and a leather cover. The words inside are of more value to me. They are a collection of poems, verses, quotes, etc. They are words of wisdom from those who lived in a different time in the world. I love browsing through it.


Recently, during such a browsing session, I found these thoughts on memory. Since so many of us feel that we are losing that particular ability, I thought these guidelines might be helpful.

FORGET IT- “Forget the slander you have heard, Forget the hasty, unkind word; Forget the quarrel and the cause, Forget the whole affair, because Forgetting is the only way. Forget the storm of yesterday, Forget the chap whose sour face Forgets to smile in any place. Forget you’re not a millionaire, Forget the gray streaks in your hair. Forget the coffee when it’s cold, Forget to kick, forget to scold, Forget the plumber’s awful charge, Forget the iceman’s bill is large; Forget the coalman and his ways, Forget the winter’s blustery days”. – Anon

In its place here is what to REMEMBER- “The value of time, The success of perseverance, The pleasure of working, The dignity of simplicity, The worth of character, The power of kindness, The influence of example, The obligation of duty, The wisdom of economy, The virtue of patience, The improvement of talent, The joy of originating”. –Bulletin

And this by Helen Mocksett Stork- FORGET- “It is better to forget the things that hurt us, And to live each day and take whatever comes, With the hope that by tomorrow There will come a balm for sorrow And help to master life’s important sums! There’s a strength that comes to us every time we suffer, And our will grows stronger every time we fight, Let us then be doubly grateful For the things that disappoint us; They only come to lead us to the light!”

I can’t say any of this any better so that’s the view from my side of the street, what’s yours?

Pulling Weeds

It is an amazing early spring day at my house. The word “soft” keeps coming to mind…soft white clouds billow in the soft blue sky while a soft, gentle breeze caresses my body. But what I am doing is anything but soft. I am fighting back the dark force that all gardeners face. I am pulling weeds.


Not just ordinary weeds, mind you, but weeds from the very mouth of hell. We have three particularly devilish weeds in this area. I’m not sure of their “correct” names. One we call “crabgrass” because it sends it’s “legs” sprawling along above and below the surface of the ground. Its roots go deep and mighty effort is used to pull it up.

The second weed is called “choke weed”. It is a pretty vine with attractive little flowers that will literally choke the very life out of any plant it can get close to. It winds itself like a boa constrictor around and around and around. If allowed to grow to that point you must sacrifice the plant as well as the weed. It is impossible to pull them apart.

Our third hellish weed is the “goat head” plant. These are small plants that grow very close to the ground. One small plant can produce a few dozen seeds which blow to new spots and propagate like rabbits. These seeds are hard and spiky. You sure know when you step on one. They are vicious and evil and must be destroyed!!! They are also very tough and hard to kill.

Over the past few years, our personal war has seen victory to our side concerning choke weed and goat heads. We have greatly reduced their numbers and can get on top of the battle each year by catching them early. The crabgrass, however, is a different story. A great deal of our acreage is crabgrass so every time I dig a new garden bed, IT IS ON!! I pull and pull and pull. Sometimes I mutter bad words. At times I swear that the end of the root must be on the other side of the world. My husband walks by, shakes his head and gives me his two cents worth of advice. It is always the same. “You’ll never get rid of it, you know.”

But he is wrong!! Each year that passes finds less and less of the intruder in my already existing flower beds. As a matter of fact, I can tell where I gave up last year. There is a huge difference from the side I weeded to the side I didn’t. I am winning! It might be slow but it is very sure. This is what I remind myself of as I pull and pull and pull in my first time garden beds. These too will show progress next year. The battle is never ending but progress is being made.

So many in today’s world have “weeds” that seem to choke out the very thought of happiness. There are “weeds” of grief, despair, loneliness, addictions, poverty, disease, and so much more. Whatever the dark weed is in your life, just keep trying to pull it out. Pull and pull and pull, mutter bad words, pray for help, do whatever you need to except give up! As each year passes you will see that controlling the weed is getting easier. You will see the progress you have made just like in my flower beds. Churchill Winston once said, “Never, never, never give up.” You will be the winner in the end. I promise! That’s the view from my side of the street, what’s yours?

Age is only a number.....wrong!

We have been knee deep in birthdays around here. I’m about to turn 53. I have reached that stage of the game where I have to admit that the years left to me are less than the years I have been here. I have a very sweet (delusional) baby sister who says I’m still just middle-aged. God bless her but how many 106 year olds do you know running around?


I remember anxiously awaiting my 30th birthday. Somehow I thought that being in my thirties would signify that I was a “grownup”. I loved my thirties. I had “arrived”. Physically I felt great. Spiritually I was strong. I thought that I had learned so many things.

I look back now and think I didn’t know squat! The best and the worst were still yet to come. Here are some of the things I’ve learned:

1. I wish that I had known that the body I disliked in my early years was going to be the body I wish I still had in my 50’s. Lesson learned- accept the body you have now because you’ll wish you still had it when you turn 80.

2. Having wrinkles does NOT mean you won’t still get pimples- an unfairness I intend to talk to God about when I see him.

3. Don’t worry about how you look to your husband when you are naked. Since you will probably be the only naked woman in the room –you look darn good to him!

4. Not being able to see things close up without reading glasses is a good thing. We can’t clearly see our wrinkles and graying hair- a blessing I intend to thank God for when I see him.

5. At a certain age, your body reminds you of every injury or injustice it ever suffered! Payback is a b…. lesson learned- treat your body with great care. That broken leg you had from a ski accident WILL come back to haunt you later on in life.

6. God has an amazing way of keeping us older people humble. He stops us from being insufferable know it alls with a little thing called memory loss.

7. Babies and toddlers are for the young not the young at heart- getting off the couch and up the stairs to investigate their activities takes me ALOT longer than it used to.

8. It is impossible to talk about my private business with the hot doctor who is younger than half of my children!

9. It’s also impossible for someone to push me into something I don’t want- I’ve survived half a century, I can survive you! (I realized this when someone was tailgating me in an effort to make me speed up. I slowed down!)

10. No matter how bad, dark, impossible or never ending a situation might seem, there is always an end. The light does shine again. Time may not heal all wounds but it certainly does ease them.

So, here’s to the next half century- if I learn even half of what I’ve learned so far I’ll be happy. If only I can remember it all!

That’s the view from my side of the street, what’s yours?

Marathon Monday

We are “mourning with those who mourn” and grieving for the losses of Marathon Monday. On a day usually heavily celebrated by those from all over the world who come to Boston to take on their own personal challenge of completing the iconic Boston Marathon and those who accompany them for support, the unthinkable has again happened. Someone with their own personal agenda turned joy to fear and grief in moments. Bombs were placed at congregated sites with the obvious intent of hurting as many people as possible.


My first response was impotent fury that once more something innocent and good was being assaulted. I thought of 9/11. Just ordinary people doing everyday things such as going to work or shopping or eating out unaware of the nightmare about to happen. The slaughter at Sandy Hook Elementary was an assault on the most innocent of us, our small children happily going through their day at school when suddenly horror came. Churches and temples and mosques have all been attacked. Good people doing good things when the evil came upon them.

And now our sports events have been targeted. Families and friends and strangers gathered together to cheer on the 27,000 plus people who took on the mammoth marathon challenge. It is a day in which strangers are friends because all are there for the same reasons. People, who have planned, prepared and sacrificed for months, even years to make this pilgrimage. It is a day usually full of triumph and joy.

This year the usual jubilance at the finish line was replaced with terror, screaming, blood, bodies and body parts. It was a scene not unlike what one finds on a battle field. Confusion and disorientation filled the air side by side with the smoke and the carnage. And heard all around the world was a collective gasp of shock.

Within moments as the smoke cleared we saw something else. We witnessed an orderly exodus from the area. There was none of the panicked shoving or trampling that might be expected in such situations. Parents with children were moving away from the scene at the same time others rushed towards it. Strangers helping strangers in whatever ways they could. Some led or carried the wounded out. Others literally gave the shirts off their backs to stop the life blood flowing in the street. The response of “regular” folks was overwhelming.

First responders, too, were on scene in what seemed like minutes. If we hadn’t known better it looked like it had been well rehearsed. In fact, it is my belief that the instant outpouring of aid is one of the things that kept this day from being the massacre it was probably meant to be.

Indeed it is these types of responses...people caring for people…that help us through the emotional trauma. It is another proof that good will always win no matter what. Compassion is love in action. It is what made the day a triumph of another sort. It is it a triumph of the heart.

Facebook was passing around a quote from Mr. Rogers, “When I was a little boy and saw scary things on the news, my mother told me to look for the helpers. She said there would always be helpers.” She was right. If the day ever comes that there are not then and only then will evil have won. Let’s pray that day never comes. That’s the view from my side of the street, what’s yours?

Wisdom From the Shire

I’ve been a Tolkien fan from way back. My girls called me a nerd when I told them that my friends and I used to speak Elvish to each other. My CB handle used to be “Arwen Evenstar”. They were freaked out. Chalk it up to another uncool mom thing. I read books, too. Oh, no!


Anyway, this weekend, the girls and I are watching “The Hobbit”. Every so often one of them asks for clarification on people and places that coincide with “The Lord of the Rings” movie trilogy. We are watching the scene when Bilbo finds the ring and meets Gollum. My fourteen year old daughter asks the question, “Mom, why didn’t Bilbo become like Gollum if he had the ring for all those years?”

She doesn’t really know it but that is a very good question. In fact, isn’t it one of the big questions of life? When two people are given similar circumstances, what is it that makes one person head for the light and another head for the dark? She knows from previous movies that Gollum used to be like Bilbo. But he had become a faded, withered, evil caricature of his formal self. She is asking why the evil ring of power didn’t do the same thing to Bilbo.

So we begin an important life discussion. She doesn’t know that but I do. Here is one of those amazing teaching moments that life gives us if we are paying attention. We talk about the different ways the ring was obtained. Bilbo simply found it. Gollum had murdered his best friend for it.

We talk about how it was used. Bilbo used it to escape danger and to help other people. When he returned to his peaceful, beloved home, he rarely used it at all.

On the other hand, right from the beginning, Gollum had used it to snoop and steal and deceive, falling ever deeper in to its evil power. He wore it almost constantly, remaining in the world of shadows that came with it. Eventually he began to hate the light and all that lived under it. He took himself deep into the mountains and stayed there many, many years, killing and festering in his own twisted thinking.

We come to the conclusion that in Gollum’s case evil desires already lurked deeply within until he took the ring. That and his consistent choice to use the ring for evil opened the door for the ring to take hold of his heart and soul.

We also come to the conclusion that Bilbo had no evil lurking in his soul. He found a magic ring. He used it when in need but although the ring tried it could not snare him in quite the same way. It installed an unhealthy attachment but that was as far as evil could go in this good hobbit.

I use the moment to share that evil works the same way in our world. The only way that it can enter our hearts and souls is if we open the doors and let it in. Once we have done that we usually continue to make choices that allow evil to ensnare us in its slippery, strong tentacles from which escape is can be almost impossible.

Or we can be like Bilbo focusing on the happy, good things of life. We can follow the Light and learn to live in goodness and love. We can keep those doors firmly closed to anything that wants to come in and destroy us. We can resist the evil all around us by continually making the kind of choices that bring inner peace and strength. This choice is always ours to make.

I told her as I tell you today that evil is constantly around us in many different forms. It can only enter if we open the door and let it. There is another knocking at those doors. If we let Him in, He can keep the evil at bay and show you the way to go. He can also light your way through the darkness to help you find a way out if you are in the clutches of those dark tentacles. Again, the choice is always ours. Who will you open your doors to? That’s the view from my side of the street, what’s yours?

A Beautiful Morning

It is spring in my little part of the world. The earth is warming slowly from its winter chill. Nights are still cold but days are sunny and pleasant. I am sitting on my back porch absorbing the sights and sounds of spring. I watch a robin couple. It’s easy to tell the male. His chest is a brilliant deep shade of red while hers is a lighter shade of rust. They see me and hesitate. Obviously they are used to the dozen or so barn cats eating near by. They appear to be unconcerned about the four dogs around my feet but I am something new to them. They walk carefully keeping an eye on me. As I do nothing, their confidence grows. Pretty soon they turn their backs to me and my montage to begin their search in the grass for breakfast…or is it water?


One of my layer hens has just laid an egg. She is telling the word of her accomplishment with a loud cackle. It is a sound that chickens and chicken owners all over the world recognize. Another hen joins her. There will be eggs for breakfast. Yeah. The rooster sees me sitting in my chair and begins his attempt to get my attention. His cock a doodle doo’s are hard to ignore but they can wait a little bit to be fed. I’m in the moment.

We have a pair of doves living here. I hear them calling to each other. They have been raising babies for a number of years but I’m wondering if they are getting too old. We couldn’t find any nestlings last year and they don’t seem to have any this year. I amuse myself with thoughts of them “in retirement” still together after all these years.

Our pair of swallowtail sparrows has not returned yet. I admit it is early but each year I am anxious as I await their arrival. I hope that all is well with them. I have no idea where they go or even why they chose to build their summer home on my porch light. But they did three years ago. We have loved every minute of watching two sets of eggs hatch each summer.

There are blooms in the flower beds as well as a million weeds screaming at me as I sit. I choose not to listen. The trees are well on their “leafing” way. My senses soak in the calmness of a spring morning. The sun is warm on my skin, my ears engaged in listening to the slight rustle of new leaves, the chirping of the bird world around me, the sight of the many emerging colors set against the back drop of the baby, blue sky of spring.

I feel sorry for city dwellers on mornings like this. The world is so serene and peaceful and right. Is it possible to get that feeling in a city? I feel so blessed to live where I do. I feel so blessed to be a part of this amazing experience called spring. At such moments I could care less about North Korea or Washington, D.C. That is all part of man’s mess not God’s.

There is a song from the musical OKLAHOMA that cover such a moment, “Oh, what a beautiful morning! Oh, what a beautiful day! I have a beautiful feeling every things going my way!” That’s the view from my side of the street, what’s yours?

Finding Grummie

Wow! Our brains are amazing things! This fact was driven home last week as I was rummaging thru my favorite antique/junk store. One of my daughters was with me. This store has so much stuff in a relatively small space that progress is slow and deliberate. It actually gives one the feeling of treasure hunting. I love it.


As we were making our slow but steady search I turned a corner, saw an item and exclaimed excitedly, “Look, it’s a grummie!!” My daughter was a bit taken aback as was the shopkeeper. But neither of them was more shocked than I!

Let me explain a little- when my brother was little he had a favorite toy. It was a stuffed Captain Kangaroo. I guess I’d better introduce those of my readers NOT of the Captain Kangaroo era to him. He was a very long running children’s TV character. He actually started on the radio during the Howdy Doody times. He was beloved by several generations of children.

Back to my brother, he and this toy were inseparable. You know, like Woody and Andy. He had named him Grummie. We never knew why. Grummie was the center of his universe for many years. Because he was a younger brother it became a big part of my universe also. Many of my childhood hours were spent finding Grummie.

Here’s the thing, if you had asked me what my brother’s favorite toy was I probably would have drawn a blank. If you had asked me what he had named his favorite toy, I would have gently explained to you that I spend a good part of every day trying to find the place I last set down my water bottle. I then would have told you that I have purchased a number of reading glasses to be placed near the areas I might be needing them. This was done because I was sick over the lost hours maybe years of my life spent looking for them.

In short, I would have answered, “How the heck do you expect me to remember that?” But there was a stuffed Captain Kangaroo on a crowded shelf and without even thinking about it, I shouted out, “Look it’s a Grummie!”

I have suspected that our brains hold everything we ever put into them before. When driving in the car one day, someone said they wanted a Big Mac. I instantly started chanting the Big Mac song- twoallbeefpaattiesspecialsaucelettucecheesepicklesonionsonasesameseedbun. My kids thought I’d gone insane. I had visions of me sitting in the corner of some nursing home muttering these words over and over. People would pass by saying “Poor old soul- does anyone know what she’s talking about?”

These fleeting glimpses into the recessed closets of my mind give me hope that all is not lost! Looking forward to the day I die, I see myself on the other side suddenly remembering all that I had forgotten. I think of the character in “Peter Pan” who found his missing marbles and danced with joy. I’ll even remember all the “safe” places I put things in. Of course it won’t do me any good but it’ll be nice to know.

That’s the view from my side of the street, what’s yours?

Home Alone

This past weekend I had a chance to make an impromptu road trip to Utah. A friend from church was headed back to pick up some things and see some family before they moved away. I’ve been hungering for a road trip so I offered to go with. The offer was accepted and off we went.


I’ve often said that if you really want to get to know someone go on a road trip. The trip to Utah is long but not very hard. It takes about 12 hours but basically you point the car in the right direction and go. There are no highway changes, tollbooths or many cities to pass through. It is direct and simple.

We stayed with a friend of my friend. She was a gracious, thoughtful and wonderful hostess. Her home was beautiful, welcoming and comfortable. She and my friend had activities planned for Friday night. I was invited but chose instead to stay “home”, work on my blog, catch up with DWTS and go to bed.

My friend set up her laptop for my convenience and off they went. I was “home” alone. I am one to make myself at home and I did. I wrote my blog with no problem but realized that I had no idea how to highlight and copy it to my site without the help of a mouse. I tried a number of things but no luck.

I was beginning to panic when I thought of my hostess’s computer set up in the office. It had a mouse. Feeling somewhat like a cat burglar, I entered the office stealthily. I found what I was looking for but finding a way to disconnect it was harder than I thought. The confusing tangle of wires poking out her computer brain was daunting. As was the hardware all around trying to slip off and crash to the floor with each move I made. But victory was mine and I headed back to the laptop triumphantly.

I posted my blog and set things up to watch DWTS. But there was no sound! I checked the control panel, speaker volume everything I could think off but to no avail. The laptop remained mute. . I found out the next day that the laptop was programmed for outside speakers. Watching dancing is not much fun without the music so I shut the whole thing down and headed back to the office to replace the mouse.

Egads!! I wrestled with the avalanching equipment again to replace the mouse only to find that the computer wasn’t registering its presence. Oh, no, not only did I sneak in and steal it, now I’ve broken it! It took awhile and I’m not sure what I did but it finally worked. I had the bright idea to use that computer to watch DWTS but I didn’t know the password.

Next I tried the TV. It too defeated me as I could not figure out the confusing system of remotes and equipment. At this point some of you are wondering why I didn’t call someone, right? Well, being a “plugged in” household, it did not have a landline. I do not have a cell phone so ……

All was not lost however, I love to read. I had brought reading materials. Oh, wait, they were still in the car that had left for the night. I began looking for a book, a magazine, anything , I was ready to read the phone book but I couldn’t find anything but a shelf full of young children’s books most of which I had already read a hundred times.

Once again I cursed technology and all its “advances” and went to bed. It was eight o’clock. That made it seven o’clock my time. I think I was pregnant the last time I went to bed that early. That’s the view from my side of the street, what’s yours?

Mother Guilt

There is a crippling disease that is at epidemic proportions. But there are no telethons devoted to it. There are no research groups searching frantically for the cure. No marathons are run to raise public awareness. There are no big headlines calling for the world’s attention. As a matter of fact, it is usually not talked about at all even among its victims. What is this crippling disease, you ask? It is simply called “mother guilt”.

Those of us that have suffered the sometimes paralyzing symptoms of this affliction know without a doubt that we have ruined our children’s lives forever. Our children will be the first to say so. Our husbands often confirm this. Our friends may offer support but the fact is that that deep down they want to believe that whatever you did is worse than them because they are fellow sufferers.

It’s amazing what can cause us to feel this guilt. I remember well my first attack. My firstborn was only a few days old when I decided to cut his fingernails. (Actually, he was born with claws.) Confidently, I picked up the cute little tiny nail clippers and proceeded to cut the tips of his tiny fingers. He waved his hand around as he screamed in protest. Drops of baby blood went everywhere. I felt like an axe murderer.

There was the time I stood taking pictures of my eight week old second son. He was in his seat on the kitchen table. He had dropped a toy and was bending over in an attempt to recover it. I was fascinated by the fact that he was trying to scoot his seat closer to the toy. I mean, how many 8 week olds do that? I continue snapping pictures while he scooted himself right off the table!

I could share hundreds of such moments but what I want to share is the CURE that I found. Luckily, it came fairly early in my mothering career. It came from a story I heard from another mother. She was a very busy woman with a large family. Every Saturday for years found her trying to do all the needed Saturday things as well as wanting to get the Sunday things ready, too. No matter how hard she tried she seemed to find herself ironing white shirts every Sunday morning. She felt guilty for years until her oldest left home. His first letter home said these words, “Mom, I miss sliding my arms into a freshly ironed shirt just before church. That always felt like Sunday to me.”

I vowed than and there that I would banish mother guilt forever. It helps that I bought a plaque that said, “So I’m NOT supermom, deal with it.” It hangs in a prominent place in my home.

That’s the view from my side of the street. What’s yours?

In the Service of Your Fellow Being...

`It takes thirty days to make or break a habit. At least, that’s what the “experts” say. I say that thirty days looks pretty doable. It isn’t as overwhelming as say….a year…might be. Thirty days gives us something that we can sink our teeth into especially if we are doing the just get through today thing. We might be giving up smoking or establishing an exercise program or almost anything that requires the one day at a time approach. One day at a time multiplied by thirty equals habit broken or established. Hurray!


I decided some years ago that I wanted to develop a habit of service to others. You know…the good old “do unto others” kind of stuff. After thinking about it for awhile I decided that if I did a “good deed” every day for thirty days that maybe it would establish a life long habit. It certainly couldn’t hurt.

The biggest problem I had was one of people access. I was a young mother with several young children living on a farm on a dirt road on the outskirts of town. I didn’t get out much and had few neighbors. Was it even going to be possible? I didn’t know but I wasn’t going to let that stop me.

I started on the first day of May. My first act of service was homemade cookies placed in the mailbox for our rural postman. The next day I sent an anonymous thank you card to someone from church. The following day I left a loaf of bread on a neighbor’s doorstep……etc. etc. The thirty days was so much fun I just kept going.

I realized that it really didn’t take a huge effort to make someone’s day. Sometimes just giving someone my place in the grocery line or a big smile or hello or a hug did it. Baked goods are always appreciated. Calling someone you haven’t seen for awhile, snail mailing cards or notes, letting a person know that you noticed a kind thing that they did, entertaining a baby while mom puts the bags in the car, flowers from the garden, a yard sale addition to someone’s collection, a compliment or passing on something nice you heard, holding the door open, the list of small kindnesses is endless. And so are the benefits.

Because, you see, not only do you bless the lives of those you help, it is impossible to do something nice for someone and not feel good yourself. Kahlil Gibran said, “You give but little when you give of your possessions. It is when you give of yourself that you truly give.”

Carrie Chapman Catt said, “Service… rewards the worker with more real happiness and satisfaction than any other venture of life.” And the scriptures say, “And behold I tell you these things that ye may learn wisdom; that ye may learn that when you are in the service of your fellow beings ye are only in the service of your God.”

There was one more important lesson I learned about service to others. There can’t be a giver if there is no receiver. I had always been a little uncomfortable when I was on the receiving end of service but now I realize that gracious receiving of an act of service is vital.

So I’m thinking…what if everyone reading this did a kind act of service everyday for the next month? Be creative. Be prayerful. Be aware of the needs all around you. Stop being scared and just “do it”. What a ripple that would cause. That’s the view from my side of the street, what’s yours?

I Am a Non-Believer

As my regular readers know I came into this new technological age kicking and screaming. I hate it! I have fought every new thing that has come along. I put off learning how to use it until the world got too strong for me. It has become almost impossible to keep up with anything if not plugged in somehow. So I have painstakingly (let’s put emphasis on the “pain” part of that word) struggled to learn how to use today’s tech.


And I have come to understand one of the things that held me back. It is simply this- I don’t believe in it. I’m not talking about why we need it so much. It is ruining us as human beings. I already know how I feel about that. No, I’m talking about the actual technology of it. It doesn’t make any sense to me. It is totally beyond my ability to grasp more than just a fleeting glimpse of how it works. It doesn’t seem possible.

For crying out loud, I am still in disbelief of how a telephone works. Not a cell phone, just a plain old fashioned land line. It has always been a miracle that I could pick up a phone and my voice would travel through wires across the miles and come out at the other end. It is impossible for me to comprehend.

Now the world is asking me to believe that not only my voice but all my messages and news travel through the air in little particles until they are caught up by the right equipment and brought to someone else. It sounds like a Willy Wonka invention. It is impossible for me to comprehend. I don’t believe in it.

Cameras and movies have always amazed me but they used to have film and development and pictures you picked up. Now I am asked to believe that I can take pictures with a phone, plug it into a computer and voila! There my pictures magically appear on the screen. There is nothing concrete to get a hold of! I don’t believe in it. I truly don’t.

But the evidence is all around me. I see phones in use, texts flying back and forth, pictures shared on Facebook, my blog going to readers all over the world, I get to interact with my grandchildren on Skype, the list is endless. I do not comprehend the technology but I see it working all around me.

And so it is with God. There are so many today who say they do not believe in Him but the evidence is all around them. Today’s technology doesn’t care if I don’t believe in it. It is there all the same. It doesn’t matter if you believe in God. He is there all the same.

I found this poem “God’s Witnesses” written many years ago by Charles Hanson Towne: “I need not shout about my faith. Thrice eloquent are quiet trees and the green listening sod; Hushed are the stars, whose power is never spent; The hills are mute: yet how they speak of God!”

And this “The Evidence” by John B. Tabb: “In every seed to breathe a flower. In every drop of dew To reverence a cloistered star Within the distant blue; To wait the promise of the bow Despite the cloud between, Is Faith- the fervid evidence Of loveliness unseen.”

It is springtime in my little part of the world. The birds are singing, the trees are blooming out, my early spring flowers are nodding their heads to the morning, and all is right in God’s world. I wish I could say the same for mans. That’s the view from my side of the street, what’s yours?