Bait and Switch

by Cathy

My co-worker Mary and I were ordering Chinese food the other day at the office and while on the topic of hot and spicy entrees, we drifted into relationship talk. She confessed to me with a worried smile that as an older (not old) widow, she will never get to experience being kissed or held by a man again and how sad that was. I just laughed and shared with her the following story:

Last night, while watching a sitcom about relationships with my husband, I realized I've been a victim of Bait and Switch.

As the pretend television couple was arguing over romance and how one of them likes it (surprisingly, the guy) and the other thinks it's a bunch of baloney (surprisingly, the girl), I got the impression that the duped party had come to terms with accepting that he will never experience the romance he wanted within that particular relationship (surprisingly, he came to terms with that). Was that man me?

Don't get me wrong - when I first met Joe, he was all about the romance. Since we met in the workplace, every morning I was greeted by a cup of Starbucks coffee sitting on my desk, little notes tucked into my inbox, a bouquet of flowers and a million little emails and calls throughout the day about nothing. He held my hand when we were out on dates and was fiercely jealous.

Fast forward 14 years and two kids later. I make my own coffee most days, I receive a bouquet of daisies on the prerequisite holidays if I'm lucky, and the emails, calls and notes are usually reminders about paying some bill or upcoming school activity. Hand holding is pretty much instigated by me. And the jealousy? Yeah. Notsomuch. Now granted, he is very caring and and thoughtful - he just doesn't express it as much as he used to. 

We all know that our lives now are not as carefree or stressfree as they were when we were younger and dating. Regardless, I found an opportunity to point out that this pretend television couple was remarkably like us except reversed. I calmly announced that he did the Bait and Switch number on me where romance is concerned. He reeled me in with Romance Bait and when he snagged his prey, he let the fishing line drop. He laughed with a "Yeah, right."

Do men not realize these things? Maybe not. Maybe it's our job to make it known that we women like to be romanced now and then - not just when we're being courted or during the fresh, new years of marriage. "Of course," said Mary with emphasis, recalling her early years. "They pull out all the stops to get what they want." So you see Mary, you're not missing out on much after all.

The point here is that I know Joe is capable of romance. I'm not expecting him hire El Divo to serenade me or to get on his knee and recite Shakespeare. But...romance, oh romance...where art thou?

Playing Devil's Advocate to Cathy's Bait and Switch

by Patti

Cathy’s post today about the ol’ “Bait and Switch” got me thinking: Are women the only usual victims of the Bait and Switch?

When M and I were first dating, would he have ever come to my door to find me in a saggy, ripped t-shirt, stained sweats, and a green mud mask on my face?

Would I have ever gone to his house with my hair throw haphazardly up into a messy bun, my zit lotion crusted onto my face?

Would he have stroked my legs only to find that they hadn’t seen a razor in 2 weeks?

No.

But that is what he often comes home to now.

Is he a victim of the Bait and Switch?

I heard a joke once where the groom is standing at the altar. As he sees his bride floating down the aisle, he smiles widely and leans into his best man and whispers, “I can’t believe how lucky I am! Now that I’m getting married, I’ll get a blow job every night!” Meanwhile, his bride, her eyes fixed dreamily on her future husband, thinks joyfully to herself, “Thank GOD I’ll never have to give a blow job ever again!”

Bait and Switch?

While Cathy makes some valid points about the vanishing act of romance after marriage and kids and bills and life’s stresses, I also wonder: Do both men and women get in to a dangerous comfort zone that leads to each partner feeling they’ve been duped?

She has made me think and want to examine my own acts of Bait and Switch. In fact, just this weekend I remarked to M how when we were first living together, he would often come home and search the house for me, calling my name. He simply couldn’t wait to see me. That’s because he knew that when he did, he would be met with excitement and a kiss. I wonder: when was the last time I met him at the door with simply a kiss and a hug, and not a barrage of requests and problems. I think this week one night, when I see him after a long day, I’ll pull a different kind of Bait and Switch. I will put on hold any complaints and will simply kiss him and be happy to see him.

Who knows where that will lead?

Unplugged

by Cathy and Patti 

We both have daughters of the Technology Age. You know: the kids who know their way around a computer better than a playground; the ones who play tennis on a screen instead of on a court; the ones who have play dates that consist of texting one another as they sit side by side.

Call us grandmas, but this bugs us. Whatever happened to human interaction? Whatever happened to summers of skinned knees and winters of board games?

We have each contended with Technology Tantrums and Digital Doozies in our households, and frankly? We have had enough.

.........

Cathy:

I never wanted to become that family on Oprah that had every technological device removed from their house because they weren't communicating with one another. That got me so freaked, I've hunted for any scent of us going down that path ever since. When I see my kids on their DS or their iPod longer than a half hour, I demand they turn it off and find something else to do. When I notice that my husband and I are perched in front of the television too long, we make an effort to turn it off and do something with the kids.

Bella happened upon my neighbor's Wi-Fi password while she was over their house one day over the summer - my nieghbor had no idea of the consequence of giving her the password since his daughter is younger, and to his credit, has apologized for overstepping boundaries and offered to change it. I decided against that, hoping instead, to use this opportunity to teach her the life lesson of "everything in moderation." Since then, she has been watching old Disney show reruns incessantly on her iPod; so much so, that she's plugged into her iPod when she's using the bathroom and even while brushing her teeth.

Last week, I had a Tech Snap. I asked her to shut it down and hand it over to me one night while she was laying in bed and it was almost 11pm, she repeatedly, defiantly said NO while begging to finish watching her show. This wasn't the first time she did this, but it was certainly going to be the last. I yanked it away from her as my screams wafted up through the open windows for all of my neighbors to hear what a psycho snapper I can be. No iPod for three days.

Eventually, in calm mode, she and I sat down to discuss this. I told her it made me sad when she comes home from school and plugs into that iPod and I can't ask her about her day. Or when she would rather be on that thing than cuddle with me at bedtime. She had no idea how it was affecting us. Then she got sad about it. She understood.

So I made a house proclamation: Going forward, for one hour before bedtime, no DS, iPods or computers. That goes for me and Joe as well. And every Sunday will be our designated family game night. Everything in moderation. Slowly, but surely, we'll reconnect by disconnecting.


Patti: 
S is an only child, so she doesn't have a sibling to turn to when she's in the mood for some Chutes and Ladders or Monopoly. She doesn't have anybody to play "school" with, or a rousing game of Twister. Instead, she has her Papi and me, and a very uninterested hamster, who let's face it, has really short legs (and arms?) and would not do well in a game of Twister. I always end up the "kindergartener" in her "classroom", and her Papi has played and (over)played Jenga. I'll admit: We, the parents, get lazy, and fun pickins get slim. So she has turned to her BFF, the laptop.That kid knows her way around a laptop better than Steve Jobs (may he rest in peace). In fact, her dream is to work for Apple one day (when she is done touring as a ballerina and competing in Wimbeldon, that is).

S can surf the 'net on her BFF for hours on end, if we let her.  She will even take it to the bathroom with her to Skype her cousins, or research bras (because she is impatiently awaiting the day she can have one), or make Christmas lists, or listen to Selena Gomez on YouTube. And I'm all, "Can't you just poop in PEACE?". 

But then I remember, this is coming from the woman who takes her Android into the bathroom with her to catch up on celebrity gossip and send emails to friends. Seems I can't poop in peace, either.

And M? Loves him some Craiglist. He can spend hours browsing at cars he will never buy on Craigslist. If he's not on the computer, he will sit in the bathroom with his own beloved Android and plug himself into Pandora while he poops or pees, but not in peace.

So are we wrong to insist S unplug herself when we can't even unplug ourselves to, uh, unplug ourselves?

And it's not just in our household that I am finding connections being severed. I do my best to plan lots of play dates for S, and she has lots of good friends to hang out with, but I have noticed more and more that these "play dates" have no "play" in them. Instead, she and a friend will sit in front of the computer and watch YouTube videos together, or "picto chat" on their DS's, or text each other while they are both sitting on the same couch.

So I have decided: We will instill a Poop in Peace Policy in our household, AND a Friends Without Electronics Policy. I am hoping the new PIP and FWE policies will bring back some good ol' fashioned quality of life into our lives. 

Ready? Set? UNPLUG!

.......

We love technology; we just don't love what it seems to have done to the human connections in our families and friendships. While we would never want to go all the way back to the days of being totally unplugged, we do want to honor the real live wires of our existence - the human ones that matter most.

Movie in My Mind

by Patti 

Last weekend I was fortunate enough to escape reality and travel up north to New Buffalo for a girls’ weekend. The weather was in the best mood: Cloudless blue skies, mid-70’s, soft breezes…. The trees were dappled with reds and golds, and the sunlight was all autumnal angles and tender warmth. Truly, it was one of the best weekends in recent memory, both weather-wise, and company-wise.

One of the days took us to the vineyards of Michigan, where we sampled wines and laughed about everything and nothing to the point of Ugly Laugh. You know that laugh: the one where your face becomes distorted from laughing so hard, and your mouth is forced into a freakin’ polygon? Yeah! That one! Anyway, on our drive home, we all got a little quiet, probably exhausted from laughing so much. The windows were down to let in the amazing Indian summer air, and the music floating from the car stereo was the perfect accompaniment. I watched soft green fields blur by, and as my hair was lifted gently by the breeze, I imagined we were all in a vintage red pick-up truck, winding down curvy country roads, the music a soundtrack to the movie in my mind. I felt pretty, young, free, and then… CRICKETY CRACKITY CRICKETY CRACKITY CRICKETY CRACKITY… What the…???

I turned my head, and right there behind me and totally stealing the show was a HUGE Bed Bath and Beyond bag hovering over my head, dancing and swaying and twisting and CRICKETY-CRACKETING itself right out of the cargo space and into MY starring role. The soundtrack did that record-scratching sound that you hear in the movies when the heroine is abruptly jolted out of her fantasy, and suddenly, I was in a Jeep, and the fields were just fields and my hair was stuck in my lip gloss.

I was in the backseat with Cathy, and apparently, she, too, had had her own movie going in her mind, and we both laughed to the point of Ugly Laugh again at the absurdity of it all. Couldn’t we just have that one momentous movie moment without it being ruined by something as boring as a Bed Bath and Beyond bag?

It made me think: We all have those moments where we, in our minds, are in a movie. We are gorgeous and free and headed for greatness. And then it never fails that we are somehow, some way brought back to earth. It might be a kid’s stomach flu, or a husband’s bad mood, or a glance in the mirror that reveals bags and wrinkles, or a forgotten bill that has now doubled, or a job that feels less-than-glamorous, or homework that needs checking…. Something always exists to remind us: Life is not a movie. It’s real.

 And though real life is punctuated by the mundane and the absurd and the frustrating and sometimes the down-right-awful, it is also full of moments like this weekend:  the peeing-in-my pants laughing, and the ripe grapes on my tongue, and the late-night talking, and the red leaves that fluttered before us as we sat on the back porch, and the friendships that deepened… all of that was real, too. And because of this, when the movie in my mind starts to play, I will enjoy it for what it is: a fantasy; a moment. Then I will gladly yell “CUT!”

Use Only As Directed

by Cathy

While I was out of town this past weekend enjoying a much needed girls trip, my house came close to burning down. Well, okay I won't be THAT dramatic but...

As I was standing in my newly decorated guest bathroom yesterday, waiting to wipe my five-year old, I happened to notice this:

Surely, when I decided to put this little candle into the alcove of the cubed wall shelf, I thought to myself, "Of course no one would ever think to light this candle while it's still in here. They would think to put it either on top of the shelf or on the basin countertop.' That's just common sense, right?

Right?

Well as you can see, I now have a nice-sized, crackly burn mark on the underside of the shelf, which stands out like a fly in milk.

Oftentimes I wondered how dumb manufacturers thought we, the consumer goods buying public, must be  when I would read some of the instructions that came with a particular food item or product. I would laugh incredulously when I would read, "Remove plastic before cooking pizza" or  "Apply only to affected areas" or "Unwrap all pieces before assembling" or as smoke is billowing out of a cup of coffee, "Caution! Contents Are HOT!" Do people have no common sense?

I'm starting to think not.

I'm starting to think that there's a reason instructions need to be so specific.  So the next time you think your coffeemaker has flatlined, make sure it's plugged in. And as you're waiting for your coffee to brew? Try not to blow dry your hair in the shower.

Thanks for listening as directed.

Dress to Impress

by Cathy

I knew this particular day was going to be busy: work, offsite meeting, family visit and Bella's volleyball game. I had to plan my outfit for the day accordingly as I always try to do. Something cute but easy. And definitely flats. I decided on a pair of cargo pants and a white V-neck, button-down, knit cardigan. Done.

At the volleyball game I ran into another mom from school I don't get to see very often, as tonight our two school teams were playing against each other. This particular mom is very down-to-earth, very humble and always had been since I met her.

It was warm in that gym as we stood and chatted away and I couldn't help but notice that she was wearing a Columbia fleece jacket over her shirt. As I stood there fanning myself and pushing my sleeves up, I saw the beads of sweat accumulating on her upper lip and her face was reddening. I wondered why she just didn't remove her jacket?

Well, apparently, she got to her breaking point. "I'm just gonna take this off," she said quickly. "I've got my grubby work clothes on under this, but who cares. I'm done dressing to impress the other parents. I was over that long ago." And...boom! She just said in three sentences what all the other mothers wish they could come out and say or do themselves.

You see, the moms at are our school are fashion showey. Super nice personalities, but it seems like there's always this underlying competition of outfits going on. I mean, what stay-at-home-mom comes to pick up her kids with perfectly creased gaberdine slacks, supple leather belt embellished with the Versace logo, Tory Birch flats and a perfectly tailored top with a matching cardigan?  Big designer shades, super sleeked hair in a high pony and an equally embellished Yorkie on a sparkly leash completed her picking-up-the-kids-from-school look.

Therefore, I immediately knew where this mom's exasperated confession was coming from. And yes - her hair was disheveled, her clothes were frumpy and she had not a lick of makeup on. But I found out she's a teacher. She sends her three kids off to school everyday and goes on to partake in an even more chaotic environment by teaching kindergarteners and first graders all day long.
"I'm on the floor most of the day with the kids" she offered, looking down at her clothes.
"Oh please. You don't have to explain to me," I replied. "I just give you credit for wanting to be with yet more kids other than your own on a daily basis."
She laughed.

As I looked around, I spotted a woman in skinny jeans, heels and a sheer top layered over lace (remember, we are at a kids volleyball game in a grammar school gym), and a woman in the fanciest, flounciest tennis skirt I've ever seen. We get it. You work out. Your legs are toned. You look like a Hamptons Hooker. The refs are gawking. Can you change into something more school-appropriate?

It's great to dress up, to look and feel put together and give off an impression as such. All women should strive for some version of that that works for themselves. But it's also important to be true to who you are. And if that means you are dressed like a Frumpalina on a daily basis, well, then so be it.

Spam

by Patti 

Last night I spent over an hour going through marketing emails that I never asked to receive, unsubscribing myself from all of them.  Want a sample? Let’s see…. InStyle, Daily Makeover, Groupon, 10(!) different real estate agents, LinkedIn, American Airlines, PetSmart, Apple, Trulia, 4 different Crains newsletters, some random energy company, an email from an 'As Seen on TV' company, Social Security(???), RISMedia, Us Weekly, Small Business Chicago…(PAUSING TO TAKE A BREATH)… Genie Bra (What? Did S – who is currently obsessed with bras – sign me up?), Chicago Business, Printable Coupons, Hotels.com, Carnival Cruises, Borne Company, Bally Total Fitness, Brain Bench, Barak Obama, Plato's Closet, Chicago Association of Realtors, Fresnobee, Orchard Bank, Rebecca – offering me a ‘Credit Card Bailout!’, Suzanne – offering me a ‘Mortgage Bailout!’ (Interestingly, NOBODY OFFERED ME A SPAM BAILOUT!)… But wait! There’s more! I just won’t ‘Spam’ you with the details.

During the process of unsubscribing, some of the ‘unsubscribe’ pop-ups were actually angry about it. One even exclaimed, “You jerk!” Another tried to play it cool and simply said, “See ya!”  Others were more melancholy about our parting, saying, “We will miss you”, or “We are sad to see you go.” 

But the kicker was the one who simply refused to believe I wanted to break up with it. “Are you sure?” it asked me. I clicked the “YES”(I am SURE!) box and submitted it. Another box popped up, “Please tell us why…” and I actually had to type out my reason for ending our totally one-sided relationship. Do you know how awkward that is? Once I submitted that, yet another box popped up, “We will send you an email shortly to confirm your decision. You are still subscribed until you click on the confirmation email.” I waited for the email. It never came. It still hasn’t come.

I have the feeling I will be seeing another marketing message from this company again. I’m sure it will just use the excuse that I never confirmed my break-up with it.  I am being Fatal Attractioned by Spam.

Automatic!

by Patti 

The other day I was driving down the street, a little speedily, as usual, when suddenly the driver of the car in front of me hit his brakes. Of course this meant I had to do the same, and the result was a major lurching forth of my car. My arm automatically flew across the front seat to protect…. My gym bag?

What I had just done is the classic Mother Arm.  No matter who - or what - is in your passenger seat, if you have to hit the brakes, your arm will fly across and form a barrier between the dashboard and that precious passenger, who might be a child, or a husband, or, yes, a GYM BAG. 

Automatic!

One day last week I went to my neighbor’s house to pick up S after work. My neighbor got a new puppy a couple of months ago, and the puppy is still this magically delicious ball of floppy fuzz, so I couldn’t help but scoop it up and cuddle with it. As I held the puppy, I started talking with my neighbor about our girls, when suddenly I realized that I was rocking the dog. And not only was I rocking the dog, I was PATTING ITS BACK LIKE I WAS BURPING IT.  I laughed about it, and pointed out to my neighbor what I was doing, and she told me that she, the mother of three kids, has also caught herself rocking the dog.

Just this past weekend I was at a wine tasting with Cathy, and having really enjoyed a sparkling Blanc de Blanc, I purchased a bottle.  I handed the bottle to Cathy so I could put away my wallet, and once I was done, I looked up to find her gently rocking the bottle. Not only was she rocking it, she had also made sure that the brown paper bag that the sommelier had placed it in was wrapped snugly around the bottle; so not only was she rocking the bottle, she had also swaddled the bottle.

This innate need to rock whatever it is we are holding is something I call the Mother Sway. Would we ever see our husbands rock the dog? Hell, no. Would a man ever hold a wine bottle and sway it in his arms? I HOPE NOT. But I have seen countless mothers do it, and doesn't matter if it’s a human baby or a dog baby, or even a thing-- if it’s little and you are holding it and you are a mother, it will be rocked.

Automatic!

And what about the universal Mother Head Turn? This is what happens when any mother is in public and hears a distant “Mommy!” It doesn’t matter if your child is right next to you, or if your child is 10 miles away playing at a friend’s house; if you hear a child’s voice call “Mommy!”, you will turn your head.

Automatic!

These behaviors are mysteriously rooted in all mothers. And these mothers could be grandmothers who have not had babies in 60 years; it doesn't matter. The instincts are strong and vibrant and mark a mother forever. Most of all, these behaviors link us in an inexplicably wonderful way. The link reminds me that during the times when I might feel alone on the Mothership, somewhere out there in the universe, there are millions of swaying mothers flinging their arms across passenger seats and turning their heads to the sound of “Mommy!” right along with me.

One Is Not Like The Other

by Cathy

Have you known families with kids that are freakishly...the same? It usually works in extremes - the kids are all either obedient bookworms or misbehaving behemoths. In theory, it makes complete sense...if you use the same parenting technique with all the kids, they should all turn out the same way, right?

Wrong. Way wrong.

Since the very beginning when Ari, my second one, was born, I was always comparing everything she did to her older sister. It started when in the early weeks of her life when I tucked Ari in her crib for a nice, long afternoon nap that I fully expected her to take at this point because Bella did. I too settled into my bed next to her for some much needed shut-eye. Before I could fully drift off, maybe about thirty minutes later, she was up cooing and whining in her crib. I was groggy, shaky and annoyed. 'How come she doesn't take full naps?' I would say tiredly to my husband. 'Bella wasn't a catnapper!'

I would continue to do it. By this age: "Bella read more books; Bella was able to write her name; Bella never cried this much; Bella was never this headstrong; Bella listened to me; Bella never watched this much TV." They don't even like the same foods!

For every one of these comments, my husband was always quick to dismantle my conclusions. 'Yes, she did/was' or 'No, she didn't/wasn't' was usually what came out of his mouth. 'You just don't remember correctly,' he would always say to me. Really? Was I that nuts that I didn't remember these exact little things I am specifically mentioning?

Well I DO know my kids well enough to note the following differences I see between them:
Example A:
Bella is very emotional, naive, quiet and painfully honest with me about everything. When I used to pack her lunches at school, she never threw away what she didn't eat because I told her to specifically bring it home so I can see how much and what she ate that day. Even though she knew that if she brought a lot of food back, I would reprimand her for not eating. This would happen almost every day, but it never occurred to her to throw it away to avoid the confrontation with me at home. Ari on the other hand, brought her lunchbox home empty on the first day, even though I knew she couldn't have eaten everything I put in there. "Where's all of your food?" I asked her.
"I ate it," she replied.
"ALL of it?" I pressured.
"Yes."
Only when Bella jumped in and questioned her did she 'mess up' and be honest. "I threw it away," she said quietly.
After I didn't pack her preferred lunch items of choice on the first day of school, the next morning she actually sat down on the kitchen floor and started opening up her lunchbox.
"What are you doing?" I asked.
"I want to see what you packed me for lunch," she bossily replied. "I didn't like what you gave me yesterday." As if I was going to change it. But I had to smile at her gall and determination. Bella would never dare do that.

Example B:
Bella always kept her hair accessories in her hair; she came home looking exactly as she did when she left for school that morning, expect with a few obligatory flyaways. Ari leaves the house impeccably combed with pigtails and barrettes, and returns with her curly hair settled wildly around her face and shoulders - a disheveled mess.
Example C:
As I mentioned above, Bella is honest. Ari is a big time fibber. She fibs: when she doesn't know how to answer; when she's trying to cover up something sneaky she did; when she thinks we won't notice; to get what she wants; to get out of trouble. She is also waaaaay more stubborn than her sister. Okay, I couldn't help the comparison :)

At my husband's urging, I am now capable of recognizong their differences - who they are, their souls, their colorful personalities - instead of comparing them based on external abilities or behaviors.  I stopped expecting them to be cloned into one another, mainly because it would make my job easier.  I've come to not only accept them each for their amazing, individual personalities but also their accomplishments, strengths and interests.

And when I let go of my expectations, I feel freedom in that I am allowing them to grow into who they were each meant to be.

Mother Scrooge

by Cathy

Last Tuesday night, I received a visit from the Ghost of Motherhood Future.

I had my calendar laid out in front of me on our living room coffee table, along with papers from my kids' school and the calendar app opened on my phone, trying to note and synchronize all of the upcoming events. Halloween parties. Parent cocktail parties. Gift wrap sale for school fundraiser. Donations for class funds. Picture day. Volleyball games. Bagel and juice sale. Nutcracker (yes, Nutcracker) rehearsals.

"Are we gonna watch this or what?" my husband nudged, pointing to one of the dozens of DVR'd shows we have recorded. "Yeah, wait," I said all frazzled. "Let me just figure this out..." I rambled off. "Don't forget on the 29th I have to do pumpkin carving in Ari's class so..." Suddenly my cell phone rang. Joe and I both looked at each other. Something was wrong. It was 10:30 at night. This can't be good.

On the other end of the line was my equally frazzled cousin, K. "Hey, I'm in a bit of a bind."

A little history on K: After living out in the boonies of Lake County her whole life, she is finally a city girl. She's been living in Chicago for about a month now since being accepted at one of the best universities in the city, and she is still adjusting to learning the public transit system. Joe and I, being city folk born and raised and proud adoptive city parents to K as we take her under our wing and make her 'city savvy'," told her that if she ever needed anything, she could call us, no matter what.

As soon as I heard her comment, I froze. My motherly mind was spinning. I imagined everything from her being at some party that got busted and her getting arrested, to God knows what else. I quickly tried to clear my mind to focus. "I'm kinda stuck here at school," she continued. "I've been waiting for the bus for the last 40 minutes and it hasn't come. I don't think it runs this late."

After a quick exchange between K, Joe and myself, we decided to have her hop on the nearby train and Joe would meet her at the stop and drive her home, as none of the buses on her home route were running at this hour. I've never seen Joe get ready as fast as he did that night. He was out the door in three minutes flat. I kept in contact with K to make sure she was on the train, heading in the right direction and giving her Joe's cell number. All the while I paced in my living room with a scene from the DVR'd show  still frozen on the TV screen. Finally, a text from K to let me know she is home safe.

This whole scenario lurched me ten years into the future that night. We've all heard the old adage, "The bigger your kids, the bigger your problems." We think we got problems now? That call could have been something way worse. So this is what it will feel like to have teenage daughters. This is how it will feel every time my cell phone will ring late at night. This is how it will feel to worry and pace until you know they are safe.

I went into my girls' bedroom and kissed them each goodnight, tucking them even more securely into their pink, frilly covers. Then I sat down and happily kept scheduling my pumpkin carving activites, ballet lessons and the hundreds of other now easy events I faced as a mother. 

Mothers, no matter what stage of motherhood they are in, are constantly visited by the Ghost of Motherhood Present: what's going on now and how to handle those transitions. When we're visited by the Ghost of Motherhood Past, we reminisce, laugh, cry, long and relate.

But that Ghost of Motherhood Future? That is one scary Mother.