I need a housemate

I need a housemate and I am terrified. Why? I have a five-year-old. Should I be concerned for his safety, a stranger in our home? Concerned about infringing on the space of a housemate with all the power struggles and tantrums? I have no idea how to get through this one. But I am posting here to see if anyone needs a room in a lovely three-bedroom Montpelier apartment. Or if anyone knows of anyone...you know how it goes. So, here is my offer: $500 a month for a private bedroom, heat, parking, trash removal included, in a spacious, convenient to town, Montpelier apartment. Must be kid-frienldy and non-smoking. Oh, and we have a cat. Thanks mamas.
Inquiries can call me: 223-1802

Summer of Dad

When my daughter was about 18 months and I was deep in the mama haze a well meaning friend gently assured me that it would get easier. She said that around two years old most kids make a shift from all- mama-all- the -time to being smitten with Dad. Daddy becomes the fave for baths, food, etc... Well my daughter didn't do that until she turned five -- but now she has done it with a bang. That's why this is the Summer of Dad!

My husbands work schedule changes in the summer months giving him more daytime at home. So this summer- swim lessons with Dad! Fishing ( and catching something everytime she drops her line!)-- with Dad! Creemees? daddy daddy daddy..

Each night that I am at work they go off on a major adventure. It has only been two weeks but we have crossed a bridge here. So, imagine my surprise when in talking to me she says,"Dad- oh I mean, Mom..." WHAT!? For five years she calls dad by the wrong name, screams for me when she gets hurt, prefers my method of cutting sandwiches and delivering various and sundry snack items...

Are we approaching some delicate balance? I mean I still do all the bedtimes and cant use the bathroom alone BUT.... ...wow.

I watched you sleep
fingers falling from your mouth
face surrendering in reverie
peaceful, jaw slack
like I had seen so many times
so long ago
when we slept together
so often
but now I catch only glimpses
of my past teeny baby
your dad carried you to the house
you sunk into his chest
his chin, the crook of his neck
just like you did then
we melt, sigh, remember
waiting for the next time
we can watch you sleep
like this.

Fifth Birthday

Fifth Birthday

I have never baked a cake at midnight before.
Sifting flour and cocoa, knowing you sleep in my bed upstairs
Exhausted eyes finally grew heavy .
We didn't brush your teeth or hair.
I will be up until quarter of two tonight, cleaning.

Every year further from that night
when low thunder and summer rain guided you into the world.

Further from the wonder and disbelief at hearing birdsong
-birdsong-
from behind the shaded windows
having no sense of time or space
amazed that hours had passed
and found the bluish first light of dawn

Further every year from my belly
post partum
heavy and exquisitely soft
marked by silvery fish scales
and shadowed in plum,
my breasts weeping milk.

I have long since surrendered to the of each passing moment

Grieving, celebrating, grieving,
the everything of our days.

Pretty Pretty Pirates and More Snow

The brutal two week marathon of respiratory distress is a memory. We were so sick that Equinox is a blur- although the fairies came and it was lovely..Since then we look at the crabapple tree in the back yard, shivering , alive with goldfinches and watch snow fall. Right now Sophia is coloring mandalas and watching the flakes drift down quickly and silently.

At almost five years old she is not in a princess phase but a pirate one...Her speech liberally sprinkled with "methinks". She created an amazing pirate treasure chest out of cardboard and filled it up with construction paper coins-- "the gold doubloons of the pirate queen."Wearing an eyepatch she flips around on my (totally neglected) yoga mat as a "pirate gymnast". Honestly sometimes I hide the eyepatch so she doesnt freak out her vision...

Yesterday in our traditional approach to grasping at springtime it was chalk art time. I stood with the sun at my back, hands in my pockets with my shoulders scrunched up. Sophia stared at my shadow for a moment and then grabbed a stick of chalk and began to trace. I watched her hand move the chalk across the pavement tracing a perfect silouhette. I could see the darkness of my shadow filling up the space inside the white glow of chalk. Somehow I felt very dark in that space, very dark inside for a moment. Then she had me step away and she added a face. I felt lighter.

"It's Egyptian," she explained and began to embellish with pink, yellow, and blue until it was a perfect likeness of a jewelled sarcophagus. So I added Anubis ( I am better at cats than dogs though) and an anhk. Now all of that is under a lacy blanket of snow. Another one of those moments where only a tracing a color is left behind. Like so many mama moments...

Sick, Sicker, Sickest

Caring for a sick child is hard. Caring for an energized, happy, healthy kid when you are sick is harder. Then when you are getting sicker, their fever sets in. Over 15 hours at 102 degrees or more. Up to 103.5 a few hours ago. That's the sickest.
And suckiest.

Early Childhood Legislative Day

Friday, March 16, 2007
Capital Plaza Hotel and Vermont State House

Join parents, early childhood practitioners and policymakers in advancing 2007 early childhood legislative priorities through a day of legislative updates, advocacy speakers, a rally, legislative lunch and work sessions.

Can’t join for the day?

Consider attending the work session hosted by Mama Says Action, Kids Are Priority One, Voices for Vermont's Children, and Building Bright Futures State Council and Parent Committee from 1:15 – 3:00 at the Capital Plaza Hotel.

Participants will view the film, “The Motherhood Manifesto,” identifying critical parent and family needs, including paid family leave, quality school programs, accessible and affordable childcare. A facilitated discussion will identify current education and policy opportunities and design actions steps to spur positive change.

For questions or to RSVP for the work session, contact Kelly Ault at kault1@earthlink.net or 223-1080.

Rites and Rituals of Mothering

A few years ago I did a mama writing workshop and just found the notes-
Here they are:

Mama Writes: Journaling Through the Rites and Rituals of Mothering

With Linda Pruitt

The rites of mothering begin with pregnancy and birth. The rituals of mothering begin as you lift your baby to your breast, as you startle awake for the very first time to your tiny infant’s cry and they continue into grandmotherhood.

Opening Rites for this workshop: The Matrilineal Map

Start with the sentence, “I am (name here), daughter of (your mother’s name), daughter of (your grandmother’s name), daughter of (your great grandmother’s name). Go back as far as you can. Use only the first and middle names of these women. When you have finished, and have read through slowly, jot down your first emotions and thoughts about the list. How far back were you able to trace? How do you feel about that?

Why write?

Free writing allows us to get a deeper perspective, a reflective flow going. Free writing is about constant motion, chaos almost, but this motion is where spirit and thought take tangible form. My guess is that as a mama you freewrite in your head all day long. Without the space of the page our thoughts get lost, pushed aside. Persistent ones resurface sometimes getting the attention they deserve, often not. Whenever you are “stuck “ in a freewriting exercise I want you to repeatedly write the word “mama” or “mother”. Use it as a mantra and scrawl it so many times, so quickly that it loses shape and meaning. Then let your pen re create that meaning.

If you hit a place in your writing that is hard to work through take a deep breath, straighten your spine, feel the energy rising up from the base of your back through your shoulders and down into your arm and writing hand. Look at that hand and tell it that it is alright to continue, that it is helping you gain access to a place you may be reluctant to go, but that you trust your hand and heart to lead on.

Here are some freewriting prompts to get you going:

Write about the Rites and Rituals of your mothering experience.

Write your response to the following passage:

“The mother-daughter relationship is at the headwaters of every woman’s health.” Dr. Christiane Northrup

What were the conscious/spoken and unconscious/unspoken messages you received from your mother about being a mother?

What do you remember most about your mother from your childhood? What do you think your child will remember about you? What do you hope they will remember?

Two Questions From Hip Mama Founder Ariel Gore:

What do I feel I have “Sacrificed” for my current work/family/lifestyle?

In what way do I feel like I am juggling dissonant parts of my life? Which of these balls can I set down?

Write a Mother’s Prayer.

Write a letter (to remain unsent or to shared) to any of the following: yourself in five years, your mother, your grandmother, or your child.

What are the cultural, social, creative, spiritual, sexual, political aspects of my mama identity?

Completely and Utterly Blogworthy

Whoa. Solstice came and went. Now we are near the end of February and we have placed our Fedco seed order in ravenous anticipation of fecundity and sunlight.

Tonight I registered my daughter for Kindergarten.

The ease with which I type these words does not begin to reflect the YEARS of anguish over this moment. Yet, about two months ago I had a mama awakening and it was beatific indeed.

I have always known that my little buddy was "A Number One Homeschool Poster Child". You know the drill -- cosleeping, nursing, and so on. She has never had childcare/preschool and indeed is only away from my side when I work my library gig on nights and Saturdays. Suffice it to say that we are a package deal. I was in gut-roiling torment ( and I do not say this lightly) about what would happen when years down the road she was of age for Kindergarten. I thought that I could just gently give positive school vibes while staying somehow non chalant about the inner monologue of dread. I didn't want to pawn all my public school baggage onto her and color her genuine experience as a separate entity.

But as time passed my sweetest buddy was so articulate and so grounded in her feelings about homeschooling( Laura Ingalls Wilder actually introduced the phrase to her) that we started a serious two way street conversation about the topic and I am planning to homeschool as long as she wants to , while taking advantage of the great Union School programming as we choose..

My beatific mama moment came when I called the school principal to discuss this. I was 100% ready to take it to the mat. I was going in swinging, ready to deflect all anti-homeschool sentiment, fight for my parental rights, and whip out my proposed curricula pronto. I was amped to rave about five full days of school per week for a five year old as totally insane and dig my heels in. Imagine my surprise, my sheer disbelief when the principal congratulated me on the choices I have made and said that we could certainly work together somehow. Then in investigating the homeschooling laws for Vermont I discovered that children do not have to be enrolling in a course of study until they are SIX years old!

And so I walked into the school office and filled in line by line name , address, and phone over and over. I stood in a kind of profound posture of peace. And I remembered saying to Sophia, went the word school made her dissolve into bitter tears the other day, that she has her whole life to learn wonderful things. And that's so frigin true.

New Readers

Linda Pruitt here to speak straight to some of you new readers who may be wondering how to become a contributor! If you would like to submit your writing to our blog contact me at mamasays942@hotmail.com and I will send you the invite. I look forward to hearing from all of you!

Growing up

My daughter has exquisite diction. Always verbally precocious she is on the fast track to being a masterful linguist. She is already a really strong reader and sharp speller...But even at four and a half there is one word she doesn't pronounce correctly and it is consistently one of my most delicious mama moments to listen to her say this word. It is the morning meal. It is what she calls "brek-fixt". In conversation the other day however she did indeed say with perfect composure "breakfast". A little something burst in my heart. What? What did she say?

I looked at her with a crumbly weepy feeling taking over. And then "brek-fixt" was back. I did not imagine it. She did say it correctly just once but once was enough.

Oh, brek-fixt, please don't go away.....

Writing and Motherhood by Annie Downey

Writing & Motherhood
by Annie Downey
All rights reserved, Annie Downey, 2006


I remember the first thing I ever wrote about being a mother. I was eighteen years old, my daughter, Iris, was eight months old. We had a tiny one bedroom apartment in downtown Burlington. I had just begun my first semester at college and had signed up for a creative writing class. Our first bit of homework was one of those basic “How to ___” writing assignments. Classmates shared their ideas aloud—one hip-dressed student said she was going to write about how to make an Orgasm (like the drink!)—another student chirped up and said that he was going to write about how to get a hot guy in the sack. Everyone laughed. I remember being panicked about what I would write about.

My professor said to me, “Write about what you know.”

I went and picked up my daughter at the college daycare. As I pushed her stroller up the street to our apartment, I thought about how boring and dull my life would seem to my college classmates. At the same time I didn’t want their lives of endless partying and fast relationships. I liked being a mother, I liked the safety of it, and, I knew I was good at it. I liked the weight of my daughter on my hip, I liked nursing her, I liked folding her little baby clothes at the laundry mat, I liked mashing up food for her, and I loved giving her a bath, changing her diaper, and reading her stories. I enjoyed it.

After I put my daughter, Iris, to bed that night, I sat down to write. The words
flew out of me. It was something I hadn’t felt in a long time—me—alone—just me. And I
was O.K.. Typically, because I couldn’t stand the loneliness of the night, I would leave
most of the lights on in the apartment and go to bed along with Iris. But that night, while
writing my assignment, I felt cozy and good. I didn’t feel alone. I had words for company. When I finished the rough draft, I turned off the lights in the apartment and went to sleep.

When the next class rolled around and I shared “How to Change a Poopy Diaper”, the class loved it, and thought it was hilarious. It was so exhilarating to be both seen and heard by a room full of people. By incorporating my mothering experience with my writing—my first writing class became a place for me to share my stories of single motherhood which lessened my own feelings of isolation and I made me a happier mother, which, in turn, benefited my daughter. By creating a venue in which to share my joy of my daughter with other people (something I had always imagined married couples shared), I was able to also claim my own identity as a writer without feeling I was leaving my daughter, Iris, behind. At that time, I felt I couldn’t do anything that somehow didn’t include her without feeling tremendous anxiety and guilt. If I wrote “our” story, then those feelings wouldn’t tug at me— extinguishing the page—and thus extinguishing this new found freedom to become what I wanted outside of motherhood.

So, I began to write…I wrote everyday in my journal, I wrote poems, I wrote short stories, and I wrote essays. I wrote through a rocky relationship, another baby, and a break-up. I wrote through graduation from college, court processes, my mother’s illness, and a new marriage that has had its ups and downs. Writing has been my companion— my one other relationship— besides the relationship I have with my children— that has remained consistent and unwavering. I am always loyal to it.

Now that my children are older (my daughter now in her senior year at high school and my son in middle school) and are developing their own amazing identities—beginning to get a sense of their own crazy ideals and dreams—their own story—it is easier for me to allow them to do just that. It is easier to be at peace with them flying in and out of this little colorful nest of mine because of writing. Because I have been able to slowly claim my own identity that goes beyond being their mother—a part of my life that doesn’t necessarily always have to involve them—that doesn’t have to be “our” story—but is “my” story— that occasionally (when allowed and if invited) is intermingled with theirs.*

A Calamity of Errors, Judgments, and the 167 dollar poop

We should’ve known.

You know when you have that sinking feeling about something, but fail to acknowledge or mention it? As my husband and I scrambled around, getting ready for a trip to Montreal with our 19 month old, she tried her new trick, sliding off a dining room chair. Only this time she had on slippery fleece pants and socks. She slipped right from the chair with a sickening thud, and onto our hardwood floor, face first. Her shrieks echoed in our small home, and I ran to her just in time to see blood in her mouth, her lips and nose growing puffier by the second. Kurt, my husband was in the shower. “Kurt! I yelled, I need you!” She cried and cried, leaning into me and whimpering. At that moment, both my husband and I were thinking: We shouldn’t go up to Montréal. Just had that feeling that we should bag the trip. But our logical, reasonable selves won out, because of course, now she was happily looking at my necklace, and toddlers fall all the time, we know. Error in judgment number one.

So we pulled out of our driveway and began the trip. My girl falls asleep almost instantly, and we were in business. See, we planned that she could have her nap while we drove the 2 and a half hours to Montreal. We had to make a few small stops to get a few things we needed (swimmy diapers for the hotel pool), but surely she would sleep through that. Error in Judgment number two.

She woke up after 20 minutes, and stayed awake the entire trip. We knew we were in trouble. Meanwhile, it begins to rain. And rain and rain.

We arrive in Montreal, and find our hotel no problem. We gather our ridiculous amount of baby gear, food and stuff and schlep it to our room. It is a beautiful room, just like online, with a kitchen, a dining room table, and a king bed. But something smells kind of like old people, a grandparent’s home from the 1950s, say, and we can’t put our finger on it.

We go out for a walk in the pouring rain, and the streets are filled with people getting off from work. We swerve in and out of people, stroller, huge umbrella, avoiding large puddles and aggressive city folk. This serves to over stimulate the Miss Tired Girl even more, which we do not realize. Error number three.

We come back in, and Kurt heads out to find an ATM. I take my girl up to the room, and notice the sign. It says: This floor is reserved for our smoking guests. I clearly requested a nonsmoking room when I made the reservation online. No wonder the room smelled like old socks. Mistake number four.

When I call down to the hotel clerk, after being on hold for 10 minutes, they tell me there are no other rooms left, and I had not requested a nonsmoking room. OKAY. We decide to stay anyway, despite the fact that I have a tacky throat, and my eyes burn a bit. Meanwhile, Addy keeps grabbing the stroller, and heading for the door. “Walk? Walk?” She says. “No honey, we are going to stay in here.” Not happy.

Miss Fussy begins many more moments of unhappiness. She falls on the floor again, cried and cries, and is finally calmed down. Only wants a few pieces of Veggie Booty for dinner. This is getting worse.

We bathe her, read to her and begin to settle her into her pack and play. We turn off almost all of the lights, scurry to the other side of the room, and eat our take out pizza in the dark. I have had FOUR bites when my girl stands up in the pack and play, and starts saying, “mommy, mommy, mommy…” I tell her to lie down and go to sleep. No avail. This continues for about a half hour. Then Kurt tried to lay her down. She stays for a few minutes and we silent high five. Premature. She pops up, “mommy, mommy, mommy….” I go to her, and here it is folks, she’s pooped. No one can sleep with poopy pants, right? Some lights go on, we change her, and then try to put her back down. She knows the deal now, and is wide awake. That passed tired, delirious, I’ll never sleep again awake, and we know we are completely screwed. We try all lights out cuddling in bed, and almost get her to sleep, but not quite. She cries every time we even suggest the crib.

Then she walks to the door herself, she’s had enough of this smelly place and opens the door (we thought it was locked). She finds it heavy, and promptly closes it right on her fingers. Instant, and earth shatteringly loud shrieks cloud our small room in hell.

There is no turning back. Her fingers are fine. It’s just her ridiculously tried, cranky and out of her element self that is inconsolable. She cries when walk around. She cries when we read to her. She cries when I sing and rock her.

My husband and I don’t believe in TV. We have no cable, and our daughter hasn’t watched more than 5 minutes of television in her whole life. But we love watching it, us adults, as a treat sometimes. Exasperated, and exhausted, we turn it on. This will surely put her to sleep, we think, boring TV drama. Mistake number, oh hell, should I even count anymore?

She watches for 40 minutes, and I feel like a failure parent the whole time. My heart sinks as I watch her eyes dull over but stay wide awake. Finally, we decide the whole family will get into the big bed, turn off all the lights and TV, and truly go to sleep. She will cuddle in and fall happily asleep, and then tomorrow we can take her to the Biodome as planned, then put her down for a nap, then go out for a nice, Montreal dinner. Yes!

All except that she won’t even lie down. We try to bring her into bed, and she protests, screaming. I try rocking, walking, singing. Nothing. An hour passes of what is wrong with her? What are we going to do? Is this room toxic? Are we damaging our little girl? My eyes fill with tears. Our last family vacation, before our next little baby comes, is slipping away. I become as upset as she is, which only makes things worse. My head pounds, and we struggle in the dark.

Finally, Kurt has had it. “Let’s just go home,” he says. I let it sink in. Spend 130 dollars for a hotel room that we don’t stay in? 30 dollars for pizza I didn’t have time to eat? Or simply watch my girl suffer and scream all night? After a few more minutes (which feel like years), when he says it again, I say alright. Lights on, my girl still screaming, Kurt begins compressing our lives into bags again, and half and hour later, we head for the lobby. When I open the hotel room door, I sense a change in her. She quiets for a moment, then cries again, but not as loud.

I wait for the car, as all the people in the lobby are treated to the cries of our toddler. I pace, and think how bad things can get, really fast. The car appears, I put her in her seat, and Kurt starts checking out. She sits in her seat, says, “Home………..Home.” Breathes deeply and falls right to sleep, instantly.

All I can think is you’ve got to be kidding me. I watch as a family enters the hotel. Toddler and baby in toe. THEY can do it. Why can’t we? What were we missing? What did we do wrong?

Of course, it is pouring rain. Endless rain, to match my mood. We start the drive home at 10 pm. It pours the entire time, and I struggle to keep us on the road. At the border, when they ask for my ID, I hand him my credit card. I can barely remember my name, citizenship, and job. How exactly is it that I should be driving?

We make it home shortly before 1 am. I drag myself to bed and lie down. One of Addy’s favorite expressions is "Oh well, it happens". I think, I am not quite there yet, but maybe after some sleep, I will be able to say that tomorrow.

Speak My Language

This morning Sophia had a lengthy talking to with her favorite homemade paper bag puppet, Butterfingers Pinky-Mouth. B.P.M. scolds back in a Grungetta from Sesame Street cadence. This is not because she has watched Sesame Street but because sounding like Grungetta when exasperated may be genetically predisposed. (You can pretend it is from my husband's side.) Sophia was insisting that BPM "speak English" so she could understand him/her?... Finally at the height of the exchange she leaned over and whispered to the puppet which did the trick. When she careened over to the kitchen sink I asked what they were talking about. She explained she just had to whisper to teach how to speak to Butterfingers. She was satisfied that they had a thourough understanding.

Hmmm. Is this perhaps beacuse when I sound like Grungetta, Sophia does not process my words but if I get up close and whisper I have a beter shot? Oy.

Mama Says Update: I'm Off

This is my last post. I will no longer be on Mama Says. Any further questions should be directed to LindaP: mamasays942(@)hotmail(dot)com


For all the subscribers and faithful readers: Thank you so much for your support.
I will be deleting the subscription service and handing it over to LindaP for re-activation. There may be a gap of time in between. If you have any questions about that, please contact her.

Again, I feel I have done what I could for Mama Says and it's time to move on.
You can find me at my blog, always Writing In The Mountains.

Just A Reminder

Jesse Ahee's "With Child" exhibit will be at The Cheshire Cat in Montpelier, Vt for the Art Walk, Friday September 29th, 4-8 p.m.

Check it out!

Mama Says Commercial Free Kids

On the heels of Kris U's post it seems like the perfect time to unveil the project Mama Says Action has in the works. We are starting a local chapter of Campaign for a commercial Free Childhood. I have been in contact with them and have some events and meetings on board. BUT because I want this blog to be only for creative work I encourage you to follow links to our Yahoo newsgroup for more details.Also Times Argus September first issue published my letter on this topic- check it out at library...

Mama is at work on line illegally- got to go

Mama Says Update

Thank you to Kris U for all her work on the blog. Yes of course I, Linda will keep cranking. I have been doing Mama Says for two and a half years now and some of the projects on the horizon are the most exciting yet...

Kris's departure means I will return the blog to its original intent as an online version of the print newsletter. In other words it is a showcase for creative work-- poetry, reflective essays, creative pieces of length (no maximum word counts, plenty of space). One of the features I would most like to revisit is the "Interview with a Local Mama" which was so popular in print. Please get out there and talk to a mama you love and write her up for us with pictures, art etc.

Some of the bloggy flash will remain in terms of sidebar but this has always been about the power of each mamas voice. I want very much to return to that essence now.

I can't wait to share with you the amazing projects the political action circle is working on. I can't wait to hear from you, in your words, simply.

With mama love, Linda P

Mama Says Update

So, You may have noticed that alot of the sidebar is missing. Mama Says is being overhauled as I write.

I feel I have done what I could for Mama Says and that it's now time to move on. Whoever would like to pick it up from here, is more than welcome. (most likely LindaP)

I will be moving to another site later in the month (here). In the meantime, I will be reorganizing Mama Says and building my new site. All of my old posts from Mama Says will be on the new site as well as new material.


To our subscribers: Do not fear! You will stay on as such to Mama Says.

All the writing will stay as is on M.S., all the archives will be there and everybody who is on will still be able to post.

I will update as new things come along.

Mama Says Announcement

Jesse Ahee's painting exhibit: 'With Child', featuring works of her daughter during pregnancy, has been extended another full month at Gifford Medical Center in Randolph. Go check it out if you can!
If you can't make it to Randolph, it will also be exhibited in Montpelier at Cheshire Cat for the Art Walk on September 29.