A Collection Stories About Or From The Moms Of The World

Archive for the tag “daughters”

Maternal Ties by Noreen Braman

An excerpt from the book Treading Water available through 

As most single parents know, there comes a time when trying to be both mother and father falls short. At no time is this more evident than when the children become TEENAGERS — when puberty hits them like a semi on the interstate. Dads of daughters are suddenly faced with running the gauntlet of the Feminine Hygiene aisle of the supermarket. Mothers of sons suddenly are dealing with deep-voiced strangers who eat everything in sight. 

My son is at an especially distinct disadvantage, being child number three behind two sisters. Only three years span my oldest to youngest, meaning the puberty hormones in my house can be as thick as a Cape Cod fog. So, living in a house of women is especially trying for my son. It wasn’t immediately apparent to me that he would not like shaving with a cute pink razor, or bathing with gardenia shower gel. And standing around in Victoria’s Secret, while the three female members of his household giggle over bras is not his idea of a fun day at the mall. 

Now he at least has his own personal care products, and gets to shop in the more manly mall establishments. I’ve made a diligent effort to be responsive to the needs of his gender and give him his own time away from “the girls.” Recently, without traipsing through a single women’s clothing department, we enjoyed a shopping trip to buy him a suit for his graduation photographs. Together we discovered that men’s dress clothes come in strange size combinations and apparently, it is very important to know how big your neck is and how long your arms are. To further complicate things, one cannot even try on a man’s shirt to see if you have guessed properly, as they are all packed up in unbreakable plastic like Tylenol in the drugstore. 

When finally, the suit, shirt, tie and shoes came home, my son immediately went to his room, to try on the ensemble. My eyes filled with tears of pride when he stepped out of his room, looking so much like a grown man. Except, the suit pants were dragging on the floor and the tie was hanging limply by his side. 

Folding, pinning and begging an older sister to utilize her sewing skills took care of the pants. By that time it was 10 PM, on the night before the photographs. As my son tried on the suit for the second time, I said to him “lets see the full effect, tie the tie.” 

“I can’t tie a tie,” he answered. “You tie it.” Ah, the faith of a child who thinks his parent can do anything. There was no way I could tie that tie. “Ask one of your teachers in school tomorrow,” I suggested. 

The expression of horror on my son’s face made me realize that this was another puberty/teenager/manliness issue. Asking a teacher for anything so personal was out of the question. So we tried to tie the tie ourselves. 

Rule #1 for tying someone’s tie – the gentleman cannot have a ticklish neck. Every time I even touched my son’s neck he collapsed into uncontrollable laughter. 

Rule #2 – Tying a tie is not the same as tying a hangman’s noose. At one point, this knot was so tight I though I would have to call the fire department to extricate my son from its murderous grip. Also, a square knot is suitable for a sailor, not a high school senior, and take my advice, don’t even mention tying a bow. 

Rule #3 – It is just about impossible to tie a tie that is around a neck other than your own.

As each attempt by me failed miserably, I was reminded of a story told to me by a good friend. Having grown up in a third generation family of funeral directors, leaning how to tie a tie was a skill he acquired at a young age. However, after injuring his hand, my friend was unable to tie his own tie, and he went to his father for help. After all, here was a man who had been tying his own tie for decades, as well as the ties of countless deceased gentlemen. Gentlemen who were reclined in eternal peace. There was only one way he could tie his son’s tie. “Lie down,” he said. 

Well, that didn’t work for me, and just about when we were resigned to a tie-less photograph, the cartoon light bulb over my head lit up. I rushed over to the computer and signed on to the net. 

“I can’t believe you are going online now!” moaned my son. But he didn’t realize what I was doing. After all, you can find out how to build bombs, buy drugs without prescriptions, spy on your neighbors and enlarge certain parts of your body online – why not how to tie a tie! 

Sure enough, we found a guide, complete with pictures. It was still impossible for me to do it, but eventually, after several attempts and a lot of head twisting, my son was able to successfully knot the offending piece of cloth around his neck. We celebrated like baseball players who just clinched the pennant. 

And just to be safe, my son slipped the tie over his head, and hung it — still knotted — over the hanger. Part of becoming a man is knowing when not to tempt fate.

Noreen Braman  – Creativity On Call,  American Institute of Graphic Artists (AIGA)Association for Applied and Therapeutic Humor (AATH), Certified Laughter Yoga Leader

Noreen’s Digital Dreams

Living on the Smile Side of Life in Jamesburg, New Jersey

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Copyright Ark Stories 2011


A Tribute To My Mother-In-Law by Barbara Hammond

I want to write about my mother-in-law today… so I will.

She was the kind of woman who spelled D A R N in front of my kids until they were in their teens but then completely shocked me with the unexpected story of how she learned what f*ck meant.

After she and my father-in-law had been married for a while she mentioned to him that she thought it was an Italian word because only the Italian kids in her neighborhood wrote it on the sidewalk. He promptly set her straight

This is the perfect day to pay tribute to my mother-in-law. It has been twenty-two years since she left this earth way too soon. I miss her all the time, but especially during big family events that I know she would have loved.

When our oldest son got married fourteen years ago I missed her more than I could have ever imagined. She would have adored his wife, Marcie. Our youngest son’s beautiful wedding at his bride’s family farm in Virginia would have truly wowed her.

When our first grandson was born I thought about Mom constantly. She was such a wonderful grandmother… I couldn’t possibly live up to her standard, could I?

She would have laughed, as we do, about only having boys in our family. But when the first great-granddaughter, Caylee, was born last year I know Mom would have been over the top with joy for my sister-in-law and her family!

Well Mom, your fourth great-grandchild, third boy, is on his way at this very moment. We are all awaiting the call welcoming Owen into our family. You would be so proud! I know you would love Greg’s wife, Marsha, as much as we do.

I had a very tumultuous and difficult relationship with my own mother, which I think deepened the bond I had with my mother-in-law. She was the kind of mother I’d always dreamed of having.

She personified ‘Home Maker’ and disliked being called a housewife, thank you very much. She taught me so much about running a household. Things I’d never learned in the environment I grew up in, like how to set a proper table, the importance of being a woman first which makes you a better wife and mother.

She told me, “You raise your children for someone else, so keep the fires burning at home.” Great advice! If you keep that in perspective you won’t be suffering ‘empty nest syndrome’.

I know she is watching over us and celebrating along with us as we welcome the newest member of the family.

So, Mom, you are on my mind and in my heart very much today. I took your advice to heart. Thank you so much!  


Barbara Hammond
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Copyright Ark Stories 2011

Don’t Worry! Its Just A Stage! by Noreen Braman

Noreen Braman


Like any parent, I can recite the dates and times of my child’s developmental milestones. Those famous firsts: first tooth, first steps, first words, all clearly remembered. Are they recalled so well because of instinctive pride? Hardly.

We remember them vividly because these events represent periods of parental relief. Parents of toddlers are like beginning water skiers, holding on for life as their child careens through all those celebrated “stages”.

We remember the Sleeping All Night milestone because it ends the Mixed Up Days and Nights Syndrome. Usually the infamous Teething Stage begins thereafter and each tooth is applauded for the few nights of unbroken sleep it brings.

First Steps are a thrill for parents, until we realize it heralds the Getting Into Everything phase, which arrives hand-in-hand with the Can’t Sit Still Stage.

During this time of constant motion, most children speak their first words and utter their first sentences. Fascination with the child’s speech dulls after spending days and weeks trying to comprehend and then translating for everyone else. Then, the baby talk clears and real conversations begin. If we are lucky enough to have them potty-trained by this time, we may think we see light at the end of the tunnel.

But there are more several more tricks up those innocent toddler sleeves. Parents of children in the “No” Stage know the meaning of exasperation. Following this is the equally trying “Why?” Stage. Reasonable people turn into screaming maniacs after spending a day with a “Why” child.

Somewhere around the time my oldest started school without a hint of the Won’t Do Homework phase and my youngest finally came out of the Terrible Twos, having thoroughly enjoyed his stint as dictator, I began to think that I could handle anything a preschooler threw at me. However, the middle child, in a brave effort to break out of the pack, invented a new stage, the “What If” Stage. Annemarie developed this infuriating game into a science.

For example, we were seated in a family restaurant, waiting and waiting for dinner. Annemarie wanted to know (as did we all) why it was taking so long. We explained several possibilities, but she wasn’t satisfied.

“I’m so hungry, I’m going to throw up!” she announced loudly. Hushing only encouraged her.

“What if I really did throw up in here?” she continued. We tried to pass over the question.

“What if someone just kept throwing up and couldn’t stop?”

Parties at nearby tables began to look uncomfortable. We whispered threats, but Annemarie had a whole restaurant of people to entertain.

“What if someone just walked by and threw up on my food? What if the waitress tried to clean it up and she started to throw up?”

The families around us put down their utensils and stared menacingly at us.

“What if I didn’t see them throw up in my plate and I ate it?”

After this remark the room was strangely silent. When I had the courage to look up, I saw the restaurant was empty. My oldest daughter was holding a napkin to her mouth and I began searching my pockets for the car keys.

“Where everybody go?” asked the baby.

For quite a time after that, when out to dinner with my children, curious strangers would ask about the bag over my daughter’s head.

I told them she’s just going through a stage.


Noreen Braman

 “Creativity On Call”

American Institute of Graphic Artists (AIGA)

Association for Applied and Therapeutic Humor (AATH)

Certified Laughter Yoga Leader

Noreen’s Digital Dreams

Living on the Smile Side of Life in Jamesburg, New Jersey


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Copyright Ark Stories 2011

Candi Wingate – 10 Ways To Keep Kids Humble

Candi Wingate

I’m of the school of thinking that a few humbling moments every now and then are good for keeping one’s self-esteem in check—and also for providing great fun for others. I try to make sure that my kids will never be too big for their britches. Yes, that’s my job. And here are ten of the ways I most enjoy keeping my kids’ esteem in check.

 1. Drive them to school and yell (loudly) that you love them (don’t forget to use goofy nicknames) as they get out of your car. Make sure to do this within earshot of their classmates. For example, my 12-year-old son freaked last week when I blared, “Goodbye, Pooky Bear! Have a great day at school! Mommy loves you!” He turned beet red and walked quickly (nearly ran) into the school building. It was beautiful.

2. At the beginning of any group activity, lick your fingers and smooth your kids’ hair or wipe an alleged smudge off their cheeks. Don’t forget to smile adoringly while you’re doing this. (This one really gets ‘em.)

3. Adjust your kids’ clothing in front of their peers. For some kids, merely talking about their clothing is enough to freak them out a little bit. My 13-year-old daughter, who is embarrassed easily, was made quite uncomfortable yesterday when, in front of her friends, I told her that I thought her “cute little outfit (was) just adorable.”

4. Compliment your kids in front of people they are trying to impress. My 12-year-old son has a nice group of friends, all boys’ boys. They play football, talk sports and can’t wait to drive muscle cars. Several days ago, while the boys were “hanging out” at our house, I said to my son, “Oh! You are such a handsome young man!” (Then, I pinched his cheek a little for good measure.)

5. Affectionately pat your kids on their bottoms in front of their peers. At our house, every kid gets patted on the bottom as I send them out the door. It’s part of my goodbye ritual. The fact that it embarrasses them when they’re with their friends is just frosting on the cake.

6. Take candid pictures of your kids and their friends during routine activities. This evening, my son and his friends were playing with the Wii when I told them to lean in so I could get them all in the frame of the picture I wanted to take. I’m pretty sure my son rolled his eyes.

7. Give your kids goofy little gifts—do it in front of their friends. I gave my teen daughter, who thinks she is soooo grown up, a stuffed animal that was reminiscent of one she had when she was a child. Her friends giggled. Oh, and one time I gave my son a whoopy cushion. After his momentary discomfort, he made great use of that gift. Clearly, I didn’t think that gift through thoroughly enough. 

8. Fuss and fawn over your kids every once in a while. “Would you like me to get you a straw for your juice?” “What can I do to make you more comfortable today, precious child?” These and many more sentences are tremendous embarrassments to my kids.

9. Sit next to your kids and put your arms on the backs of their chairs. Maybe even lean and kiss them on their cheeks after a while.

10. Tell stories about their younger years to people they are trying to impress. For example, my 13-year-old daughter has a crush on the boy next door. That’s a fantastic opportunity for merriment. While visiting with his mom, I made sure to mention in his presence the time that my daughter, as an infant, threw up on the Vice Presidential candidate who was on a whistle-stop campaign in our community. That’s a great story!

 Some day, my kids will have their own kids. I hope they fondly recall all these embarrassing moments and pass them on to their kids. After all, that’s part of the joy of parenthood.

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Lee Romano Sequeira
Twitter: @madnessmomandme

One of the things I most looked forward to (and some days despised at the same time) was our weekend family daytrips. Looking back, it seemed that we all—Mom, Dad, me and my cousin Tracy—were always jumping in the car to hit the best the New Jersey and Pennsylvania areas had to offer:  Turtleback Zoo, Space Farms, Roadside America (a vast indoor miniature village), Bertran’s Island Amusement Park (home of the most rickety old wooden roller coaster in the USA), The Land of Make Believe, Gingerbread Castle, The Snake & Reptile Farm, Jenny Jump Mountain, Jockey Hollow (a George Washington slept here type of park) or some other family type destination.  Places where the many happy normal families ventured to on the weekends but being Romano’s, we just didn’t “do” normal.

You may be thinking, why would a little girl despise all of these fun family places? Mom’s in the passenger seat. Driving to and from these events would be a total crapshoot. Would we go in? Would we turn around with me and my cousin Tracy in tears? Would Mom throw something out the window? OK, let me explain, here’s a typical scenario:  We leave the house with such anticipation of a family fun day ahead. Tracy and I are goofing around all happy and giggly in the back seat (unbuckled of course, as nobody buckled up in those days—we were all ready to be launched out of the car like a cold war nuclear bomb). Tracy and I would often play what we called “Cousin It”, which meant I’d flip my long hair over my face, put sunglasses on over my now hairy Cousin It face and wave my arms like a child maniac to the cars behind us. Our goal was to get the driver or passengers to wave back, offer up a peace sign or simply a smile. Tracy and I made it fun to ride in the car back then but that was usually only on the way there. 

When we arrived at our destination, brimming with excitement, there was still one caveat and our day’s fate was up to the tar—otherwise known as the parking lot. Yup, the freaking parking lot was our “fortune teller”.  If the lot was too crowded, Mom would say “Dom, let’s get out of here, this place is too crowded!” If the parking lot was empty, Mom would say, “Dom, nobody is here, let’s turn around and go home!”  If Dad put up an argument or disagreed—DRAMA TIME! Mom would take control of the situation her way, which meant throwing something—ANYTHING out of the car window. I’m not talking about a paper cup or trash, but I’m talking her wallet, her shoe or shoes (as if one wasn’t enough)—sometimes her whole handbag would go flying out the window if Mom was feeling extra dramatic that day! This antic of hers forced my poor dad to turn the car around, get out and get her f*-king shoe, wallet, purse, whatever it was, and proceed to head home speechless. After screaming “Nooooooooooo Dad!” and “Come on, Maaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!!!” begging Mom to stay, the car would soon be heading back to Dover, and Tracy and I would then begin making the nastiest faces at Mom and shooting her a violent finger (with both hands!) behind her back (from the back seat, she couldn’t see us of course). Sometimes, we’d first break down in tears at the thought of our totally ruined day—that just sucked. One thing you could count on was that Mom would get the finger whenever she turned her back to us for the remainder of THAT day!

Luckily, even with all of the turning around of the car, crying, kicking and screaming, our nutty little family still managed to see so many places over the years.  And yes, we usually had a really good time—I have plenty of photos to prove it—REALLY!


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How I Came To Love My Step Mom by Kimberley Johnson




Roslyn Apt Johnson

My step-mother Roz married my father in the late seventies. She was in her early twenties at the time and I remember feeling strange that my dad married someone else. I was used to the fact that my parents were never getting back together but having a step mom was new to me.
When I learned she was pregnant with my brother Ben, I was angry and jealous. I never expressed this to anyone. I knew it was selfish, I was eleven at the time. I pretended to be happy but inside, I felt betrayed. Soon after, my father, an ABC News cameraman, who was living in Moscow Russia with his new bride wanted me to come and live with them. My first reaction was NO WAY! A foreign country with my wicked, pregnant step mom! NO WAY!  My Aunt Marlene successfully used guilt on me to finally accept that I needed to go. My mother has since told me that she would have made me go anyway.
While living in Russia, I became more open to the idea of having a step mom and in March of 1981, Roz gave birth to my brother Ben. That was it! I was in love. My first sibling and he was the cutest thing I had ever seen. Ben’s presence in my life helped me accept my step mom in a new way.  That June, I left Moscow and returned to live with my mother in Los Angeles.
Six years after the birth of my brother, my sister Jamie was born. Again, I fell in love and by this time, Roz was part of my family (in my mind). She is not my blood but her love for my dad, my siblings, me and all the years I had known her, made me feel closer to her.
I have so many fond memories of all of us. One in particular was when my sister who was around twelve had to have her picture taken for school and she had an enormous, red zit on her nose. (We still have the picture). I was fortunate enough to be there when Roz saw it for the first time and she laughed so hard, she literally fell on the floor!
Roz is an Emmy Award winning editor for national news. On my grandparents 50th anniversary, Roz and my dad made a very special and professional video for them. Sam Donaldson and other prominent news anchors spoke directly to my grandparents, wishing them a Happy Anniversary. The tape was spliced with old family photos and news footage with a perfect selection of music as the background and together, they made a unique and beautiful gift that the whole family has to keep the memories alive. It was then that I saw what a talent Roz is in her chosen profession.
I have known Roz most of my life and I love her as though she is my blood. I am thankful to know her and that she is there for all of us. She is smart, funny, beautiful and I am inspired by her love, her courage and strength. I look back to when I was young remember feeling so insecure. I think that has actually helped me realize what a special woman she is!

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Mourning Mom: This Can’t Be Real by Lee Romano Sequeira

Lee Romano Sequeira
twitter: @madnessmomandme
“Death leaves a heartache no one can heal, love leaves a memory no one can steal.”


Not to sound cliché but this is by far the hardest, most heart-wrenching post I have written so far. Honestly, if anything else in the next decade comes anywhere near this, immediately find me a stiff new straitjacket, so I can throw myself into a padded room — forever.

Ok, here comes the hard part, words I thought I would not have to write about for at least another decade: Mom is gone. My wonderful witty mom passed away in her sleep Thanksgiving morning. No warning, no illness, no clues, no nothing, no Mom. Mom is gone. Mom is gone. I have to repeat myself over and over, because I just cannot believe it’s real. I’m hoping my next post is about the coma I’ve been in for the past week or so — I’ll write about how when I awoke, Mom was there with one of her famous QVC jewelry trinkets for me to open, and a pot of her famous spaghetti sauce bubbling away on the stove, so we could all get home and enjoy a  nice Italian dinner in celebration of my new coma-free existence.

Yes, Mom is gone. My house is filled with condolence cards, flowers and such very touching notes from caring family and friends, but somehow it doesn’t seem real. It CAN’T be real. Mom was SO ALIVE, so funny, always ready with a wise-crack or words of wisdom. I loved her advice. She was one of my best friends in the whole world. I see the cards with her photo and a pretty poem, yet I’ll still dial her phone number and expect her to pick up.  I’ll want to call her about who was just told to f*ck off on Hell’s Kitchen, or who we think should have gotten fired on The Apprentice, or the new boots I bought, but then the cold harsh smack of reality hits me right in the face, telling me those days are over.

Mom and I would dish together, watch movies together, shop together, cook dinners (for my hubby and the furkids) together and every so often I’d mix up a couple of whiskey sours and Mom would share her humorous and wonderful stories which fill a small notebook of mine.

Loss of any kind is a real tough pill to swallow  and when you lose a mom and a best friend, you feel like your heart is literally ripping apart. With that said, I think I’ll mix up two whiskey sours, leaving one on the coffee table in Mom’s honor. I just hope I don’t water them down with all of my tears.

Love you & I’ll miss you forever Mom
~ Your daughter

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Momisms by Edie Weinstein





Edie Weinstein

I am approaching an anniversary that feels surreal as I consider it. My mother, Selma Weinstein, made her transition from this realm to the next a year ago the day after Thanksgiving, November 26, 2010. Congestive Heart Failure was the official diagnosis but I sense that she died of a broken heart, missing my dad who preceded her by two and a half years, ‘leaving the building’ on April 3, 2008. They shared nearly fifty-two years of wedded bliss and were exceptional role models for love lived wondrously—a pretty tough act to follow. Although I miss them both, I know they and their wisdom live on within me. I am grateful they prepared me well for a life without their physical presence; endowing me with strength and resilience to face whatever life offers.

I smile with delight when I consider the tidbits I call ‘Momisms’ that she offered throughout the years. One of them was “Walk in like you own the joint.”, with head held high, shoulders back, solid eye contact and smile and I add “knockers up.” In that way, I have been able to enter any arena, personal and professional, with confidence. It also served to allow me, as a journalist, to interview hundreds of notables in the fields of art, writing, acting, music, medicine, academics, peace and social justice over the past twenty years, including His Holiness The Dalai Lama in July of 2008. She was my most ardent cheerleader and on the day I did the interview, she proudly beamed over the phone “I knew you would do it.” The Yiddish word for pride in a loved one’s accomplishment is ‘kvelling’…and kvell, she did.

I just recently published my first book entitled The Bliss Mistress Guide To Transforming the Ordinary Into the Extraordinary, much of which was written and edited while sitting by her bedside as we took a hospice journey together. She had told me that she wanted to read the finished book and I laughed, telling her that she needed to live a whole lot longer, because at that point, there was much still to be done. I read her a few chapters and she responded favorably. She suggested the butterfly image on the cover since it represents transformation and she told me she would come back as a butterfly.

Throughout my life, she was the one I could count on; my ‘go to’ person for whatever was on my mind and heart. She had, as she described, ‘broad shoulders’ and was able to handle any crisis. I learned those skills from a master, since family, friends, clients and students see me that way as well. Her sense of humor kept me laughing even in the midst of challenges. Toward the end of her life, she would comment that she was losing her marbles. I assured her that I would retrieve any that rolled under the couch.

We had amazing conversations in those last few months. She told me a story I had not heard before. When she was 18, she and my grandmother took a bus trip from Philadelphia to Florida. The year was 1942, when bigotry ran rampant. When the bus pulled into Washington, DC, the bus driver yelled out, “All you (and he used the ‘n’ word that I won’t glorify by spelling it out, to refer to some of the passengers of darker skin hue than his own) get to the back of the bus!” My mother turned to my grandmother and said “Come on, we’re moving to the back of the bus too.” And so they did. I asked what the response was when two middle class white women took a stand like that. She remarked that whenever the bus made rest stops, the military personnel who were fellow passengers (this was WWII) surrounded them in protection mode. I always knew she was in favor of equality and social justice, but I didn’t know how deeply ingrained it was.

She offered what I called her Que Sera Sera attitude as she would respond, “What will be will be.” when I asked her how she felt about dying.

To the woman who taught me love of learning and life, who called me Baby Cakes and assured me that I could do anything I set my mind to: I miss you Mama Cakes and know that you and Daddy are dancing in heaven.

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She Was A Widow At Forty-Six Years Old With Six Children

By Jeannine, Canada

I grew up in a family with five siblings. In total we had three girls and three boys. I was fifth youngest.

I remember the day so well, back in 1974. I was nine years old at the time. Mom was in the kitchen and had told me to go wake my father, as he was sleeping in well past the time he normally did. As I made my way to the bedroom, she must have realized something was wrong and ran past me, yelling at me to stay out. Too late, I saw his body lying on the bed. He had died of a brain aneurysm in his sleep. That day changed our family’s life. My mother’s most of all.

She was a widow at forty-six years old with six children, from age sixteen years all the way to seven years. She had no family close by, as she and my father had travelled across the country and settled in the west. I look back now and cannot imagine how my mother did what she did. She was a strong, determined woman with some very good friends who were her support when she needed it. My mother stayed out west for us. We were all still in school and this was our home. She was able to stay home on the pension that my father had and it wasn’t much. We children never once felt that we were struggling (though I am sure we did). She made sure we had a nice home, food on the table and dressed in clean clothes. And when we wanted the clothes that our friends wore, well, that is when we started the part-time jobs in order to have the luxuries that Mom could not afford. She made us all go to church (we were Catholic) and we had a curfew. Oh how I wish I had the understanding of what she did for us while I was growing up. It wasn’t until I was in my late twenties that I fully appreciated what my mother did for us all.

My mother died of leukemia in 2003. She was in an early stage of Alzheimer’s also and it was so sad to see a woman who had great knowledge, was witty and could hold a great conversation drop to the dark depths that Alzheimer’s produces.

There are times when I miss my mother so much. I picture her sitting at the kitchen table after dinner, with a cup of tea in her hand, having a conversation with whomever decided to stick around after dinner. To this day I think back and smile, as I was quite fortunate to have decided to stick around.

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My Mom by Kimberley Johnson





Welcome to the newest ARK Stories project! Everything about mom!

Because I make Reality Books, people often throw subject ideas at me. In order to move forward with an idea, I need to “feel it.” I need to be moved. A friend recently suggested my next book/blog be about moms and daughters. I let the idea swim in my head for a while and talked with my mom about it and she really liked it but she added it should include sons. I agreed.

My relationship with my mom, Ann Werner is unique. We have talked about it and feel that we are soul mates. She raised me as a single mother since I was 3. We have always been a team. I have followed in many of her footsteps. She was in sales, I was in sales. She was an actress on Days Of Our Lives, I was an actress on Days Of Our Lives. She is an author and now I am one as well. It’s gets a little embarrassing for me. At times I have resisted and fought against it. Now that I am 43 and we are in the business of making books together, I have surrendered to the fact that my mom and I are a team and always will be.

Sometimes I worry that because we are so close, I won’t know how to carry on when her time is up. She tries to talk to me about her will and I do everything short of sticking my fingers in my ears and screaming “LA LA LA LA LA LA!!!” I know that I must trust that what she has given me over all these years will provide the strength I’ll need when that time comes. Hopefully though, she’ll keep up the long life span of the females on her side of the family.

I will share things about our relationship from time to time on this blog.

My first story is from when I was 18 years old. I had a boyfriend who I was in love with. Against her better judgement but with her permission, he and I went on a camping trip with a group of friends. The trip was a ridiculous one and a story in and of itself. When it was all over and I came home, I knew I would be met with a bit of a sour attitude.

Boy, was I right! She had come home from work and looked angry. I tried to be upbeat and asked her how her day was. Her reply was: “Do you want to know what humiliation is?” Frankly, NO, I didn’t. I wanted to run away and hide. She continued “Humiliation is when your neighbor tells you that your daughter’s boyfriend sneaks in her bedroom window at night!” OUCH!!! My secret was out! Stupid, nosey neighbor!!

My boyfriend stayed away for about a week and she got over it. We have always been very open with each other and even though we can fight and bitch at each other, we have a strong and special bond. I am glad I got her as a mom. She is my strength and my inspiration!!!

So, this is where I welcome you to visit the guidelines on this page to see how you can submit your story.
I want to hear from moms as well as sons and daughters. I am excited. I think this will be a fun journey and I can’t wait to read all the stories that will come in!

Interested in  contributing to this blog? Guidelines

Copyright Ark Stories 2011

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