For the love of Louie, please make it STOP!

“Win or lose, we go shopping after the election.” Imelda Marcos

Really, I am not trying to be arrogant here, but I believe that I speak for people across the globe when I say folks world-wide can’t wait for the polls to close here in the United States on Election Day.

Not that I think we are pro-actively wishing our lives away. Not at all. But whether you are a conservative or a liberal; a Democrat or Republican; a Coke or Pepsi drinker; a wine sipper or beer guzzler; a Target or Wal-Mart shopper; a vegan or carnivore…or what ever else separates us from one another, I believe we can all agree on this:

We can’t wait for Election Day 2012 to be over.

Have you ever felt so mentally weary?

Right now, I am thinking that giving birth without an epidural is less painful than this election. A root canal? Bring it on. We can safely outlaw waterboarding – just tie the bad guys up and force them to watch the past few months of election coverage. They’ll cry like babies and sing like canaries.

The madness is completely inescapable! My brain hurts from the barrage of negativity. Not one side can claim innocence on the continuous beating of this election drum. The droning is everywhere you turn: pundits on the local news, national news, billboards, yard signs, radio, TV. My home is no longer a refuge as the land-line and cell phones continue to ring off their proverbial hooks. My email inbox is jam-packed with junk, just like my mailbox. How many poor trees have died for this election?

If all the money that has been spent on this year’s election – both on the national and local levels – would have gone toward the bazillion dollar National Debt, we may have been able to pay that off AND go on a wickedly wild shopping spree.

For the first time in my life, I want to poke out my own eyes and stick large wads of bubble gum in my ears just to keep the election noise out.

And social media? Wow is all I can say. The rudeness factor is off the chart! How many friendships, work relationships and arguments at the family dinner have been caused by the mean-spiritedness found on Facebook, Twitter and the like. Folks, it is okay to have differing opinions – really, it is!

Campaign Finance Reform… yeah, that is laughable. It didn’t go far enough and it certainly isn’t enforced. (Gee, was it because it was written by those who abuse it? I digress…). If I was Queen of the World, my idea of reform would be that politicians couldn’t spend a dime to get elected or re-elected. (I know, I know, some of you whose livelihoods are dependent on advertising revenue and printing just cringed and gasped!) So maybe we can set a very low, and I mean very low, spending allowance on running campaigns. And once it is gone, it is gone. Oh by the way, the window for campaigning would be shortened, too.

Think of the creativity this would inspire! Talk show hosts and news anchors would have to find something else to talk about – what a concept! And how refreshing!

Closing my eyes, I think of how uncluttered our lives would be. Our brains wouldn’t be so taxed and we wouldn’t be so anxious. We could retain useful information. We wouldn’t have an ad created each time a candidate made a small mistake or when they sneezed the wrong way.

The bad moods would be elevated. Stress would be alleviated.

Why, we’d actually be able to think! Before we voted!

What a concept.

Looking forward to Wednesday…how about you?

© 2012 – Lynne Cobb

Bruised bumpers and the Blues

“There is a fountain of youth: it is your mind, your talents, the creativity you bring to your life and the lives of people you love. When you learn to tap this source, you will truly have defeated age.”  – Sophia Loren

A few events over the past week brought me to this “A-ha!” moment: With age comes wisdom.

Heading to lunch with my husband, I was busy reading email on my phone when a huge thud jarred me: figuratively and literally. Some debris, either from the car in front of us – or kicked up by said car – walloped our front bumper. Talk about being shaken.

It was then I realized that my calmness, as well as my husband’s, was a sign of the times. In our younger days, we would’ve been madder than a wet hen at the young driver. She was completely oblivious to the fact that either she hit something or lost a large part of her car. With her tiny dog in her lap, I noticed the dents and dings in her car. She was completely unphased, and we couldn’t get her attention – as hard as we tried – to let her know what happened.

I didn’t even think to yell or scream at her. Maybe I envisioned one of my own children, having car trouble that could cause a major incident, and hoping that an encounter with another driver would be educational and not dangerous. Even when we reached our destination and looked at the damage, we were both surprisingly calm. Back in the day, not only would we rant and rave, we’d wring our hands and wonder how we’d pay for this mess, that was no fault of our own. Instead, we were thankful it didn’t break the light-housing or come flying through the windshield, which would surely caused injury to one or both of us.

With age comes wisdom.

Last weekend, we had the opportunity to attend an art gallery opening. The featured artist, whom we never met, is the husband of a colleague and friend of mine. She and I chat several times a week online and meet for coffee when we can. To be able to see her husband’s incredible art was a moment in our lives that we felt truly blessed to be able to share – alongside them and many others.

Exactly a week later, we had another great opportunity. Our neighbor and friend has been in the fight of her life. Diagnosed with a very aggressive, late-stage form of breast cancer, this woman has been a courageous inspiration for many. And just as it seemed that surgery, chemo and radiation had done their job, the bad news came. This fighter now had to face even more extensive surgery, just as she thought she had gotten back to her life. After six weeks of healing, doctor appointments and rest, this trooper was on back stage last night. And we were in awe. I firmly believe that The Blues were written for her to sing. Confident, smiling and blowing us away, she beat the crap out her cancer, and we were there to watch her comeback gig – completely in awe of her amazing talent. Who knew that this tiny little powerhouse could sing?!

But the most amazing thing happened after both of these events – and it was the humbled response of these artists. While we were so thankful for being invited to share in one of the most memorable moments of their lives, they thanked us for attending!

Hmmm…I think I am beginning to get it.

With age comes wisdom.

Back in the day, when I was a younger woman and desperately trying to seek fame and fortune through my writing, my focus was completely wrong. Please don’t take this as a judgement call, but in our twenties, many of us embraced our gifts as “ours.” We didn’t share – we had what I will call an arrogant talent. What will my talent get me? Some of us foolishly pitched that gift when it didn’t bring us the income or fame we thought it should.

Additionally, some of us shelved that talent when we started having families and felt pursuing a dream was a waste of time when there were kids to raise and an income to earn.

But as we got closer to or reached that half-century mark, the talent that was buried for various reasons began to sprout back to life. Maybe because we now have more time to nurture it, but maybe, I think, we have just come to realize how important that gift is.

We realize how fast time is ticking. I think, too, that we become confident in our place in life. Maybe we are a little less shy in sharing certain aspects of our lives.  Seeing that life has smacked all of us around by the time we hit this age makes us more humbled for sure, and most often, kinder to others. We have felt the sting of loss;  whether it was a job, a house, a loved one, or health. We embrace good news, and to celebrate accomplishments and talents of those around gives us time to pause from the mundane and experience joy.

We also change our attitudes when it comes to our talents. Instead of wondering what we get from it, we are more concerned about what others get from it. Our motives don’t revolve around making it big – they revolve around making a difference.

Will Doug’s gift of art inspire someone to experience the smell of paint and the feel of a brush meeting canvas? Will Annie’s gifted voice inspire someone to sing, take a dance class or play piano? Most likely, yes. But the biggest gift of all came from these artists sharing themselves – putting themselves out there for all to see. To bare their souls, not because they are awesome (which they are), but because of their choice to share their gifts with others.

God has graciously gifted everyone. Some have the gift of art, music, photography and such. Others have the gift of service; some have the gift of teaching. Still others can build and repair anything. Then there are others that can turn ordinary grocery items into the most extraordinary meals. Or grow beautiful flowers and delicious produce.

Our gifts are endless.

No one could have ever convinced me that going into decade number five would be one of the best times in my life. And, admittedly, there are days I long to be in my twenties again. (Sometimes it is because I long to see myself minus the little wrinkles forming around my eyes, or so I can wear short shorts because I’m not sporting these awesome varicose veins!) Seriously, though, revisiting my twenties is more because of my want to go back in time and smack that twenty-something me in the head, then bestow upon her all this wealth and knowledge and insight that I have today.

With age comes wisdom.

Here’s to settling down and not flying off the handle over the little things in life. Here’s to enjoying your older, wiser self. Here’s to sharing with others. And if you are burying that talent, unearth it today. I double dog-dare you to share that God-given gift of yours with others. In doing so, you will experience a joy that can’t be described.

© 2012 – Lynne Cobb

When my world stopped turning

“Where were you when the world stopped turning, that September day?” – Alan Jackson

Where was I on September 11, 2001? Dropping my youngest daughter off at preschool. My memory of that day is as clear and crisp as the weather was that morning.

It was a perfect day, and I found myself lingering outside, chatting with a friend. Her youngest son was in my daughter’s class, and her older son was a classmate of my oldest son. We shared so much – even the fact that we had been military spouses. We spoke of how we were blessed to be military spouses during peaceful times, excluding a brief stint during Desert Storm.

Our conversation stopped only because of our need to accomplish our morning routines while the little ones were in preschool. Our time was precious – the hours would tick quickly between drop-off and pick-up. If we wanted to accomplish anything, we’d have to leave now and continue to chat later.

I jumped in my van, half-listening to the news. A plane crashed in New York. Sad, but nothing too odd, I thought, except that Bryant Gumble was on air. Hmmm, I thought, it must have been a big crash, because it was all I heard on every station. I stopped pushing the buttons, and eventually shut off the radio. I did continue to ponder why a TV host was live on the radio.

Being gone a little longer than I planned, I had messages waiting for me when I got home; more than usual. Putting down my purse, the phone rang. I was interrupted by a hysterical call from my sister, who shouted, “Put on the TV! We’re under attack!”

What? I still get goosebumps from that slice of memory.

Grabbing the remote, I put on the TV. In disbelief and horror, I changed the station. Over and over each broadcast showed the same thing: a plane blowing through the World Trade Center.  In shock, I saw the camera replay as plane number two sliced through the other tower.

My head was spinning, reeling, trying to process this? Are we at war? Who did this? Who is next? Do I go get the kids from school? I couldn’t reach my husband on his cell. I wanted to turn this off, but I was drawn to the images coming in from New York.

Not wanting to be alone, I left and sought sanctuary at the church we attended. My pastor was there, and we grieved with others who also sought refuge and wanted to pray. I had never seen this man as disheveled as he was at that moment. He and his family had recently vacationed in Washington D.C. and in New York. He was stunned, reeling like everyone else.

The surrealism of the day continued into the evening, where our front porch began to fill with neighbors, friends and family, several whom were veterans. We all tried to make sense of the day. Located not too far from a small airport, the stillness of the silent skies added another layer of surreal to the day.

The smell of coffee, beer and cigarettes permeated the air, and we were getting updates from folks driving by, sharing their experiences of waiting in long lines at gas stations and grocery stores. We kept a very watchful eye on our kids. Nothing felt safe anymore.

Surrounded by so many people, yet feeling so very alone. I think we all felt that way.

No one could comprehend at that moment how our lives would change forever. How we would cling to each other. That we would find the love for our nation that seemed buried. That pettiness would be shoved aside for the greater good.

I wouldn’t have dreamt that, because of that day, I would become a military spouse with war zone experience. Or that because of that day, I would be one of many military moms losing sleep because their baby was in a foreign land, defending our nation.

I wouldn’t have dreamt that, because of that day, here, 11 years later, we are a nation so divided politically that it breaks my heart. Like we forgot how to be united. Friendships are being taxed by the divisiveness. Warring words from political camps and pundits fill the airwaves like a continuous assault.

If I could pick one blessing that came from that tragedy on 9/11, it would be that we, as a nation, stopped the bickering. That we raised our flags and helped where ever we could. That we were united.

As a military wife, as a military mom, and most importantly, as an American, I pray fervently for God to bless America, and that we remember how just how good it can be here in this country when we are a nation – united.

© 2012 – Lynne Cobb

Dressing rooms, blue jeans and a midlife crisis

I have been accused of being “too picky.” Personally, I prefer “selective.” A perfectionist? Maybe.

That could be why I detest shopping for clothes.

Especially blue jeans.

I can’t seem to find the perfect jeans, which is why when I find an acceptable pair, I wear them over and over. Honestly, I could just kick myself for not buying several pairs of the acceptable jeans, because they became my Favorite Pair – and now they are way beyond fixing. Not too long ago, and totally pushing my luck, I did indeed wear Favorite Pair to the store. Just a quick dash in and out, I told myself. But then, I ran a few more errands. And, when I got home, to my horror, I noticed that somewhere along the way, the patch that held my jeans together fell off.

Yikes! I’m not sure I want to know how many people saw the gaping hole in my jeans. I am not a teenager anymore.

But I digress.

Knowing that this search and try-on process is going to take me to where I don’t go mentally, I decided to arm myself for battle, and make things easier by wearing my awesome, comfy yoga pants instead of my back-up pair of jeans, which I don’t care much for. Plus, they were in the laundry pile, since they have been overused with the demise of Favorite Pair.

Ah, my yoga pants. I use them for exercising and as my errand-running back-ups. And, well, when I realized Favorite Pair was probably going to become further worn-out with household chores, I started wearing my comfy black yoga paints. To clean. With bleach.

Thank goodness that a black Sharpie marker covered my mistake.

Anyhow, back to the hunt.

I dug through piles of denim, like a dog digging for a bone. My favorite style of jeans has to be here, I thought to myself, as panic set in.

Nope. My favorite style is gone. History.

Which meant finding a replacement.

Great. I became overwhelmed at all the choices, but marveled at all the fashionable opportunities available. Why, with a little luck, maybe even I could look like that mannequin!

So, as with any change, I embraced a new look with an air of excitement and a bit of apprehension, plus two sizes of style of jeans, because, Lord only knows which clothing manufacturer’s styles and sizes are going to fit. I dashed off to the changing rooms, with anticipation of my new look.

After the first few attempts, I started to get worried. Nothing fit. So, accepting that I probably gained a little weight – though Favorite Pair never let me know that – I started looking at other sizes. And other brands.

No luck.

Getting frustrated, I literally wanted to cry. In a sea of clothing, I was drowning in waves of panic. Nothing fit ME. Negative thoughts started popping into my brain, like the clothing manufacturers having a “thing” against me and women my age. The dream of looking like the mannequin – gone, just like the youthful body I once had. I felt old and washed up – as if I couldn’t do anything right. Negativity was oozing out of every pore, and I started thinking of all my failures, especially my chosen career path. How could I have known that my favorite industry would change, and be replaced with a cool, new style that, no matter how hard I tried, I just had the hardest time getting a good fit? Like my faded old blue jeans, I guess I miss my “faded” old career.

Tears of frustration welled up in my eyes. So, this is midlife, huh? Well, the fighter in me came out, and had a smack down with my toxic emotions. And I got back into the ring.

Yes, I was getting older, and my body was changing – that’s life. Yes, there has been some serious grief and loss and change in the past few years, but there has also been great growth and love and joy. There are going to be frustrations – that’s life, and that’s not going to change. And it is a good life, so keep moving along.

Wiping my tears, I stepped out of the changing room and put the all of jeans that didn’t fit on the “don’t want” rack. Seriously, I had tried on at least 16 pairs of jeans. I apologized to the woman who had to restock them. She smiled and said “No problem.” I think she saw the mascara smudges from my tears.

“There is a perfect pair for you out there,” she said, and pointed me in another direction. “Just keep looking.”

She was right. Not just about finding the jeans, but by reminding me to never give up.

© 2012 – Lynne Cobb

You can’t be my friend – ever, ever, ever!

Do you remember these quotable quotes?

“I don’t like you. You’re just mean.”

“I’m not gonna be your friend anymore, so THERE!” (said with tone, and then sticks tongue out.)

The sweet sounds of playground banter.  A broken Barbie. A foul erroneously called a strike. Not getting to wear the princess gown first. Someone stealing a Hot Wheel car… So many reasons to break up a friendship – at least for a day or two.

What I loved about that time, though, is that once hot tempers cooled, a wise parent, or, something even better – a wise friend who felt stuck in the middle – would remind us that we really didn’t want to end a friendship over such trivial matters. We patched things up, shook hands or pinky-promised never to hate each other again.

Oh sure, once we hit junior high/middle school, the hating started again. Sometimes it was trivial, and sometimes it was downright vicious. Sometimes friendships ended – for good.

Once in a blue moon, someone changed, and the friendship was re-kindled in high school or college. But one fact remains, especially for my age bracket: after graduation, we didn’t have a lot of contact with our classmates, sans the occasional reunion.

Until Facebook came along.

All of a sudden, people we didn’t even acknowledge in the halls or on the playground became our new online friends. And the passing of time was good – it healed wounds as we grew up. We could see everyone’s kids, commiserate over lost jobs and life’s curveballs. We felt like we had come home. We connected.

But then, polarization started. People started getting mean. Political, religious and social rants appeared, and some postings were not so nice. Apparently, folks didn’t like how their friends changed through the years. Snide comments began to appear – basically, if you don’t like someone’s views, they are wrong, or dumb, or hosting their own pity party, or whatever.

And then, you get un-friended.

Wow. Just like when we were little kids. Only this time, it’s worse, because we should be the wise ones. We should be leading by example.

But we don’t. We don’t enjoy a good, hearty debate. We don’t agree to disagree. We decided that a friend is not a friend it they don’t agree with us.

That is not such a great teaching moment for our kids, is it? We’re basically saying that if someone doesn’t agree with us that they have no worth. Lord, have mercy if that’s our message.

At this point in my life, I am pretty secure with me. My personal journey got me here, shaping and molding my values, my beliefs, my views.  So, if you don’t like what I say or what I believe in, then un-friend me. I honestly don’t care. But quit making blanket statements about people in general. Don’t lump me into a group and call me stupid. And don’t insult me or call me foolish or feel that I am less intelligent than you. Because I am not.

I am just different from you.

And if you don’t like it, then just take your stupid toys and your arrogantly superior attitude and go home.

Because  I have other friends who love me for me, who don’t care what I believe, because they know it is all part of the yarn that knits me together – making me, me.

So THERE! (said with tone, and then sticks tongue out.)

The Mom Who Cried, “Pizza!”

“If you want to recapture your youth, just cut off his allowance.”  Al Bernstein

What started out as a little joke was rather revealing. Now, to preface all of this, I’m a mom of four, two of which are out the door and married; and two teens who are still at home.

It’s an awesome time, in their lives and mine. And I do mean that! It is a time of tremendous growth for the kids, and, at the same time, it is a time where a tremendous number of gray hairs grow on my head. There are plenty of stressful issues: driver’s training and sports injuries and teenage angst and such. But there is a lot of fun, and joy, too, in watching my teens turn into young adults.

We teach each other lots of things. I have shown them how a washing machine and a vacuum cleaner work. They patiently work with me on new technology, like how to use my cell phone. And how to Twitter. Plus, I’ve had some real deep conversations via text, too. So it’s all good. But I’d be lying if I said I didn’t miss them all being little, home around the dinner table and tucked into bed by 8 p.m. each night.

This summer is giving me a peek into the future. Between their work, social, and – dare I say – sleep schedules, I don’t see them much. My husband and I are getting used to dinner for two. Come fall, when they are back to school and on a schedule, I’ll see more of them, I’m sure.

So… here’s my weekend faux pax using texting: purely by accident, I found a sure-fire way to get a teen home for dinner.

Picture this: a wonderful dinner of barbecued pork-chops, seasoned grilled potatoes, fresh pineapple slices and veggies was being served at 6:45 p.m. One teen was at work, so I sent the obligatory text to the other available teen. And here’s how it went:

Me: “Will you be home for dinner?”

Teen: “Doubt it. What are we having anyway?”

Me: “Pizza.”

Me: “But does it matter, you aren’t going to be here anyway.”

Me: “Oops – I mixed up the “P” meal…it’s Porkchops, Potato, Pineapple.”

And that was it. No reply at all to any of my texts.

It looked like another quiet dinner for two.

But in what seemed like seconds, here is my beautiful teenage daughter, in person, at the table.

Teen: “Where’ the pizza?”

Me: “Didn’t you get my texts? I was joking.”

Teen: “No, I was riding my bike home. I can’t believe you did that. M-o-o-o-o-om! I could have had pizza with my friends! That’s what they were having!”

She said it laughingly, not appreciating the joke but totally appreciating knowing that her presence is missed at the dinner table.

Since she is a whiz on her phone, without ever missing a text, I never dreamed she’d read “pizza,” shove her phone in her bag, jump on the bike and head home without a text response like, “Pizza? Really? Awesome! Can my friends come, too?”

Wow – I totally underestimated the power of pizza.

Seriously, she really was a good sport about the whole incident, but I wouldn’t dare do that again.

I could get the reputation of “crying pizza.”

So the next time she texts, “what’s for dinner,” I’ll text back, “Chinese food.”

She likes almond boneless chicken as much as pizza…

© 2012 – Lynne Cobb

On being gentle and kind

“Life is fragile…handle with prayer.” – Harold B. Lee

I believe I was about 13 years-old when my mother made an embroidery sampler using the above quote. It hung in a frame and I must’ve looked at that piece a million times throughout the course of my life.

Without dating myself (yes, it’s been a few decades since Mom made that!), I really understood the meaning of that quote yesterday morning.

Yesterday, I made the discovery that I am indeed “fragile.”

After dropping the kids off at school, I had a driver pull out in front of me, only to stop and block traffic to turn left. If she had waited just a few seconds, she would’ve had a clear path. Luckily, I was in no rush, but the rudeness just brought me to tears. Honestly, I thought I was crazy being so emotional over this driving incident – which, unfortunately, happens all the time these days.

But my feelings were very real. And it has taken me an entire day to figure out why this bothered me so much. Seriously, I spent a lot of time praying I wasn’t crazy and for the Lord to give me patience with others.

Why? Because I felt like this driver didn’t care about me.

Obviously, she didn’t care about anyone other than herself and her own time-table. But somehow, I felt like she did this on purpose to me. Didn’t she know what I was going through in life? Didn’t she know that my dad died less than a year ago and that I was having a hard time dealing with his death this week? Didn’t she know that we buried a dear friend last week? Didn’t show know that if I hadn’t paid attention to her lack of patience, that we’d have been in an accident?

I felt singled out by this driver, simply because of this: rudeness is running rampant.

The “I don’t give a rip about the next guy attitude” has really gotten on my nerves lately. How can people be so callous and rude? It’s not ocassional anymore – it’s everwhere! It is on the roads, where people are completely inconsiderate of others. It’s in parking lots, where people  leave shopping carts to roll into other people’s cars.  It’s on our front lawns, where folks walking dogs leave their pet’s mess for someone else to clean. It’s in short, snarky comments and the rolling of eyes. Rudeness has become an absolute epidemic.

Of course I don’t expect a total stranger to know me or my emotions on any given day.  But I do expect that people would behave and treat others with some level of respect.

Is it because I watched my dad struggle the last few years of his life that I put myself in other’s shoes?  If I walk through a fog of emotion, are others doing the same? There is no way to know if the people I encounter today have received a big dose of bad news – a death, a diagnosis that is terminal, a foreclosure notice, a job loss. Maybe a smile or a courteous word is all they need to keep moving in that moment.

If I am fragile, than I will just assume someone else is, too.

It is the least that I can do.

Have you been a victim of rude people? Tell me below in the comments section.

© 2012 – Lynne Cobb

A quick apology…

I’m pretty frustrated at the moment. After writing a post, and then hitting publish, the only thing that appeared were the bullet points I had used. I mean, just the actual bullet symbols! My word count was “zero,” the photos were gone, and basically a blank page was sent into cyber space with a link to nowhere! UGH! WOOF! I apologize to anyone who questioned their sanity when clicking onto nothing! I am just loving the fact that all that work is just gone, gone, gone.

So, my motivation to re-write it has been zapped. And honestly, it is such a pretty day, that I am not planning to waste another minute worrying about that post. I’ll save that for a rainy day.

Has anyone else experienced that same problem? Where you typed, used spellcheck, added photos, hit “publish” and nothing posted, other than the title? And a series of empty bullet points? Let me know if you have. It’s probably too late for me to fix, because, well, I was so mad I hit “move to trash.” So the blank page was gone, along with the time I’ll never get back.

If this is my only challenge of the day, I’ll count myself very lucky indeed!

Can we call a truce?

Here we go – again. All will be quiet on the front, and then boom – the proverbial bomb drops and the war begins. Is anyone else growing weary of this tired topic?

By now, most people have heard a zillion times about the resurfaced “Mommy Wars” after yesterday’s television and Twitter reports. Working mom vs. stay-at-home mom. Apparently, this conflict will never cease.

Why must this fight continue? Why must all comments on either side of the subject continue to be taken as an insult? Why is stay-at-home mom vs. working mom even a debate?

To say that a woman who stays home to raise her children has “never worked a day in her life” is ignorant. Mothering is a tough and thankless job, in the immediate sense. There is rarely a moment to breathe between changing dirty diapers all day, dealing with overly-curious preschoolers and supervising teenagers. Being a stay-at-home mom isn’t easy – the work is hard – but the rewards are plenty. I know that because I’ve been a stay-at-home mom.

That being said, my heart is compassionate for women who balance work and raising a family. It isn’t easy to be up all night long with a sick preschooler, then try to find someone to watch the child because you have used up all of your sick and vacation time due to the baby being sick. Your mind wanders during a meeting because you are missing yet another skit at school – you couldn’t get the time off. Being a working mom isn’t easy – the work is hard – but the steady check helps to raise the family and secure their future. I know that, because I was also a full-time working mom.

Each one of our choices comes with a price. We know that, and don’t need to be reminded of that. My heart breaks for the women who don’t have a choice. The women forced into work because life threw them a curveball. Or the women forced into resigning the work they love due to a change in economics or family-life.

We mothers are our own worse enemy. Instead of respecting and appreciating the choices we have been blessed with, we are so busy beating each other up over who is correct in their choice. There is no right or wrong, ladies! It is a choice!

Instead of looking at a stay-at-home mom as an unitelligent lazy dolt, look at her with thanks. This is the woman who watches your child walk home from school, making sure no harm comes to him. This woman may be chaperoning your daughter’s trip to the zoo.

And stay-at-home moms, stop looking at working moms as women who are greedy and put the needs of their family behind a paycheck. Look at these women with thanks. These are the women who are on-call when your child gets sick in the middle of the night. These are the women who teach your child how to read.

We should be banding together to keep each other propped up, not tearing each other down.

Enough is enough!

© 2012 – Lynne Cobb