The Day I almost Drowned my Daughters. A Mother’s Confession.

We all have them—all mothers, that is.

Those days that we wish we could erase from time and our memories.

Days that mark our soul as frightening recollections of moments that almost ended our children’s lives.

This day was like any other in that it began peacefully: cuddles before breakfast, a book read and the promise of another happy day in the sun.

My daughters and I were at the cottage, situated on a serene, winding river. After many promises of taking the children (aged six and eight) on an extended canoe ride to a set of rapids some distance away, I announced that today was the day.

Squeals of excitement ensued, hand clapping and jumping around on the couch. I smiled at their joy.

The rapids on this one end of the river were an area that I as a child had canoed to and spent many a lazy day sunning and writing in my book of poems. I had told many magical, mystical stories about this place where surely we would run into fairies and other ethereal creatures. I knew I had, and it had shaped who I was spiritually.

We packed a lunch and set off in our bright blue canoe.

Please read on here…The Day I Almost Drowned My Daughters. A Mother’s Confession. | elephant journal



For My Daughter’s, on Mama’s day…When I’m old

I hoped that I wouldn’t get older.

You’ve always said that to you, I would be forever 32.

I hoped that my hands would always be strong and that my knuckles wouldn’t hint at overwork and that my skin would be sleek and unspotted.

But there have been too many years of digging in the dirt and my hands bronzing in the sun for that.

I wanted my legs to always carry me with strength, so that I could continue to lead on our walks in the woods, with the two of you following me like ducklings, your happy chatter behind me, spurring me on, giving my heart flight. But a few times now, I have followed you, lost in my memories of your childhood as you walked ahead of me and called me to hurry up the hill.

I’ve always had issues with those damn hills.

I’ve been the one to hand out advice and stories, to cook something that made you smile, like apple pancakes or cabbage rolls, or chicken soup.

Now I look forward to a Mexican concoction that you eat hot and I eat mild, and that speaks of your world travels.

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How To Raise Free Thinking Daughters

I wish I had known the answer to that before I had begun.

In theory, it would be best to not experiment on one’s children. But isn’t that motherhood; a tempestuous journey that tries every bond imaginable between mother and child?

Recently, I was at the bookstore and my attention fell on two autobiographies about childhoods somewhat left of center. I was horrified. Some things that caught my eye were themes such as homeschooling, life without basic amenities such as running water, insulation, indoor toilets and the struggles that ensue after divorce and re-marriage.

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