a new name, a new look

For almost five years, I have been blogging here under the name “Mother Words.” I have also taught classes, led retreats, coordinated an annual reading, and mentored other women writers under that name.

It’s time for a change.

It’s been a hellish year in which I lost ten pounds and gained ten pounds (inevitable, I guess). But it’s also been a year of clarification and, dare I say, empowerment.

I began teaching my class for mothers in June 2006 because I wanted to create a place when writing by women about motherhood would be taken seriously as art, where it would be critiqued and nurtured. I began blogging about writing and motherhood to extend the reach of my classes, to broaden the discussion around motherhood literature, and promote some of the wonderful motherhood literature that is currently being written and published.

Along the way, I discovered writing that changed me, that made me not only a better mother, but a better person. It takes courage to write the truth of our daily lives, and I’m grateful to all the mothers who are crafting their lives into art, who are making the path easier or perhaps less lonely for another mother down the line. 

When we encounter a challenge, we are forced to take stock and evaluate the importance of our work. And here it is: I believe in my work. I am committed to helping mothers find a way to the page, deepen their sense of craft, and touch the lives of others with their words. I am committed to promoting motherhood literature and advocating for writers whose work is continually marginalized and discarded. I am committed to helping develop a sense of community—virtual and in-person—where we can write the stories we need to write.

I am excited to announce my new brand: Motherhood & Words™.

I hope that this new name encompasses my renewed passion and my broader focus. Historically, I have spent most of my time promoting memoirs and essays that use motherhood as a lens through which to understand the world. I want to expand the discussion and encompass more poets and fiction writers whose subject may not be motherhood, but whose writing is, perhaps, informed by motherhood. And always I am fascinated by the joys and challenges of getting words on the page in the midst of motherhood.

Please join me at www.motherhoodandwords.com. I’m grateful for your readership, your friendship, and your support. 

A recap of that thing called life (and some birthday wishes for my daughter)

I obviously haven’t posted in a while, and I apologize, but I’ve barely been keeping my head above water. I’ve been involved in a job search, a final edit of Use Your Words before it moves to copyediting, prepping for and participating in the 2nd Annual Minnesota Blogger Conference (which was this past Saturday and which was fabulous—even better than last year. I was blown away by the wonderful writing by the people in my session. Go, writers!) Saturday night, we were out in Blaine at the National Sports Center watching D play in the MN History Soccer Game. (He’s still got it, by the way—scored his team’s only goal. From the stands it seemed as though his whole body was smiling.) And then Sunday, we held Stella’s 8-year-old kid party (with a gaggle of 7- and 8-year-old girls running around our house and yard), then spent Sunday evening at the benefit concert for our friend John Sylvester (our friend who is fighting the diagnosis of ALS).

Monday morning I woke up desperate for a day to regroup. Instead, everything is full speed ahead. I accepted a temporary full-time position (starting this Thursday!) in a social service agency that serves the Latino community in the Twin Cities. It’s a wonderful organization, and I’m excited to gain new skills and polish my very rusty Spanish. (I sputtered and turned bright red in the interview when we switched to Spanish. I looked like a complete idiot. That they still offered me the position is incredible.)

So I’m excited about the job, but it will change the whole feel of our lives. No more Zoë days. No more games of Sorry with Stella in the afternoons. No more mornings at the coffee shop writing. No more multi-step dinners during the week. (Hello, crock pot.) But still, it’s a good move for me and my family. (Someday I’ll be able to break down the things that led to this…) For now, I just have to trust that I will figure out a way to fit in my writing and some exercise.

This is all a long excuse for why I haven’t posted in almost two weeks. What do you think?

And now it’s Tuesday September 13^th, and my Stella is eight years old today. Usually on her birthday, I revisit that day, eight years ago, when I was vomiting and burning up from the magnesium sulfate, when I was just hoping that she would come out of me and be able to breathe on her own. Last night I wondered whether this year would bring the same flood of memories, and I doubted that it would. Stella is so grown up—so healthy and tall—so far removed from that three-pound preemie she was when she was born. But this morning, like clockwork, I thought, oh, this is when I began vomiting, this is when D arrived from his red-flight from Seattle, this is when, this is when. And I am tugged back in time by the current of details, seared into my memories of the day I became a mother.

I know there are women in similar situations right now—in their hospital beds, praying that their babies will stay inside them a few days (or hours) longer. I’m thinking of those women and families today as I celebrate all that my daughter has become: strong and determined, empathetic and caring, athletic and so very graceful. I love you, Stella. Happy Birthday! I’m wishing you a year filled with laughter and play, adventure, new interests and friendships. 

thank you!

Thank you to everyone who commented on my de-lurk for Japan post and also to those of you who linked to it from your blogs. What an amazing community! I feel so fortunate to be a part of it. 


I've been a little scattered lately. This weekend D turned 40! (Happy birthday, babe!) We had a lovely sushi dinner on Saturday night followed by a small surprise party at Toast Wine Bar in Minneapolis. D doesn't really like surprises, but I couldn't resist. And even though he claims he doesn't like surprises, he seemed thrilled about it. (See. See.) Sunday was filled with more birthday festivities, but then yesterday I was scrambling to catch up on class prep. Not to mention the fact that it's spring break, which means less work time. Even as I type I have three inventive kids (two of them mine) gathered around the dining room table making bubbling potions with vinegar and baking soda and food coloring. (If the project is safe and they promise to clean it up and it allows me to steal a few minutes at the computer, my answer is almost always yes.) 


But now it's time to make their lunches, so I'm signing off. I'll be back with more serious blogging soon. (I have a wonderful line-up of books to write about this spring, so stay tuned.)


Thanks, as always, for reading!

de-lurk for japan

I always seem to miss the national de-lurking day, the day when all the people who read blogs anonymously—silently—are asked to post a comment and say, hey, I’m here, reading.

I actually don’t really like the term “lurker” because it conjures up a number of sinister images in my mind: someone crouched in the bushes outside my house; someone peering around a tree, clad entirely in camouflage. Creepy, right? But a lurker is really anyone who reads a blog regularly without commenting. (And of course there is nothing wrong with that. But as a blogger, it IS nice to know who your readers are.)

So every year, I end up hosting my own Mother Words de-lurking day whenever it fits into the schedule. Or rather, when there is some disaster in the world that has affected thousands (millions) of people, and I feel the urge to raise money.

Last year, I hosted a de-lurk for Haiti. This year, I’m hosting a de-lurk for Japan. I’ve spent the last days scrolling through stories at nytimes.com, feeling sick to my stomach for all the loss, the devastation, the incredible fear and not-knowing that the Japanese people are living with right now.  

I can’t do much to help. But I can do a little. Please leave a comment and tell me little something about yourself. I want to meet you! And for every comment left by a reader who has never commented here before, I will make a donation to the Red Cross to help support their important work in Japan. 

Please de-lurk for Japan! 

the red dress club

Happy Valentine's Day, friends! D and I don't do much to celebrate--this year we decided to splurge and exchange cards--but the girls are beside themselves with excitement. We got them Valentine's pencils and chocolates and those musical cards (which they adore). This afternoon I'll brainstorm a festive chicken recipe (any ideas?) and maybe my dad will join us for dinner. Romantic, huh?

My Valentine's gift was the Star Tribune article in yesterday's paper and being asked to guest blog at The Red Dress Club. That's where I am today, discussing blogging and creative nonfiction. Check back on Friday--I'm also doing the weekly Red Dress Club memoir prompt this week.

Thanks, as always, for reading!

four years

All week I've been thinking that today, January 28th, was the anniversary of the day I started this blog, but just now I realized it was actually January 20th. So this post is a week late, but I'm celebrating the 4th anniversary of my blog today anyway.

I began this blog to create to a place where writing by women about motherhood would be taken seriously as literature. I wanted to promote the wonderful books and essays and poems being written by writers who are also mothers. And I wanted a place to talk about craft and teaching and the hectic nature of mothering and living and trying to get words on the page.

And I'll admit to anyone who asks (and even those who don't) that starting Mother Words has been one of the most satisfying things I've ever done. I'm now part of a huge virtual community and I've connected with writers I never would have known if it weren't for this blog. My small, often lonely writer's world has expanded beyond what I imagined was possible. And I've made friends, close friends, who live across the globe.

I'm so grateful for all of you, for your words and stories, for your wonderful writing and encouraging words. Thank you for being out there, reading and commenting and writing and living. Today I'm celebrating you!

fight for preemies

November is Prematurity Awareness Month and today, November 17, is the March of Dimes’ Fight for Preemies. Over 300 bloggers are writing their preemie stories today. You can read them here.

In honor of the Fight for Preemies, I am posting another short excerpt from Ready for Air. This section comes just after I have seen Stella for the first time. D has wheeled me through the long tunnel back to my hospital room, and we’ve decided to use BabyLink, a system that allows you to watch your baby on the television from your hospital bed.

D calls the NICU and then turns on the television. For a moment there is only static, but then Stella appears. At least I think it’s Stella, but how can I be sure? It’s a baby, naked except for a miniature diaper and goggles over her eyes. Her skin is mottled—yellow, red, purple. She writhes on white blankets, thrashes back and forth, pulling at the tape on her mouth, like a wounded animal in a trap.

D climbs onto the bed next to me and pulls me to his side, but I’m still cold. He draws a blanket over our shoulders and we sit there, legs dangling over the edge of the bed, transfixed by the small creature that has been transported through wires and satellite signals into the square of our television. It’s as if we’re hovering above her, floating through the warm air of the NICU.

No sound comes from the television. That’s not part of the deal. But we wouldn’t be able to hear our daughter anyway; the ventilator has reached its slender arm down her throat and fitted itself snuggly between her vocal cords, so she cannot scream or cry.

D and I lean closer together. “Oh no,” he says, and presses his face into my shoulder. And for a moment, I’m reassured by his distress. This is hard for him. I’m not the only one.

Stella arches back, struggling. She can’t see because of the goggles, but even if she could see, she wouldn’t know that we’re here, watching her. She wouldn’t know that she’s not alone. And I wonder whether she will remember this. Somewhere deep in the folds of her brain, etched into her neuromuscular reflexes, will she remember this? If she survives, will she remember thrashing under the lights in the NICU, alone?

Dr. Anderson said Stella was better off out here, but how can that be? How can my daughter be better off on a warming bed, baking under phototherapy lights, a ventilator tube taped to her mouth? How can she be better off beamed through a television rather than inside me?

You can only watch your baby for twenty minutes at a time. I don’t know why, but those are the rules. But after a few minutes, I’ve had enough. I don’t want to see our daughter, not like this. “Turn it off,” I say. “Turn it off.”

I still—not often, but occasionally—wonder whether this or that thing that Stella does is a preemie thing or just a Stella thing. I watch her and wonder if somewhere, deep in the folds of her brain, that month in the NICU exists for her as an absence.

I know I’m not alone. One in eight babies is born prematurely in the United States. Some of these babies die. Some survive with disabilities, varying in degree from mild to severe. Some preemies end up doing just fine. Regardless, every year hundreds of thousands of parents across the globe hover over their tiny babies, wondering what the outcome will be. They hope and pray and fall apart. They grow numb to the beeping of alarms. This is no way to start life and no way to enter into parenthood.

What can you do?

Donate to March of Dimes. Donate to a hospital NICU in your community. Volunteer. Raise awareness. Write a blog post.

This is dedicated to all the preemie parents I know. For their bravery and their love.

blogging is writing

I mentioned in my last post that I spent Saturday at the MN Blogger Conference, and I need to do a recap of the day here because it was such an amazing event. The space—CoCo MSP—was lovely and intimate (which was perfect for the conference, though I know many people who wanted to be there couldn’t because attendance was capped at 150.)

I took away something from each of the sessions, but one of the highlights of the conference for me was the opening keynote, in which a panel of Minnesota’s pioneering bloggers—Nancy Lyons, James Lieks, Teresa Boardman and Patrick Rhone—talked about how they got started and why blogging is an important part of their lives. Many of them have been blogging since before “blogging” was a term. Nancy mentioned that she loves the humanity of blogs, how they “connect us to one another.” Patrick mentioned how writing a blog can help you develop your unique writer’s voice. He also said that he prefers be called an “online writer” rather than a blogger because the term blogger “reduces the respect and credibility of those who write and publish online.” I couldn’t agree more.

My break-out session was “Growing as Writers: Taking Your Blog Posts to the Next Level,” which was basically a mini crash course in creative nonfiction. Echoing what Patrick Rhone said, I talked about how important it is to think about blogging as writing.

**I have to interrupt myself here and admit that I’m a Neanderthal. During my session, people were snapping photos and typing away, and I kept thinking, Are they bored? Are they texting their friends? What’s going on here? It was only after the session that I realized they were tweeting. I was probably one of three people at the conference who isn’t on twitter. (Thank you, Monika, for your patience and graciousness in showing me how it works!)

I was also one of the only people there who was taking notes throughout the day using an actual pen and paper. (At one point I pulled out my phone to check the time, and I was thoroughly embarrassed to be holding such an antiqued piece of equipment in my hands. It takes me about forty minutes to send one text message.) Note to self: Get up to speed.**

So I learned a ton about the business of blogging. (Though I wish I had been able to attend the sessions on analytics and SEO—I’ve no idea what SEO even is.)

But the biggest message I left the conference with was the way blogging can effect incredible change in people’s lives.

Heather of The Extraordinary Ordinary was amazing as she talked about finding one’s authentic blogging voice. You must read her story if you don’t already follow her. And her blog even looks great. What a lovely banner. (Note to self: Get up to speed.)

And of course, the final keynote of the day was delivered by Matt Logelin, who started to blog when his wife, Liz, was on bed rest awaiting the birth of their daughter. I’m sure many of you have been dedicated readers of Matt’s blog, where he’s written about his grief in the wake of Liz’s death, the day after their daughter, Maddy, was born, and where he continues to write about raising Maddy as a single dad. Even if you don’t read his blog, you’ll be moved to tears by his keynote, which is funny, heartbreaking, and down-to-earth. (And he swears a lot, which I love.) You can listen to it and a few other sessions from the conference at The Uptake.

You can also meet Matt this weekend if you’re in the Twin Cities. He’s doing fundraising for The Liz Logelin Foundation, which provides financial and material assistance to grief-stricken young families. A Celebration of Hope will take place Friday night, September 17th at 6:30 pm at Solera in Minneapolis. And walk run hope, the foundation 5K, will take place on Saturday the 18th at 6 pm at Minnehaha Park in Minneapolis. You can register the day of the event, so don’t worry if you haven’t signed up yet.

Thanks so much to Missy, Arik, Suzi, Katie, and Lindsey for making this such an incredible day. Now I better get my a** over to twitter and Get Up To Speed.

a proposal, a platform, and what to do if you don’t have them

The thing I love most about blogging is connecting with other readers and writers (and mothers and friends). I recently “met” Lisa Groen Braner, who wrote The Mother’s Book of Well-Being and has a lovely essay in the latest issue of Brevity. Lisa is also a writing coach who helps nonfiction authors polish their book proposals and get their work into the hands of agents and publishers.

Book proposals. Urgh. Just the words may make you cringe. (I already wrote a whole book and now I need to write a proposal? What?) Or you may be asking, what the hell is a book proposal?

Well, Lisa has a great set of interviews at The Court Street Literary Collective in which five authors discuss book proposals and author platforms. (I especially love Dinty W. Moore’s thoughts on platforms: “Platforms are great for those who have them – politicians, pundits, celebrities – but in my humble opinion, there is too much focus on platform right now. Good books are about the writing, not about who wrote them.” Amen. Amen!)

But the truth is if you’re writing memoir or narrative nonfiction, at some point you will need to write a book proposal (in which you will need to describe your platform). So check out these interviews and, if you need help writing a proposal, check out Lisa’s website, Book Dreams.

meredith winn on etsy

My wonderful blog friend, Meredith Winn, who is a talented writer and photographer, has just opened up her etsy shop! Check out her amazing work here.

And don't forget to submit your "what no one told me" haiku here. Don't be scared. It's three lines. Come on.

writing about adult children: an interview with momma loshen

As you know, I’m interested in the ways mother writers deal with the ethical issues that arise when they’re writing about their children. I’ve posted about it here and here. And you can read the responses of writers I’ve interviewed here and here.

It’s easier to find essays out there about raising young children, and part of the reason, of course, is that those young children aren’t telling you what you can and can’t say about them. Hell, they probably don’t even know you’re writing about them. But when kids get older, they have opinions about what you can and cannot say/write about them. It gets more complicated. But I love to read the writing of women whose children are older, because, well, I find it interesting—it’s a glimpse into our future.

So I was thrilled to stumble on the newish blog, Momma Loshen, where Momma Loshen writes about the ups and downs of parenting adult children. Momma L. agreed to a few questions about writing about one’s children, so I’d like to welcome her to Mother Words today:


KH: On your blog you say, “In the interest of protecting the feelings of the innocent — my daughters in particular, whose feelings I’m not known to have tried to protect in personal essays I’ve published through the years — I’m using pseudonyms and trying to keep a low profile. Luckily, a low profile is an easy thing to keep on this overpopulated blogosphere.”

I’m interested in hearing more about your decision to blog anonymously. You feel you need to protect your daughters’ privacy, yet you’re drawn to writing about mothering and motherhood. Can you talk a little about this?

ML: My need to protect my daughters’ privacy comes after years of NOT working too hard to protect their privacy -- and having them get bothered by that. Actually, it’s only the older one, whom I call Meta on the blog, who was really bothered -- when she was a teenager, after I wrote a series of personal essays about her and her younger sister (whom I call Scootes on the blog), Meta told me I was never to write about her ever again as long as I lived. I had thought I was very careful about what I wrote about them -- even when they were children, I showed them what I was writing first -- but at least in Meta’s adolescence, the only rule she would issue was a zero-tolerance rule.

KH: How is writing about your daughters anonymously different and/or the same as writing about them non-anonymously? Is your purpose for writing different now?

ML: I still showed them the blog, after I had written a couple of posts, and asked them if it was OK for me to continue with it anonymously. Meta also blogs anonymously, and knows it’s possible to protect your identity, but I wasn’t worried about their public identity so much as I was worried about how they would feel reading the stuff I was writing -- I mean, THEY know who they are! Meta said it was OK, that I wasn’t writing about her (which would have violated the zero-tolerance rule), I was writing about me in relation to her. A subtle distinction, but I went with it.

After a while, I did let some friends know that I was blogging as Momma Loshen, and some of them have become regular readers. Oddly, Meta is a regular reader, too, and occasionally posts comments on my blog. I don’t know if she’s mentioned it to HER friends. Also oddly, Scootes, who has told me often that she loves the essays I wrote about her because it’s kind of like looking through a photo album of what she was like as she grew up, doesn’t seem to have been reading the blog at all.

My purpose in writing this blog was originally to see if there was a book worth writing about this subject -- and then, of course, if I really ended up wanting to write a book on this topic, my plan was to go public with the blog so I could use it as a way to create that all-important “platform” that every author is supposed to have. But I’m not there yet, and I’m not sure what Meta would say if I eventually did want to reveal my identity and, therefore, hers.

KH: When did you begin writing about your children? Why? What kinds of reactions did your daughters have to this when they were younger?

ML: I started freelancing when Meta was born (she just turned 30), and some of my earliest assignments were for parenting magazines, so occasionally I mentioned my kids, even when they were little. I wrote about Meta’s problems with weight when she was 6, and how I put her on a diet -- it appeared in a woman’s magazine, along with some photos of her, and I think that was what started her on hating being written about. But if she complained, I didn’t really notice. When she was about 8 I wrote about Meta getting reading glasses to prevent myopia, for a major newspaper, and again there were some photos of her -- I thought she sort of liked it, but now I wonder. And when she was about 10 I wrote an article for that same newspaper about getting kids to be less sedentary, and for the first time I insisted to my editor that Meta get a chance to speak her piece in a sidebar that she wrote herself. Meta had a chance to point out my own relative sedentariness, too, and to write, “I guess the point is, when it comes to your children, they should do as you say, not as you do.” Touche!

I wrote about Scootes playing soccer when she was about 8 -- also a women’s magazine, also a photo of the team -- and she kind of loved it (except for me saying she wasn’t such a great player when she was on a co-ed team). I also wrote about her a lot when I had an occasional newspaper column -- getting whistled at when she was 12, wearing clothes that showed her bra straps, playing girls’ basketball, also at about 12 or 13. I’ve written about them a lot, I realize -- book clubs I’ve been in with both of them, Meta’s bat mitzvah and what it meant to me, Meta going to an all-girls college, and blah blah. Sometimes I worried about being too much like Joyce Maynard, using their lives for my own purposes, turning my family into material. But I felt that if I always asked them if it was OK, it wouldn’t be so bad. And anyway, most of my professional writing activity had nothing to do with them -- these essays were occasional, and they were the fun part.

KH: What advice would you give to parents who are new to writing about their children? Are there things you wish you had done differently?

ML: Based on Meta’s subsequent anger at me, I probably wouldn’t have written at all about her weight. And I probably would have been more careful about being absolutely sure they were OK with whatever I was writing when I wrote it. For a long time I cared only about what made the best essay, and the best essays are the truthful ones, no matter who it hurts. I can still make a case for that -- but there’s a good argument to be made for sparing people’s feelings, too. Maybe that’s because I’m 56 years old. In the end, what you end up with is a relationship with your children, not with some anonymous reading public, and that’s the thing that’s essential to preserve -- even if it means the essay isn’t as good as it could have been.

You can read more from Momma Loshen here. Thanks, Momma Loshen, for taking the time to answer my questions!

I’m interested in how all of you navigate this issue, as well.

the power of words

Thank you for your kind comments on yesterday’s post. I’ll keep plugging along, I promise.

And because I’m going to keep plugging along, I have a few things to say about how women’s writing is described.

So often in our society, writing by a group of people is lumped together and dismissed. This has certainly been the case with motherhood literature. In 1976, Adrienne Rich began Of Woman Born with this: “We know more about the air we breathe, the seas we travel, than about the nature and meaning of motherhood.” Three decades later, we have made some headway: a few literary journals featuring motherhood writing have emerged, motherhood scholarship has found a place in some academic settings, and a number of books about motherhood have been published. Yet, motherhood literature and motherhood memoir, offensively christened “momoir,” is routinely dismissed.

The names people use to describe literature or movies—or anything—have an impact on how those things are perceived. And when you categorize books as “chick lit,” “mommy lit,” or “momoir” you are making it easier for people to discard these books. They are viewed as less serious, less important. (I wrote a long post about “mommy lit” here.)

I like what Kate Trueblood, author of A Baby Lottery, says about “chick lit”:

“What concerns me is not that this genre exists, but that there is an increasing tendency to pull all women’s literature into that category. If all women writers are all classified that way, what happens to the female writers of social protest and other difficult social questions?

I believe that the blanket classifying of all women’s writing as chick lit goes back to the age-old notion that women only write about small, domestic matters. Lumping female literature together like this prevents the serious questions from getting asked about what it’s like to try and combine life with a partner and a career and children. This is something that obviously a lot of young women are thinking about. I am not opposed to chick lit, but I think it is important to be mindful of distinctions that matter.”

You can read the whole interview with Kate Trueblood on her website.

All you have to do it tack “mommy” or “chick” onto something and it loses value. So imagine my dismay when I read the recent New York Times article “Honey, Don’t Bother Mommy. I’m Too Busy Building My Brand.” As if women blogging about motherhood need any more flack.

Susan over at Two Kinds of People has a wonderful response to this article. Here is an excerpt. Please head over to her blog for the whole post.

"I guess it's the language that gets to me, because I'm picky about words. Words are powerful — they carry weight and meaning and subtext that is both subtle and profound. "Mommy Blogger", like "Soccer Mom" before it, carries a wide range of connotations, as illustrated a full year ago by the social media guide Mashable, which posted a list of 10 Misconceptions About Mommy Bloggers.

Most style guidelines advise using gender-neutral language whenever possible: server vs. waitress or waiter; manager or executive, not businessman; actor, not actress. In fact, according to the Oxford English Dictionary, the word "actor" was originally used for both sexes (1581); we didn't see "actress" introduced until 1666, 85 years later."

Words are powerful. I wish people would use them more carefully.

de-lurk for haiti

I haven’t been watching much of the news coverage of the devastation in Haiti—I just can’t do it. But this doesn’t mean that I’m not thinking about the people in Haiti. On the contrary, I can’t stop thinking about them. The image that comes to me again and again is that of a mother, walking down a broken street, searching for her child, desperately calling his name, knowing on some level that it’s too late, that he’s dead, but unable to stop calling for him. I imagine what this would be like—this hopelessness and not-knowing—and it breaks my heart over and over again.

For a long time now I have been planning to ask you lurkers to de-lurk for a charity, but I hadn’t decided on a cause. Now I have one.

(I don’t actually like the term “lurker” because it sounds so sinister, as if you are crouching outside my window, peering in. And of course there is nothing wrong with reading a blog anonymously. But as a blogger, it is nice to know who and where my readers are. It’s nice to put names to the hits on my StatCounter.)

So join me in Mother Words’ first de-lurking for charity. For every comment left by a reader who has never commented here before, I will donate one dollar to Partners in Health. You must post your comment by Friday, January 22nd. If you are willing, please also state your location.

Money is tight for us now—still—but I have to do something to help the people in Haiti. You can help me.

thankful

Over the last year, I have tried to be very deliberate about being thankful. We have continued are pre-dinner ritual of going around the table and listing things for which we’re thankful. D and I, especially in the last few weeks, have been thankful—very thankful—for his new job. But even when there wasn’t that prospect, that light at the end of a tunnel, we were able to find something for which to be thankful: our house, the generosity of our families, our health, our beautiful girls. When we go around the table, Stella almost always says: “I’m thankful for our family, and that we’re here together eating.” Sometimes she’ll throw in something else—that Christmas is only a month away or that she gets to play with a friend the next day or that her Auntie Sara is visiting. Even Zoë babbles away when it’s time for her to speak: “Nanana and Stella and Zoë okey okey okey.” And then she laughs her infectious high-pitched gremlin laugh.

Today I am thankful for you, for my community of writers and readers in cyberspace. This fall, which has been long and challenging, was made less so because of your words of support and encouragement. (My grandpa is doing okay and we’re all hanging in there with him.) It was also made less hard because of your stories, the journeys and struggles you share on your own blogs.

Being a writer can be so lonely, so isolating, as can being a mother. But I don’t feel isolated because I can always turn to your words, immerse myself in your stories. Or I know you’re there, reading mine because you have left a comment or sent me an e-mail. I can't tell you how much I appreciate this.

I have a blog award from mummy mania and cath at musings in mayhem that I’ve been sitting on for months. (Thank you both!) It’s time to pass it on.

I am supposed to list seven things about myself and then pass the award to seven blogs. Instead of seven facts about me, though, I’m going to list seven things for which I’m thankful (in addition to the things I’ve mentioned above):

1. The matter-of-fact way that Stella tells me stories, her eyebrows raised, her blue eyes wide: “Really, Mama. That really happened.”


2. The way Zoë runs from one side of the house to the other and back again, legs and arms pumping like a miniature linebacker.


3. That my parents both live nearby and that they love to spend time with my girls.


4. Friendships old and new, virtual and in-person. What would I do without my friends?


5. That my daughters know their great-grandfather.


6. Teaching and my students—my wonderfully smart, talented students.


7. D—for everything.
   

Okay, I’m going to pass this on to a few blogs I’ve been reading for a while and a few that are newer to me:

hatched by two chicks: dispatches from the nest — Erin is a really wonderful writer whose essay “East Wind” was in Creative Nonfiction a few years ago. We connected in June around the time I was weaning Zoë.

Louise Kinross writes the wonderful new blog Bloom— Parenting Kids with Disabilities, in which she highlights the stories of young people with disabilities and their parents. You don’t want to miss this amazing blog. It never fails to touch me.

mama sweat—Kara’s blog always makes me laugh, though it does sometimes make me feel guilty for not running. (I haven’t been running. Why haven’t I been running? Oh, yeah, I forgot that I don’t have time to run. Kara somehow manages it, though, and she has *four* kids.)

finding joy in simple things—Mary is wonderful, and her blog makes me think, sometimes makes me cry, and always makes me appreciate the small things in life.

heart-heal-hope is Sara’s blog about loving and losing her first child, Henry, and living with and loving her second child, Kathleen. She writes about her journey with incredible grace.

lisa romeo writes is full of wonderful author interviews and writing discussions. This is a must-read for writers and readers.

the motherhood muse blog—this is the blog associated with the new online journal The Motherhood Muse, which will launch in January. Check this out.

Thank you all!

honest scrap

Okay, I have been meaning to do this for weeks and weeks and weeks. The lovely Shannon at It's Never Too Late...To Be What You Might Have Been passed the Honest Scrap Award on to me months ago, and I’m finally passing it on, as well.

The Honest Scrap Award is given to blogs that are found brilliant in content or design. (Thank you, Shannon!) I’ve given awards to a number of my favorite bloggers over the last two years, but I am consciously passing this award on to blogs that are new (or old, but new to me.) I am passing the award on to 4 bloggers I admire. Then I am supposed to list 10 honest things about myself, but I’m going to skip that part because if you read this blog, you probably know more than you ever wanted to know about me. (See my previous post about what happens when I begin to cough uncontrollably.)

Play School: Adventures in Family Learning — This is Carrie Pomeroy’s new blog, and it’s really wonderful. Her writing is lovely, and I always find myself nodding my head when I read her words. (She also has a wonderful essay in the anthology Riding Shotgun: Women Write About Their Mothers.)

Mind Body Mama — Well, Lynne Marie is really amazing. She articulates so many of the worries I have about raising daughters. What a pleasure to know her.

The Blue Suitcase — My dear friend and extremely talented writer, Bonnie J. Rough, has just started a blog about her family’s travels. Bonnie is an essayist at heart, so if you love the essay form, you must read her blog. You won’t be disappointed. I promise.

Maggie World — I’ve only been reading Sally’s blog for about a month, but I’m loving it. There is so much tenderness in her writing about her children, but underlying her tenderness is a steely determination that I admire very much.

Check out these wonderful blogs! And thanks again, Shannon. I’m sorry it took me so long to post this!

humbled

I am so humbled by Cribsheet's post today. Kay and May have been such stalwart supporters of my students, my teaching, and my writing. I am honored. Thank you, ladies! Thank you.

over at motherlode

Hey, we're reporting from AWP (and by "we" I mean me and the Medela Pump n' Style--more about that later). I'll give you an update on the panel later, as well. It was so fun!

But I wanted to let you know that I'm also over at nytimes.com as a guest blogger on motherlode today. Check it out.

gearing up

AWP is only five days away, and I’ve been thinking of little else. It’s not just the writing conference that’s on my mind, of course. I’ve been thinking about getting on a plane alone, without anyone I need to hold or rock or calm. I’ve been thinking about sleeping through the night and having three glasses of wine if I feel like it. And of course I’ve also been worrying about leaving my girls for three nights. Stella will be fine—I’ve been away from her for that long before—but I haven’t been away from Zoë for more than a few hours at once since she was born. I realize it’s time—she is eleven months old after all. But she still breastfeeds and still wakes up several times a night to nurse, and that’s the part that makes me nervous. Ideally, when I return, she will be weaned from night feedings and be sleeping through the night. (Is that too much to hope for?) But I’m worried that in the process, she will feel abandoned, and when I return, she’ll give me the baby cold shoulder. I can see her doing that.

I am excited for the actual conference and for our panel, “Parents as Writers: Our Children as Subjects,” which will be moderated by Jill Christman, whom I adore. (I’ve posted about her essay “The Allergy Diaries” here.) The panel is studded with mama writer stars: Shari MacDonald Strong, editor of The Maternal is Political and frequent columnist for Literary Mama and mamazine; Sonya Huber, author of Opa Nobody and frequent contributor to Literary Mama; and Jennifer Niesslein, co-founder of Brain, Child and author of the memoir Practically Perfect in Every Way: My Misadventures Through the World of Self-Help and Back. I'll be sitting next to those ladies. How exciting is that? And we’ll be discussing what happens when we turn our writer’s gaze on our children: How does the writing change when we are responsible for more than our art? When parents write about children, how are the ethical considerations different than when it’s the other way around? When do our children’s stories become theirs to tell, not ours?

I’ve been preparing and thinking about this for a few weeks now, and I’ve come across some interesting articles that deal with the topic. I especially like Emily Bazelon’s article “Is This Tantrum on the Record?” which was published in Slate last June. Bazelon challenges writers (and particularly bloggers) to consider whether there are (or should be) ground rules when you write about your children. She says, “When I write about my kids, I’m not only thinking as their mothers. I’m also thinking as a professional writer. Those two identities don’t always align—they just don’t. I like to think that when there’s tension, I err on the side of protecting my kids’ interests, steering clear of any material that’s too embarrassing or private.” But Bazelon admits that she doesn’t trust herself to always do this, so her husband vets all of her writing about their kids.

I’m careful when I write about my kids, especially when I write about them on this blog. I do it infrequently. Partly, this is because the blog isn’t really about my kids; it’s about motherhood and reading and writing and teaching. It’s about how and where these things intersect, how they work together and sometimes against each other. And partly it is because in the face of the confessional, tell-all nature of blogging, I want to be especially careful. I post the occasional anecdote about Stella, list something funny or adorable that she said. But in the back of my mind, there is always a flashing red light reminding me of the potential Googling power of a gaggle of 12-year-olds. At some point, she may want to read what I write about her, and I don’t want her to feel exposed or betrayed when she does.

I feel a little freer when I’m writing for a print publication, when I’m working on an essay or my memoir. It’s true that pieces of this writing could end up online and easily accessed, as well, but still, it feels different, safer. But maybe I’m just fooling myself.

I’d be very interested to hear about your ground rules…are there things you will or will not write about your children? Is there an age at which you think you will (or should) stop writing about them, at least online? How do we balance our need to express ourselves through writing with our children’s right to privacy?

Anyone out there going to AWP? I’d love to meet some of my virtual friends in person! And if you are there, please join our discussion on Thursday morning!

eat, drink, and blog

On Monday night, I had the opportunity to be part of a panel of local folks talking about blogging. The meeting was hosted by the Twin Cities writing/networking group Eat, Drink and Get Published and moderated by Jason DeRusha, who writes Jason’s DeBlog on wcco.com. The panelists included Stephen Regenold of The Gear Junkie, Kay and May of the StarTribune’s Cribsheet (I finally got to meet them!), and Justin Piehowski, who writes Minnesota Blog Cabin on MinnPost and produces Sheletta Brundidge’s Emmy-winning blog. And then there was, ahem, me (with the smallest blog of the bunch).

It was so interesting to hear how the other panelists got started. Some were motivated by money, but most were motivated simply by passion. We are all passionate about our subject matter, whether it be supporting new parents, writing about blogs, testing the newest mountain bike, or creating a space for motherhood literature to be taken seriously. Passion is the thing that birthed our blogs and passion is what keeps us posting.

According to Universal McCann, 184 million people worldwide have started a blog, and in the State of the Blogosphere, Technorati says that bloggers are:

• Not a homogenous group: Personal, professional, and corporate bloggers all have differing goals and cover an average of five topics within each blog.
• Savvy and sophisticated: On average, bloggers use five different techniques to drive traffic to their blog. They’re using an average of seven publishing tools on their blog and four distinct metrics for measuring success.
• Intensifying their efforts based on positive feedback: Blogging is having an incredibly positive impact on their lives, with bloggers receiving speaking or publishing opportunities, career advancement, and personal satisfaction.

I’m not sure how savvy I am, and I’m certainly not able to post as much as I’d like, but I do know this: this small space on the Internet has definitely had a positive impact on my life, and it’s because of all of you. Two years ago (today), I began this blog to create to a place where writing by women about motherhood would be taken seriously as literature. I also wanted to develop a readership for my book. But I didn’t expect to become part of such a rich and varied community of mothers and writers living and mothering and trying to get words on the page. I am so grateful to all of you and to your words. Thank you!

I’m interested in hearing why you started to blog and how your perception of blogging has changed (if it has) since you began.

Cheers!

p.s. I am taking the advice of the other panelists and uploading a picture of myself. I guess I didn’t realize it was so important. Is it?

first paragraphs

A number of times a day I have a thought followed by, oh, this will make a good blog post. I walk through the day writing paragraphs in my head. Some of these paragraphs are very good. Some are not. Regardless, by the time I get the kids to bed (especially when D is gone, which he was last week), I am too tired to type, and I’ve forgotten those smart paragraphs I had labored over earlier in the day. (Yes, I know I should carry a small notebook in my back pocket or invest in one of those itsy bitsy tape recorders, but I don’t.)

The result is that you have no idea what a serious blogger I am. You have no idea how often I “post.” I know that doesn’t count; I’m just groveling for a little affirmation here.

This morning I’m at the coffee shop for the first time in almost two weeks, and I feel rusty. I have a list of things I need to work on: 1. revise book, 2. finish an essay I promised an editor months ago, 3. organize teaching stuff in our radon-filled office basement, 4. prepare for AWP. (I could go on, but I don’t want to stress myself out.)

My goal with the book is to re-type the whole thing into the computer. That’s crazy, isn’t it? Crazy. It’s 97,000 words. But I haven’t looked at it, much less read it, in almost two years, and it’s time to “make it the best book it can be.” I certainly have emotional distance at this point, so I can be brutal with my prose and my scenes. And I will be brutal; I’m actually looking forward to it. But it’s difficult to begin this process because I dislike the first paragraphs of the book. I’ve always disliked them. There, I said it. Time and again, I’ve gotten hung up on these paragraphs. I’ve been obsessive about this word or that word, changing “lie” to “lying” to “lie” to “lying” a dozen times. And I know that this sort of piddling always speaks to a larger problem, a problem that screams: “These paragraphs suck!”

I know what I would tell a student if she came to me with this problem. I would say, “Skip the first paragraphs. Sometimes those are the last to be written. Come back to them.”

I’m absolutely confident that I know what I’m talking about when I doll out this kind advice. I smile and nod encouragingly. I ask my student, “Who says you have to write a book from beginning to end?”

So, I am staring at myself now and nodding encouragingly. (I look slightly foolish, as you can imagine.) But I’m ready to take my advice. I’ll come back to these paragraphs, and soon I’ll discover whether: a) I’m full of shit or b) I really know what I’m talking about. I do hope it's the latter.