Dear IF readers,

Well, yesterday was not the same bliss as day one on the road. Why? We mostly drove through 5 cities and city traffic. Yuck! Terrible, awful, yuck again! But we made it! And I have to say yet again, the boys were amazing. I was a grouch during the third city. Brody had a melt down at the end because he was trying to fall asleep unsuccessfully. But we made it! And at the end of the day, we were trying to get to Target before it closed to get air mattresses. I told the boys that they had been so wonderful that they could get a bonus pack of Pokemon cards!

We ended the trip with such momentum. “Mom, do you think we will make it before the store closes?” “How many more miles Mom?” And yes, we made it 27 minutes before the store closed, the success of it made all the exhaustion reinvigorated. My boys became efficient shoppers. “You go ahead and get the pillowcase Mom, I will push the cart, come on we don’t want them to close on us.”

Wonderful educational opportunities on the road. The atlas became quite the math lesson as the boys loved measuring the mile marker against our next proposed stop or goal. “I think that will be 500 miles Mom.” Now, don’t get me wrong talking math with a three and five year old, I believe the reasoning is more important than the accuracy. So when 50 miles becomes 500, I simply say, WOW, that is alot of miles, do you think we will make it?” They get so swept up in the magic of measuring and estimating, I think there is time enough later for accuracy.

There was also wonderful social education as well. We saw a man with a prosthetic leg who was walking great and taking care of his four children at a road side stop. Then we saw another man without prosthetics sitting without legs from the knees down while his grandson worked in the garden. In our hotel lobby a father and son were communicating in sign language. And there was a hitchhiker that we did not give a ride to but talked about and said if he hadn’t been in a difficult spot on the on ramp, we would have liked to give him money towards catching a bus. We gave a ham sandwich, a banana, and a water to a man and a cat who were asking for money on the side of the road. And on, and on.

So many of the conversations I had with the boys over the last couple days while we were all strapped in our seats with nothing to do but talk and enjoy one another for 20 hours of driving, were engaged and memorable. We talked about math, people, animals, geography, philosophies, and family dynamics with one another, and we recovered tough moments, and gave each other the family team handshake that Papa made up. I cannot tell you how full my heart is as a mother and as a teacher. There is so much to learn out of the classroom that helps the kids to reason and use logic and expression in the classroom it is awe-inspiring.

And then to greet us at our first destination of Rhode Island, and our old beach cottage that we have on the market to sell, was Grammy Patti, my Mom. She was so happy to see us. Her arms were filled with toys, and pillows, and blankets, and homemade quilts, and food, and water, and even a high end air mattress that rocked my puny one that I had just bought. And I don’t know if ever any of you very adult readers feel this around your parents no matter what the age, but I felt like I could relax, that help was here. And while I sunk into the warm bath, I heard Grammy and the boys giggling in the next room. Ahhhh……….life on the road. Wonderful.

Good reading, Cat

By Kent Converse

We have a native fruit in Kansas called “Sand Hill Plum.” It grows best on sandy hills, so that is where it got its name. The fruit is about the size of a quarter. The Sand Hill Plum bush can be two to eight feet high. Many a late freeze kills the fruit blossom and you have no fruit for the year.

This year, we had a late freeze and it got most of the crop but a few bushes came through the freeze and bore fruit.

Picking the plums is no pleasure. You have to keep your mind on the finished product because Sand Hill Plums are hard to pick. For one thing they have small thorns. The branches get intertwined. Other plant vines grow over the bushes. You pay the price for picking plums.

We make the plums into jelly and most people who taste it say it’s the best in the world. This year I am going to give some to my cousin who is going to make them into wine. It’s good too but I like the label on the bottle better than the wine. It says: “Converse Sand Hill Plum Wine.”

Dear Ellen,

I loved your article in the Magazine this month and agree completely. Peru is like Europe.
When we lived in Miami, making new friends was hard unless they were from work, and almost always the socializing was outside the home.

I remember once, when we still lived in Miami, and my husband´s parents were coming to visit us from Lima. The day before their arrival, the daughter and mother of a friend of Carlos from Peru arrived and stayed in our apartment for the night. I had everything set up for his parents, no extra sets of sheets for another group of guests and couldn´t believe that Carlos had said “those people” could stay and even more that “those people” had the nerve to even ask. Luckily they could only stay one night because of the arrival the next day of the parents but it was mass confusion to me.

I´ve had many other experiences like that and I guess due to growing up in the U.S., couldn´t understand having people, who were not even good friends, stay with you and having to spend time with them, etc.

I didn´t realize until reading your article that we are the “unusual” hosts. Thanks.

Laura Andia

Dear IF readers,

Wow, what a first day. Jax, Brody and I drove from Hilton Head, South Carolina to Fredericksburg, Va. yesterday. Papa flew ahead for meetings in New York. The boys were super, truly. Do you ever have one of those blessed days where even if your children were not your children, you would like hanging out with them? We sang songs, watched movies, posted stickers in new notebooks, and did some roadside stops. And when the signs said, “Washington”, I asked Jax and Brody, “Do you know what is special about Washington D.C.?” Jax answered, “Yes, it is where the President lives?” Jax is five. I told him right there and then he would get an extra dollar on his Times Square Toys R Us budget just for being such a genius.

And on the road, my thoughts rambled along. I had a distinct memory of my father. One year, I had a hernia surgery and ended up in a local hospital. A recovery nurse introduced herself as my cousin. I later asked my father why I had never met her or any of the other relatives that this cousin had spoken but only my grandparents. He answered that as a little boy every precious weekend of play was spent in a car, in nice Sunday clothes that couldn’t be messed up, visiting relatives. And he didn’t want to do that to his children, so he just let us be a family by ourselves for the most part, excepting holidays and special events.

How funny I thought. My dad didn’t like all the relatives, and I think that would have been fun growing up a part of a big clan. Mmmmmhhhh…..it is so hard to get it right with our philosophies in a group. And as I thought through this memory I laughed out loud that this roadtrip that was my idea and I am so happy and excited about it. But it might just turn out to be the thing one or both of my boys, complain about some day. Who knows? It is so hard to get it right.

I know that my boys have been fully human and clear from the day they were born with keen philosophies, dislikes, preferences, etc. And although Daddy and I insist on maintaining the authority in the house so the boys are kept safe and civilized, we do open the family table for meetings, dialogue and debate. Most times, these meetings are a beautiful exchange, and even my three year Brody has begun to contribute like a master negotiator. One impromptu meeting with Jax was memorable.

I had been grouchy over cleaning the house, and announced I was going to take a time out to cool down, I was aware that I was snapping at everyone. When I had taken a few minutes, I called everyone in for an apology for my awful attitude and temper. Jax instantly took the floor, and said, “Mom, now that we are on the subject of what you do that is unfair, may I tell you something?”

I was dying, it was hilarious but serious and his face was so intent. I said, “Yes, Jax, I have opened the family dialogue, it is an open floor, what’s up? ” And he said, “You know that thing you do when Brody and I are screaming in the car, you say that you are going to stop the car and someone is going to have to walk home? Well that is unfair as Brody and I do not have maps and do not know the streets well.” I had to contain myself I was smiling so broadly, almost giggling, he was right, he was absolutely accurate and fair in his wonderful little logical statement - what a thinker! What a processing genius!

And then I answered, “Jax, I think that is great feedback, I think it would be better to just say that whoever is making the car unsafe with their behavior, we will stop and they will get out for a time out until they have their manners back, how’s that?” Jax looked at me with self-pride and a sense of relief, “Good Mom, that’s a great idea!”

These road-trips that I like so much are great for some reflective family time. Here is to hoping the boys think so too someday! Good reading, Cat

Dear IF readers,

Brody and I are at the car wash getting the car scrubbed for our 14 hour road trip that commences at 1 p.m. today when we pick Jax up from camp.  10 days on the road visiting friends and family during the end of our summer vacation.  Fantastic fun.  My aunt Mo used to load my cousins in the car each summer from California back East.  And my cousin Kerry - one of my favorite, six foot, built like a brick, sweetie pie guys I have ever known - always told me stories that this was one of the favorite memories of his childhood.  He is planning to gear up for his four kid’s adventures on the road.  We talk alot at family reunions that we will all take an RV on Highway 1, San Francisco to Santa Barbara.  I hope we do it someday. 

So, our memories of summer roadtrips kicks off in a few hours. And we are very excited.  We have packed brand new notebooks, and crayons and 700 stickers.  Ohh, and last night I let the boys go to the store and buy a special treat and Jax found a 36 episode Pokemon adventure for the car’s DVD player.  I think when he found it, I heard angels singing.  When that cartoon is on, my boys are quiet as mice scared of a big cat.  Their mouths are wide open and they have to be reminded to eat.  What a blessing.

Okay, the nice man who always helps me scrape lollipop goo off of my car, has just told me “All set.”  That is a go!  We are off!

We’ll write more from the road.  I am sure there will be plenty of stories. Like the last time we took a road trip and my then 4 year old Jax decided we hadn’t gotten him out of his car seat fast enough and got himself so tangled up in the car belts that we had to cut him out.  That was a quick $175 escapade!

Alright, we here we go…….Cat  

Every month I get to contribute to this magazine and it continues to be the most incredible gift to me.  I get to rant and rave, I get to opine, and I get to write about the amazing people I have met along my journey as a single mom, an adoptive mom, a single woman and a mother to a child of another race.  The one thing I have not been able to do till now is communicate with readers.  And, if you are out there, I would love to know you better.

So… I’m calling on all you “non-traditionals” out there - single, adoptive, gay parents, straight married people with adopted children, anybody who wants to contribute or just rant and rave yourself about how it feels to be in a family configuration that some might consider “non-traditional.”  Is it just me?  I don’t think so.  There are millions of us out there.  And I would also love to hear from anybody and everbody in a traditional family who just wants to talk about the topics we address in IF.  IF you have a story, please share.  Reply to this post.

I want to meet you.  Let’s chat.

Best to all,

Cheryl

Dear IF readers,

I have a sister who’s a Sister. A nun. People always act funny when I mention it. Anyway, she came to stay with us for a few days this summer. My girls love her. We call her Aunt Boo, which is a childhood name that she hated, until she got too old to mind it. I’ve never stopped calling her that. When she was getting ready to leave our house to drive back to Pittsburgh, my youngest, Francesca, asked her to take a picture of us all together, so that we would have something to remind us of our ‘time of unity’. We laughed and she took the picture.

Aunt Boo is an incredible woman with a ferocious mission as a Sister of Divine Providence. She always wanted to be a mother, so she began taking in foster children who were severely challenged, so troubled that no one would adopt them. She took in the ‘unadoptable’. The harder they were to handle, the more gleefully she accepted them into her family, and by extension, into ours.

She spends months or years, or whatever it takes, patiently teaching them, working with them, holding babies for nights on end because they won’t stop crying. Putting up with tantrums, decoding childish language, feeding special diets, looking for new ways of coping with everything from fetal alcohol syndrome to spina bifida. And then, as soon as she works her miracle and a child who was completely unrespondant becomes a bright and lively, curious and loving little person, the exact right, hopeful parents come along and steal our new family member away. Heartbreaking. And then, you know what she does? She goes out and starts the process all over again.

We have our own ‘family extender’ in Aunt Boo. She spreads her love and allows us to spread ours to so many children who need a family, for just a little while, until they are able to enter a family of their own. We welcome all of her additions and we bravely hide our tears when they go on to their destinies. It makes our own family stronger, our own sense of unity.

Take care, good reading, Tess

Dear IF readers,

My brother-in-law and nephew were here for a week. I am still digging my way out of the laundry and restocking the fridge. It was a lovely week. This is my husband’s older brother and they went bowling and fishing and re-connected while bonding their own sons together as loyal male cousins that would play together, sleep in the same room, and yes even fight a bit. We had wonderful talks, bike rides, beach time. And we had a loving talk that we hoped they would all make sure to know where each of them was on the holidays forever and ever. They said “ok”, and I am hoping all though it was all said so fast and fun, that someday they will remember and call one another, even when we oldies are not around.

I wanted to get back to my notes on my multi-cultural family, part 2. So I have explained that I was adopted and we were as a family of origin quite the European potpourri. Well after I was old enough to go on and make my own friends and grow my extended family, I always was attracted to friends of the more Latin persuasion. I think I loved the contrast of my formal European upbringing, with the variations of everything warm and colorful - the music, the food, the hugs and kisses, even the passionate fights and making up. So I befriended many Italian and Spanish cultural friends.

But let me not go to fast. First there was my best friend Kathleen Piero. I mentioned her in Part I. I loved her family. They were always together in one house. Of course they each had their own home to go to at the end of the night, but Kathleen’s house was Piero Centrale. I would sit on my chair, Pops called me “pig out” because I loved their food and would eat till I was stuffed and then some. But I, “pig out”, would sit in my footie pajamas on my Saturday night sleepover watching everyone and everything like it was the greatest show in Earth, and I had front row seats. The table was poured with food, the people all talked and laughed so loud, there was music, and so many hugs and head tossles.

In the last few years, my brother was divorced and dating again. I decided that my brother’s “picker” was broken. So, a wonderful and beautiful passionate friend from Bogota, Colombia was single as well. I thought to myself, Michael needs a little passion in his life again. And this time, someone whose passion is not just for the courtship but for a lifetime, and that was my friend Jenny, Jenny Medina. So I sent them off one night during a Christmas holiday to help me with the boys at the Times Square ESPN while I took my niece to the American Girl shop. Well, well, well. I am happy to say that I had a new nickname after that, “La Blanca Bruja”. The White Witch. Jenny says I cast a love dust spell on them and they fell in love. Jenny Wayland is my new sister and I am the luckiest sister in law in the world. Gracias mi Dios.

Now that my family was rounding out into the Latin world, I was looking for a little girl to help and call my own after having 2 boys. So when I contacted SOS orphan sponsorship, I asked them to help me look in Colombia and that is how I found my SOS daughter Lucy. Now I am so lucky to have an SOS daughter that I will meet someday in Colombia. I would love for her to come to the U.S. for her college years, but we will see what she wants to do for herself. But I will make sure besides helping her, that we will know one another for a lifetime. And so my dear readers, that is My Multi-Cultural Family Part II. If you have a story to share, please write to me at cat@internationalfamilymag.com

Warmly, Cat

Dear IF readers,

My IF mag blog has been a bit of a neglected child as of late and I apologize.  I don’t know if you do as I, but I have to put a list together and go after the top three a day.  Lately, that has been Brody, my three year old, Jax, my five year old, and my 10 year marriage. It is summer here in Hilton Head Island, and I find myself the great family coordinator.  And Brody who turns four in September is too young for many independent activities so we are quite the pair. Using my computer is not on his list of my priorities. I have tried to take him to the library to sit and read next to their wireless connections for my laptop but he has now made that our special reading time.  So, again to you my readers and my dear blog child, I am so sorry.

I want to reflect on the multi-cultural family as I know it from my experience.  I have spoken of this before, but my family of origin is quite multi-cultural.  We were five non-biologically related people coming together to be a family under the same roof.  My mother and father had Irish backgrounds.  When they went to Catholic Social Services to adopt children, this cultural profile was presented.  My brother Michael is what is called “Black Irish” and is Irish with dark features.  His biological mother found him years later as she had been a teenager when she had him and never wanted to give him up and it was not her choice.  I will have to discuss with him further what he knows of his biological, cultural background.

My sister Pamela is almost fully Swedish.  She has that gold hair and skin and even golden eyes. She went to Sweden when she was a teenager as she was fascinated with this cultural origin of hers.  Pammy liked Sweden very much, fell in love with a Swede named Christiansen, and we have all shared the stories for years of her cultural journey and the tales of modern folklore in her native country.

Of my cultural background, I don’t know much at all. I know my mother let me look at some non-identifying information once when I was a teenager but I never paid much attention to the cultural characteristics listed.  I was fascinated more that it was written that my grandmother had been a business woman and my uncle had been a professor of ancient history.  I always tease and say I am a friendly mutt, a real mix.  When I travel abroad people will ask me if I am American, or Irish so there must be those features.  I am dark-haired and green eyes with very pale skin in the winter and golden in the summer.

 But the state of my family being a cultural mix has always been relevant to my life and experiences.  I did not have such certitude as my best friend Kathleen whose family was second generation Italian and last name was Piero and her grandfather still had an accent and was the patriarch and I feared him and loved him and when it was appropriate for me to address him, I called him “Pops”. 

Sometimes that lack of certainty made me feel lost and wayward.  And sometimes it became my greatest asset to seek the world and name myself first an international citizen.

I will continue these thoughts soon, I promise, good reading, Cat Wayland  

Dear IF readers,

It was a wonderful day here at our home for Father’s Day. But not without its wrinkles and hiccups. The day before Papa was to arrive home from a business trip, we shopped for John. We got him the usual stuff: travel size stuff for his bath kit for trips, games to play with the boys, a book to engage him, etc. But I slipped in a special gift from me, wifey.

I found a teddy bear that read “I love Hilton Head”. As father and husband to our brood, John made a very unselfish decision. After having the children and living in NYC, we both became apprehensive about safety and life quality after 9/11. As a mother, I was tired of the worry and felt it taxing in an already demanding environment such as Manhattan. There was an opportunity to take the children to Hilton Head Island for a primary, winter home and keep NYC for later. So we sublet NYC to a very nice family that were firmly planted in Manhattan and pulled up roots for our journey south. This was no easy thing for my husband John, a native New Yorker from Albany whose career and destiny had pointed to the Big Apple his whole life. But he felt great salve in the fifteen years spent there, the job achievements and the lifetime experience, and balanced that against his wants for his children. I wanted the teddy bear to remind him that the great generosity of his heart to move for the boys and I would always be around the house written on this little bear’s tummy. I will never forget this act of John’s as a father, it was no less than heroic.

The wrinkles and hiccups came in the form of travel delays and thunderstorms. John was attending his niece’s graduation in L.I. on Saturday after a week of work in NYC. The flight in on Sunday to us and his Father’s Day was delayed and John called from the runway. We had scheduled to boat and tube with another family to enjoy the Dads and we promised to circle the boat close to the dock to pick him up on his late arrival.

And then the storm broke out just as Papa arrived. The tube never made it from its secure place and we spend the next hour in a sheltered boat house awaiting the end of the storm. The end never came. We moved the celebration inside where the women chatted, the children played and the men watched golf. Ahhh……well made plans. But we did hug and kiss and tell Papa how wonderful he is many times. And he opened his gifts of deodorant and mouth wash with great joy and humility. Papa John, a gift of a father in this house.

Good reading, Cat Wayland

Dear IF readers,

We are featuring Make it Right this June issue for International Family Magazine. Make It Right was started by Brad Pitt, a global dad and his team down in NOLA helping the 9th Ward rebuild after Hurricane Katrina.

Make It Right is a wonderful effort to make sure that things stay in the public eye till the job gets done. Once the press sensation dies down on a tragedy, things lose focus, slow down.

Make It Right is keeping things in the public eye until people are back in their homes safe and sound. My husband and global dad of Jax and Brody, is all about helping New Orleans. John and my love story had many chapters in NOLA and it breaks our heart to not see the city on its feet yet. We have gone back each year for Jazz Fest and have seen the trailers still lurking outside the houses waiting for funding. It is a shame.

I met a woman on the plane going down to NOLA this past May for Jazz Fest. She told me her husband’s mama isn’t even on a list yet. I told her I would write her mother-in-law’s story so we could get her on a list.

You have to leave your house and neighborhood to know what is going on. I am a big support of families, mothers and dads that go beyond their comfort to help another. Thank you global dad Brad Pitt, and Make It Right. IF mag is looking to help, publicize, donate and do whatever it can to make sure all families are safe under a roof, and on a dry floor.

Good reading, and prayers, and help, Cat Wayland

Dear IF readers,

I am glad that International Family Magazine is a place for mothers to come together from all over the world. I am more happy that International Family Magazine puts mothers and fathers together in the same forum to discuss, share and yes, even argue at times. I believe that as long as things stay civilized, an argument can be more “together” than walking away. There is a movement of divorce that was once more of an exception to the social communities around the world, and now is more the 50% rule.

I find this sad. Yes I feel sad for the women and men in the relationship that is severed. But when there is children involved, it feels like something quite different. Don’t misunderstand, if the marriage is volatile, abusive or unsafe, DIVORCE DIVORCE DIVORCE and get the children to safe and happy pastures. But when nowadays you hear such reasons as “I just fell out of love, he or she stopped fufilling my needs, I am just not happy - that sounds selfish. I am the first to say that parents cannot raise happy children unless they are happy. But there is also great worth in accountability, reliabilty, perserverance, unselfishness, family values over self values, community over ego, etc.

I remember when I started to launch IF magazine, people were afraid my demographic was undefined, it was too large. I still find this funny. I launched a magazine for families around the world. I publish stories from mothers, fathers, children, grandparents, cousins, aunts, uncles, and on and on. But the marketing experts have their point and I will admit this. Now that the world of families are fractured and the grandparents are in nursing homes, people leave their hometowns and extended family, mothers and fathers divorce and the magazines cater to and pit these entites against one another, it makes sense that a marketing consultant would say to me, “Family? I don’t get it, be more specific.”

I am thrilled to be such a rebel in this way. My greatest rebellion being a family magazine. And as a woman I am glad to say that although tempting in the face of so much popularity to polarize the sexes, I support the voices of women, men, mothers and fathers together and all at once. With Ying, so Yang. Maybe we would not divorce as much if we realized that to love one another forever does not mean we have to like each other every day.

To mothers and fathers everywhere and the hope that once again someday, marriage and families will be seen as a great treasure and resource the world over, happy reading Cat Wayland

Dear If readers,

My husband John and sons Jax and Brody were precious to me on Mother’s Day. Now, I have to say, I think my husband has come to realize quite smartly that these “girlie” types of remembrances and rituals score big points with his “bride” and women folk in general. And so, he took the boys shopping as he does now for birthdays and Christmas and they “sneak” off to stores behind my back like great showman that giggle that they are pulling one over on Mommy (who of course knows and goes along).

They woke me up with cards and made me open each one to show their unique messages and personalities. And then came the gift cards and thoughtful gestures. And finally, time off for good behavior. John took the boys to a playground and a movie in which time I napped and took myself to the cinema. The day ended with my return to a tidy house, the boys in pajamas and their teeth brushed and my husband making my favorite salmon and saute’ spinach supper on the grill and stove. Wonderful, wonderful Mother’s Day, 2008.

But can I tell you what really made my mother’s day week? One day in that week, Jax’s friend Sophie who he admits he has a “crush” on had a ballet recital and we attended. I try to teach my boys how to treat someone they like with sweetness so we stopped at the grocer to buy pink carnations to bring to give her. We arrived and went into the auditorium.

I of course had us sit in the back row thinking, “Well, this will last 10 minutes tops, and then one of them probably my three year old will begin to play cowboys and indians in the aisles and we will have to leave.” Well, no. My boys sat mesmerized at the 40 minutes of Peter Rabbit played out on the stage with only a whispering as Sophie came on stage as a mouse and Jax said to Brody, “she looks beautiful doesn’t she?” To which Brody, said, “Yes, beautiful, beautiful.”

And that dear friends, watching my little boys act like young men, civilized and appreciative of someone’s magic, with flowers in their hands as gifts of love, was my greatest mother’s day gift of all. Love, Cat Wayland

Dear IF readers,

Mother’s Day was last Sunday. And on the Friday before Mother’s Day, I was invited to Jax school to celebrate. I was teaching at the middle school that day so I asked Jax teacher if I could come early and leave early. This idea made Jax sad, so I asked John if he could come and cover the last 30 minutes after I left. Everyone was happy.

I went into Jax classroom to find that he had made presents and told the class stories about his mom. He said that I helped him with his homework, and I let him stay up late, and that he loved me very much. Jax made me a flower bonnet and a flower for me to hold all of colorful tissue paper. Those moments took all the tired away. And I watched this young boy showing me his gifts and smiling at me like I was the greatest person other than Batman or Spiderman.

I save everything my children make it is an incurable affliction. And so when I got back home the flower and hat stayed out for days and then went into the keepsake box. Maybe someday Jax will get a laugh out of all the things his mama saved about him. And someday when he is off in his life and I am a once a week phone call or visit, I will have my flower and my hat, and that day in Jax class room.

I am so glad that I was lucky and blessed enough to become a mother. There is so much pride in this work. I imagine these two young men in the world someday, and even now, I see them objectively when they are steps from me with their friends or another adult and I think, “hey that boy is so cool and sweet, i would like to know him even if he was not my son,” and that is the greatest feeling in the world.

Great reading, Cat Wayland

Dear IF readers,

I have found great solace, and comfort and energy from other mothers as I trudge this journey of parenting all the way up the mountain to victory. And the prize? Happy, healthy, compassionate, socially adjusted, generous-hearted children that have mastered their own magical skills ready to contribute to the universe and live fulfilled lives. Yes, hopefully something like that.

I really do not want to sound terribly dramatic, but it would please me some day if Moms had a parade similar to the ones we give soldiers of war. There is a war fought everyday on the homefronts - physical and mental illness, poverty, violence and I believe we women do a great deal to keep the home fires burning steady for everyone. We bandage the injured, give hope to the sick and suffering, put up the Christmas tree even if its 2 feet tall and we can’t afford presents that year, we get up many days over and over and over again, to get the family up and going and make sure that everyone comes home at night safe and accounted for. We are the soldiers and the peacemakers that keep the lights on, the beds dry and the food warm.

Until the day of the parade, I walk with each of my fellow veterans of this homefront crusade very proud to stand in your great ranks. There are many days where I have pulled a 24/7 times 6 years and I think “when is this tour of duty over, when can I rest?” and I see another of my dear comrades walking towards me in the grocery aisle, her basket filled with even more screaming children than mine, someone in her cart is throwing a fit and saying “I don’t like you Mommy, you won’t buy me candy”, and we smile at one another. That smile lasts me the rest of the night. Because I know if she can take it, so can I. I will stand on the wall again another night. Because I know she is standing on hers.

Thank you dear mamas for the strength and courage you share with me, Cat Wayland