So, is it a Moms’ Night In or a Moms’ Night Out when you go to someone’s house for an evening of fun? I suppose it is a Moms Night Out because you have gone out of your house to go into someone's house. But, the event is inside a house, so is it a Mom’s Night In?
Moms’ Night In or Moms’ Night Out? Semantics really don’t matter when the food is so beautiful and tasty; the wine flows steadily; the massages are soothing; the just for mom craft is minty fresh and blissful on the skin; the company is delightful; and, the hostess is a rising star in the party planning community.
So, no matter whether you called it a Moms Night In or a Moms’ Night Out, it was perfection.
Showing posts with label MOMS Club. Show all posts
Showing posts with label MOMS Club. Show all posts
Wednesday, January 12, 2011
Monday, September 27, 2010
A Supportive Respite from an Endless Job
Demanding boss that cannot articulate his needs clearly but sure makes a lot of noise when he does not get his way. Long hours, very long hours, sometimes with double shifts, triple shifts and all-nighters. Almost never a “thank you” and never a day off. No time to be sick or to vacation alone. Of course, no paycheck, no employee discounts and certainly no 401K. This is the life of a stay-at-home mom.
Sure, the benefits are far more valuable than a dental plan. Afternoon hugs, lunches with a date who can eat for free, and the beauty of naptime. But, it is not just playdough and finger-painting. Stay-at-home motherhood can be very lonely and isolated, especially for first-time moms with newborns. Infants are not great conversationalists and working husbands are working, therefore, not emailing, texting and calling. For new moms who do not have peers with children, solitude becomes a reality and options seem so limited. But of course, not wanting to appear selfish or unloving, secluded moms do seek out options. The guilt of wanting more than just the baby or the fear of being labeled a bad mom keeps many women tied to the home.
I definitely was no exception. My first year of motherhood was riddled with loneliness, sadness and fear. I had no friends with kids and lost contact with my childless friends. My husband, who was just starting his career, worked more than twelve hours a day at least 6 six days a week. And, I was terrified to drive my baby anywhere – petrified of having a wreck that would hurt or kill him. So, I stayed home read and Derrida to my newborn until an acquaintance invited me to a MOMS Club Open House.
That day started my more than a decade-long involvement with the MOMS Club: Mothers Offering Mothers Support, a non-profit organization for part-time and full-time stay-at-home-moms. This group, which has chapters all over the world, focuses on mom-centered events that are held during the day. Stay-at-home moms and their kids get together for playdates, park visits, storytimes, tours and craft days. This is a great way for both mother and children to make connections outside the home. And of course, as a non-profit the MOMS Club is a helping organization in many ways. In addition to daily support through activities, the club provides additional help to members in crisis both locally and nationally. When the club isn’t helping their members, they are helping the community. Local chapters are required to implement meaningful service projects that help children; it is a great alternative to the Junior League if you are unable to meet their time commitment and want options for volunteerism with your kids in tow.
Over the years, MOMS Club has been there for me through three births, a family medical emergency, and my transition from stay-at-home-mom to part-time working-mom to full-time working-mom to stay-at-home-mom to my current status of part-time working mom. I have had the wonderful opportunity to spearhead activities that provide children in need with school supplies, winter coats and diapers. The club’s activities offer structure for my day; MOMS activities come first and everything else falls in line behind. But most importantly, I have established lasting friendships over the years thanks to the MOMS Club. And, if it was not for our group’s book club, I would still be reading Derrida instead of New York Times Best Sellers with narrating dogs and excessive sadomasochism. But nonetheless, MOMS Club is an integral part of my life.
For more information on the International MOMS Club or to find a chapter near you, please go to http://www.momsclub.org/
Sure, the benefits are far more valuable than a dental plan. Afternoon hugs, lunches with a date who can eat for free, and the beauty of naptime. But, it is not just playdough and finger-painting. Stay-at-home motherhood can be very lonely and isolated, especially for first-time moms with newborns. Infants are not great conversationalists and working husbands are working, therefore, not emailing, texting and calling. For new moms who do not have peers with children, solitude becomes a reality and options seem so limited. But of course, not wanting to appear selfish or unloving, secluded moms do seek out options. The guilt of wanting more than just the baby or the fear of being labeled a bad mom keeps many women tied to the home.
I definitely was no exception. My first year of motherhood was riddled with loneliness, sadness and fear. I had no friends with kids and lost contact with my childless friends. My husband, who was just starting his career, worked more than twelve hours a day at least 6 six days a week. And, I was terrified to drive my baby anywhere – petrified of having a wreck that would hurt or kill him. So, I stayed home read and Derrida to my newborn until an acquaintance invited me to a MOMS Club Open House.
That day started my more than a decade-long involvement with the MOMS Club: Mothers Offering Mothers Support, a non-profit organization for part-time and full-time stay-at-home-moms. This group, which has chapters all over the world, focuses on mom-centered events that are held during the day. Stay-at-home moms and their kids get together for playdates, park visits, storytimes, tours and craft days. This is a great way for both mother and children to make connections outside the home. And of course, as a non-profit the MOMS Club is a helping organization in many ways. In addition to daily support through activities, the club provides additional help to members in crisis both locally and nationally. When the club isn’t helping their members, they are helping the community. Local chapters are required to implement meaningful service projects that help children; it is a great alternative to the Junior League if you are unable to meet their time commitment and want options for volunteerism with your kids in tow.
Over the years, MOMS Club has been there for me through three births, a family medical emergency, and my transition from stay-at-home-mom to part-time working-mom to full-time working-mom to stay-at-home-mom to my current status of part-time working mom. I have had the wonderful opportunity to spearhead activities that provide children in need with school supplies, winter coats and diapers. The club’s activities offer structure for my day; MOMS activities come first and everything else falls in line behind. But most importantly, I have established lasting friendships over the years thanks to the MOMS Club. And, if it was not for our group’s book club, I would still be reading Derrida instead of New York Times Best Sellers with narrating dogs and excessive sadomasochism. But nonetheless, MOMS Club is an integral part of my life.
For more information on the International MOMS Club or to find a chapter near you, please go to http://www.momsclub.org/
Wednesday, September 1, 2010
I Know You Didn’t Give at the Bar, Try Again.
Brewery to brewery, I travelled begging for free beer. It was a fine art convincing brewers that I genuinely loved their products and would actually use the bottles to raise money for moms in crisis and not go behind their dumpster with the six-pack to ease my mommy blues. I successfully convinced them that I am not an alcoholic just a beer connoisseur with the heart of a fundraiser. The tasting room manager agreed to donate a six pack and said, “Since you are so familiar with our products, which one would you like?” So of course, I lied when I said I love their beer, give it as gifts, and tell all my friends about them. To taste their beer, I would have had to wear nose-plugs to get past the stench that wafts through most of my childhood memories. Instead of admitting my deception, I simply said with a dainty wink that resembled an involuntary tick: “Since I love them all, let’s go with the Manager’s Choice.” I happily left with a six-pack knowing that I would make one lucky, benevolent, charity-supporting mom, a very relaxed and a tipsy woman when she won our group’s basket at a luncheon.
After acquiring beer, I sought tea, toffee, cookies, chocolate, green chile sauce, haircuts, massages, manicures, pedicures, Italian dinners, steak dinners, alternative vegetarian meals, and ice cream. No matter how many owners and managers told me “no,” I knew that my twofold approach to fundraising would bring much plunder for my charitable cause. My method was simple: First flatter their ego and next prey upon their insecurities. I always started with how much I love (their product, establishment or service) and then described how I would like the opportunity to share their wonderfulness with my non-profit group. Normally, when my flattery got me nowhere, I simply made them feel cheap and uncharitable. I had no problem telling potential donors that their competitors donated (Only if they really did. There is a fine between exaggeration to get what I want and fraud; I am an expert at negotiating those murky waters of fibber versus felon. ) I had no problem pitting the two best family-owned Italian restaurants in town against each other, and letting the teahouse owner know that a kitchen novelty store donated coffee, a mug and a gift card. The teahouse owner matched their contribution and added a few more tea accessories and wrapped them all beautifully in a small basket.
It is as simple as appealing to people’s competitive spirit and their shame; people will capitulate just to save face. However, another club member took the high road of explaining our club’s mission and detailed the specifics of our event. This method could be called straightforward honesty. Never thought that would work, but it did. With a basket totaling more $300 in gift certificates and merchandise, our group raised the most money for charity and won first place for the best basket at the event. It was a nice victory for our club, and I learned the valuable lesson that honesty and straightforwardness can pay off. Still dealing with the consequences of that revelation.
After acquiring beer, I sought tea, toffee, cookies, chocolate, green chile sauce, haircuts, massages, manicures, pedicures, Italian dinners, steak dinners, alternative vegetarian meals, and ice cream. No matter how many owners and managers told me “no,” I knew that my twofold approach to fundraising would bring much plunder for my charitable cause. My method was simple: First flatter their ego and next prey upon their insecurities. I always started with how much I love (their product, establishment or service) and then described how I would like the opportunity to share their wonderfulness with my non-profit group. Normally, when my flattery got me nowhere, I simply made them feel cheap and uncharitable. I had no problem telling potential donors that their competitors donated (Only if they really did. There is a fine between exaggeration to get what I want and fraud; I am an expert at negotiating those murky waters of fibber versus felon. ) I had no problem pitting the two best family-owned Italian restaurants in town against each other, and letting the teahouse owner know that a kitchen novelty store donated coffee, a mug and a gift card. The teahouse owner matched their contribution and added a few more tea accessories and wrapped them all beautifully in a small basket.
It is as simple as appealing to people’s competitive spirit and their shame; people will capitulate just to save face. However, another club member took the high road of explaining our club’s mission and detailed the specifics of our event. This method could be called straightforward honesty. Never thought that would work, but it did. With a basket totaling more $300 in gift certificates and merchandise, our group raised the most money for charity and won first place for the best basket at the event. It was a nice victory for our club, and I learned the valuable lesson that honesty and straightforwardness can pay off. Still dealing with the consequences of that revelation.
Tuesday, September 29, 2009
The garbage disposal will eat my baby and other irrational fears of a new mother
What if I put my newborn in the sink to bathe him, the garbage disposal turns on, and devours his little feet? What if his swing seatbelt gets unhooked and he hits floor? What if my baby is in a rear-facing carseat and he starts to choke? What if he pushes his nose too close to me while he is nursing? On and on the list went inside my head for months and months.
When I wasn’t imagining horrific infantile accidents, I stared at my baby, wondering what I was supposed to do to with him. I nursed him, changed his diaper, dressed him in lots of nauseating powder blue outfits, and, occasionally, bathed him when I could get over my anxiety of him drowning in the tub or being eaten by the garbage disposal in the sink. (He developed cradle cap due to the lack of baths but no one ever asked me why I wasn’t bathing him.) As I went through the motions all alone, I didn’t really feel any more affection for him than I had for my Cabbage Patch dolls that I took care of as a child.
I experienced nothing like the bond that I witnessed between my husband and our baby. In the hospital, our baby was inconsolable. The loudest crying baby in the maternity ward, ensuring no woman or child was getting any sleep that weekend. After a nurse threatened to take our baby away to give him a bottle and make him stop crying, paternal instinct took over. My husband picked up our screaming baby, flipped him over and jostled him into the airplane hold, placing my baby’s abdomen on his forearm. He then two-stepped around the hospital room to only the beat of new fatherhood until our baby fell asleep in his arms.
There was no dancing for me or any other type of maternal ritual that would celebrate the love of my new child. Dread not joy greeted me each morning. This is not what I thought motherhood was supposed to be like. Wasn’t motherhood supposed to be like the Luvs diaper commercial? The one where a smiling cherubic baby, clad in only a diaper, rolls in the grass while his gleeful mom, who happened to successfully shed all the baby weight, tickles his belly while simultaneously hanging clothes on the line.
Not being joyful about new motherhood made question if every new mother felt like this and suppressed it or if I was completely insane.I was wrong on both accounts. I wasn’t experiencing normality or insanity. I had a clear case of postpartum depression that went unacknowledged, undiagnosed and untreated. Arrogance not ignorance prohibited me from seeking treatment. Sure, I knew what postpartum depression was. The hospital sent me home with stacks and stacks of paper defining it, explaining it, justifying and outlining treatment. I comprehended the content, but could not acknowledge my own case. I was educated and married. My baby was wanted, and I was a stay-at-home mom. I was too prepared, too smart, too loving, and too concerned to be an inflicted woman. No matter how all the literature attempts normalize postpartum depression and deemphasize the shame; the hyper-attention given it the syndrome by doctors, the media and court system sensationalizes postpartum depression into shameful and shame-inducing aberration.
Shame is cold and lonely. I had no one to turn –too scared to seek medical attention and too embarrassed to tell family members. I couldn’t tell my husband because I didn’t want to disappoint him or have him be afraid to leave me alone with our baby. I couldn’t go to either one of my son’s grandmothers. After more than 30 years of giving birth to her last child, my mother still exhibits all the symptoms of postpartum depression and has never made an emotional connection with her children. My husband’s mother is a baby whisperer. She never took formal training, but she just intuitively knows everything there is to know about childrearing and would feel perfectly justified in editing the books of Brazelton, Spock, and Sears. She would never be able to understand why a mother wouldn’t bond with her baby instantly.
So, I was on my own. I just waited it out and went through the motions for weeks. Eventually, things started to get better. A major breakthrough happened when my baby was about 5 weeks old, and he fell asleep on my chest. He stayed there for hours, and I just watched him breathe. Then, a few days later, I started reading to him. We read Dissemination by Jacques Derrida. We skipped Mother Goose and went straight to Deconstructionism. Didn’t matter what I was reading to him; he was hearing his mother’s voice.
Our progress continued. I worried less. He cried less. He started to smile. I started to smile. Eventually, I over came my fear of driving and a joined a local chapter of the International MOMS Club, an organization designed for moms to support each other through fun scheduled activities. (This is organization is not specifically for postpartum depression, but does provide great opportunities to meet other moms who have had similar experiences).
The postpartum depression faded. I survived, my child survived and having endured such challenge made my bond with my baby stronger. New motherhood should not be an emotionally lonely time for any woman.
Recent studies have shown that postpartum depression is not as difficult to diagnose as once believed. Using only three questions doctors can know detect postpartum depression and these questions don’t have the negative stigma of crying, sleeplessness, and thoughts of harming self or others. Excessive anxiety seems to be a strong indicator and these questions zero in on the primary symptom: This is what the test looks like:
1. I have blamed myself unnecessarily when things went wrong.
a. Yes, most of the time — 3
b. Yes, some of the time — 2
c. Not very often — 1
d. No, never — 0
2. I have been anxious or worried for no good reason.
a. Yes, very often — 3
b. Yes, sometimes — 2
c. Hardly ever — 1
d. No, not at all — 0
3. I have felt scared or panicky for no very good reason.
a. Yes, quite a lot — 3
b. Yes, sometimes — 2
c. No, not much — 1
d. No, not at all — 0
With postpartum depression being so easily recognizable now, doctors need to be more proactive in detecting the symptoms. Handing out a bunch of papers is not enough and waiting six weeks for the mother’s follow-up exam could be too late to ask these questions. A phone appointment or an in-person appointment should be arranged with the first one to three weeks to do a preliminary screening and then another screening could occur in six weeks.
With the current state of healthcare, doctors are not likely to show this level of concern on their own; therefore, legislation should be proposed that would require either the hospital or primary doctor to screen every new mother for postpartum depression. Spending a little time on legislation could potentially save lives and keep the postpartum depression defense out of the court system.
Until the medical community or the government becomes more involved, the responsibility falls on mothers to self-diagnose and seek treatment. The best option is acquire assistance from a medical care provider, but there are some online resources to help with diagnosis and support:
Postpartum Support International
http://postpartum.net/
Postpartum Support Online
http://www.ppdsupportpage.com/
Postpartum Awareness
http://www.ppdsupport.org/
When I wasn’t imagining horrific infantile accidents, I stared at my baby, wondering what I was supposed to do to with him. I nursed him, changed his diaper, dressed him in lots of nauseating powder blue outfits, and, occasionally, bathed him when I could get over my anxiety of him drowning in the tub or being eaten by the garbage disposal in the sink. (He developed cradle cap due to the lack of baths but no one ever asked me why I wasn’t bathing him.) As I went through the motions all alone, I didn’t really feel any more affection for him than I had for my Cabbage Patch dolls that I took care of as a child.
I experienced nothing like the bond that I witnessed between my husband and our baby. In the hospital, our baby was inconsolable. The loudest crying baby in the maternity ward, ensuring no woman or child was getting any sleep that weekend. After a nurse threatened to take our baby away to give him a bottle and make him stop crying, paternal instinct took over. My husband picked up our screaming baby, flipped him over and jostled him into the airplane hold, placing my baby’s abdomen on his forearm. He then two-stepped around the hospital room to only the beat of new fatherhood until our baby fell asleep in his arms.
There was no dancing for me or any other type of maternal ritual that would celebrate the love of my new child. Dread not joy greeted me each morning. This is not what I thought motherhood was supposed to be like. Wasn’t motherhood supposed to be like the Luvs diaper commercial? The one where a smiling cherubic baby, clad in only a diaper, rolls in the grass while his gleeful mom, who happened to successfully shed all the baby weight, tickles his belly while simultaneously hanging clothes on the line.
Not being joyful about new motherhood made question if every new mother felt like this and suppressed it or if I was completely insane.I was wrong on both accounts. I wasn’t experiencing normality or insanity. I had a clear case of postpartum depression that went unacknowledged, undiagnosed and untreated. Arrogance not ignorance prohibited me from seeking treatment. Sure, I knew what postpartum depression was. The hospital sent me home with stacks and stacks of paper defining it, explaining it, justifying and outlining treatment. I comprehended the content, but could not acknowledge my own case. I was educated and married. My baby was wanted, and I was a stay-at-home mom. I was too prepared, too smart, too loving, and too concerned to be an inflicted woman. No matter how all the literature attempts normalize postpartum depression and deemphasize the shame; the hyper-attention given it the syndrome by doctors, the media and court system sensationalizes postpartum depression into shameful and shame-inducing aberration.
Shame is cold and lonely. I had no one to turn –too scared to seek medical attention and too embarrassed to tell family members. I couldn’t tell my husband because I didn’t want to disappoint him or have him be afraid to leave me alone with our baby. I couldn’t go to either one of my son’s grandmothers. After more than 30 years of giving birth to her last child, my mother still exhibits all the symptoms of postpartum depression and has never made an emotional connection with her children. My husband’s mother is a baby whisperer. She never took formal training, but she just intuitively knows everything there is to know about childrearing and would feel perfectly justified in editing the books of Brazelton, Spock, and Sears. She would never be able to understand why a mother wouldn’t bond with her baby instantly.
So, I was on my own. I just waited it out and went through the motions for weeks. Eventually, things started to get better. A major breakthrough happened when my baby was about 5 weeks old, and he fell asleep on my chest. He stayed there for hours, and I just watched him breathe. Then, a few days later, I started reading to him. We read Dissemination by Jacques Derrida. We skipped Mother Goose and went straight to Deconstructionism. Didn’t matter what I was reading to him; he was hearing his mother’s voice.
Our progress continued. I worried less. He cried less. He started to smile. I started to smile. Eventually, I over came my fear of driving and a joined a local chapter of the International MOMS Club, an organization designed for moms to support each other through fun scheduled activities. (This is organization is not specifically for postpartum depression, but does provide great opportunities to meet other moms who have had similar experiences).
The postpartum depression faded. I survived, my child survived and having endured such challenge made my bond with my baby stronger. New motherhood should not be an emotionally lonely time for any woman.
Recent studies have shown that postpartum depression is not as difficult to diagnose as once believed. Using only three questions doctors can know detect postpartum depression and these questions don’t have the negative stigma of crying, sleeplessness, and thoughts of harming self or others. Excessive anxiety seems to be a strong indicator and these questions zero in on the primary symptom: This is what the test looks like:
1. I have blamed myself unnecessarily when things went wrong.
a. Yes, most of the time — 3
b. Yes, some of the time — 2
c. Not very often — 1
d. No, never — 0
2. I have been anxious or worried for no good reason.
a. Yes, very often — 3
b. Yes, sometimes — 2
c. Hardly ever — 1
d. No, not at all — 0
3. I have felt scared or panicky for no very good reason.
a. Yes, quite a lot — 3
b. Yes, sometimes — 2
c. No, not much — 1
d. No, not at all — 0
With postpartum depression being so easily recognizable now, doctors need to be more proactive in detecting the symptoms. Handing out a bunch of papers is not enough and waiting six weeks for the mother’s follow-up exam could be too late to ask these questions. A phone appointment or an in-person appointment should be arranged with the first one to three weeks to do a preliminary screening and then another screening could occur in six weeks.
With the current state of healthcare, doctors are not likely to show this level of concern on their own; therefore, legislation should be proposed that would require either the hospital or primary doctor to screen every new mother for postpartum depression. Spending a little time on legislation could potentially save lives and keep the postpartum depression defense out of the court system.
Until the medical community or the government becomes more involved, the responsibility falls on mothers to self-diagnose and seek treatment. The best option is acquire assistance from a medical care provider, but there are some online resources to help with diagnosis and support:
Postpartum Support International
http://postpartum.net/
Postpartum Support Online
http://www.ppdsupportpage.com/
Postpartum Awareness
http://www.ppdsupport.org/
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