Trees rooted deep below surrounded us. This is our gift to her, the four of us together, in the land of trees which defy gravity forcing them down. Together, this is all that matters.
I really hate the word mother
It reminds me of you
And my brain already does enough of that subconsciously
In my sleep
In waking
all the time
You were my mother
But you were not a mom
and I don’t have any desire
to try to mend that
So universe, please stop reminding me.
He grew up lacking any sort of mothering care the other kids at his school had. There was no nurturing, no love, no packed lunches or hugs and kisses. The house he lived in was sad, and the clothes on his back were ragged and dirty. Yet, at school, he showed more compassion to his classmates than most other kids his age would; a kid with a scrapped knee would get a hug or flower from him; another with a belly ache would get a reassuring pat on the back.
“Quit your mothering, woman!” I demanded, swiping at he with renewed vigor.
She laughed and, after fixing the last of my stubborn curls, stopped her meddling. “You send such mixed messages, sister,” she began, eyes alight. “First, you ask for my help. And then you demand I stop,”
I huffed. “That’s because you have a tendency to go overboard,” I fingered a ringlet with distaste. “Like you did this time,”
Mothering is something that I do well because I am a mother. Sometimes I wish that my instincts were not so…I feel like I mother too much and not take care of myself…Motherhood is a blessing, but I feel so run down by it at times.
Katie A
As soon as she saw it, her mothering instincts set in. She picked it up, held it close, and looked straight into its eyes. It smiled at her, recognizing that one thing all babies desire; food!
tonykeyesjapan
The young man was being driven crazy by the queens’ mothering. They were always making sure he was doing well and had enough to eat. Never mind that they couldn’t cook. They still wanted him to eat. He wasn’t skin and bones, he was a healthy weight. He didn’t care what Ivana said he didn’t need to go lift weights. No, he didn’t care that Flora could pick him up with one hand. She was a tough lady and he knew that. (Yes, this is why he tolerated the mothering.)
Caring, mothering, nurturing. These are what’s missing in both their lives. Peter decides to adopt a little girl. He told his wife and she agreed. They had a little girl. When they told her. that she’s the one, she said. ” I know. I already know before you came.”
mothering, as i have known it
was too often a smothering.
a vise grip on what i, myself, could not control
with the manic fear of what she
could not fix,
from the first doctors,
to the realization,
that not all that is broken
need be fixed
nor fretted over.
grace
Another email. Before I read it even, I know the contents. Another round of reminders, another round of information, another round of suggestions. It would drive me mad except … I know that each round of questions, each round of information, each round of suggestions are made with nothing but the best of intentions — and all that research didn’t do itself.
Ah mothers. Even after we grow up they never stop.
She was never what could be considered the mothering type. Her touches were superficial and forced, mouth permanently pressed into a thin, bitter frown. She much preferred the company of her bottle of gin to the company of her children.
Being a mom is one of the most rewarding things I have ever done in my life. You just love and receive love from this tiny child. Then the child grows and learns, and you teach it as well as learn all new things about life and love and yourself. You learn more teaching then you do at any other time in your life.
Shelby
Everything I am about from the depths of my soul. I miss this in my recently emptied nest so The Universe sent an orphaned dove that needed nurturing and launching. I did good.
Vanessa
What do I even say about this? Is it a verb? And adjective? Do I ‘mother’ someone, and thus while I am performing this I am ‘mothering’? Or can you describe someone as so? It’s a word that envokes (misspelled) comfort, but that’s it.
Andrew
Mothering? More like smothering. He couldn’t even leave the house without his mother bombarding him with a thousand questions.
“Where are you going?”
“Who are you going to be with?”
“When will you get back?”
“Do you have your phone on you?”
The woman wouldn’t stop badgering him until he relented and answered all her skull-splitting questions.
Kate
taking care and love in the nurturing of another being; be it animal, plant, child; your own or one of the earth.
oral fixation
and something good must’ve happened to him, along the way,
to pick up the habit of kissing my temple;
after he’s pushed me onto my knees,
smiles
mothering is a good thing with no mother you would be alone with your father and he could be abusive!
1dfan22
It was a fine work of mothering, really. She was angry, but the anger dissipated and she was so rational. Trying to cow me into revealing all, little did she know I was vulnerable but still devious. I still kept my secrets, even though she kept my flask.
“Mom, sometimes I just feel like you’re not listening to what I’m saying…”
“No. I listen. I always listen.” She interrupted.
“I feel like you don’t care about me when you..”
“I care! You don’t feel that way. That’s not how it is!” She but in yet again.
“How can you tell me how I feel,” I try to explain “You don’t know what it is that I’m feeling and you won’t even listen when I try to tell you.”
I’m bad at mothering. You’d think that’s crazy, if you knew who I was. I mean, it should be easy, since I’ve got it all put together. It’d just be easier if I wasn’t 17. That’s it.
They say that a mothering personality is a blessing. Doesn’t explain much positivity to me, honestly. When I was young, my “mothering” parent smothered me to the point in which I was just about ready to smack her in the back of the skull with a frying pan.
I didn’t actually do that, by the way. My brother did. He’s in jail for aggravated assault and battery. He blames my mother’s “concerned shrieking.”
I never want kids. People try to convince me otherwise, but to no avail. The day I become mothering is the day the trauma goes away.
Belinda Roddie
“Stop /mothering/ me!” Enjolras snapped. “I can take care of /myself,/ Combeferre!”
Combeferre closed his mouth. He exhaled slowly. “You’re right,” he murmured. “Sorry. I’ll just. Let me know if you — never mind. I’ll leave you alone.”
The second the door clicked shut behind his roommate Enjolras felt regret surge hot into his chest. He resisted the urge to catch up with him and beg to be taken back into that comforting embrace, instead opting to fall facedown into his bed and berate himself for lashing out at the last person on earth who deserved it.
She didn’t mean never to stop with the mothering, but as he lay there on the hospital bed, unconscious to the world, she felt a need to take the brush and fix his hair one last time before leaving the room.
Mothering smothering. Mothering: not a word but a sentence. Poor mothering’s a death sentence. Good mothering helps prepare you for life. Mothering’s one of the most important jobs in the world. But you don’t need any qualifications to be a mother.
Paul Eveleigh
She was matronly, I guess you could describe her as. She was dumpy and short, but she always had a smile on her face and cookies freshly baked. I guess that was why she was a bit dumpy. She looked after us, she really did. None of us had mothers, but she really did her best to be one to us all.
Mothering is a wonderful word unless it bchanges to smothering. Being a mom and knowing just the right amount of support is difficult
Nancy
Mothers are super important. I know half the time I want to run around screaming, half mad, half reckless. But I really do appreciate my mom. Sometimes its too much “mothering,” but it shows that she expects nothing less than my best.
Mothers are so good at mothering. Some dads can also be mothering if the time calls for him to be. To be mothering is to be caring about your children. To listen to their problems
Jess
She lifted her child to the light with her soft hands, she laughed as she spun in circles. The child reached down trying to touch the soft features of the beautiful, thin creature that stood before him. With a simple smile, the mother melted, holding the infant in her warm embrace. She laughed as he laughed in the sun bathed living room of the small house.
Mothering: that’s something Ms. Fuji had always done for her, wasn’t it? No, she wasn’t her mother but she’d always stepped in without being obvious. She’d knitted her scarves and blankets and made her food for no reason at all when she’d see the bruises. Always taking care of her.
She held the baby in her hands. It’s eyes were sweetly staring back to her, full of wonder, appreciation, and love. A soft shade of blue, like a brisk and clear winter sky. The child was surely hers and would grow to be a loving, caring, and compassionate leader for their city. She would raise him to be the greatest man their block had seen.
Patrick Albano
Nascido em uma rica família Jongin nunca soube realmente o que era um amor materno, sua mãe vivia ocupada com problemas da empresa que antes era responsabilidade de seu falecido pai.
Lidiane
Friday was the mothering one. It was unusual because the oldest child was supposed to be the mothering one, but Gwen was anything but. Gwen was a flame too hot to the touch and if you tested her, you would burn.
Friday was sweet like maple syrup, and warm too.
Edward loves his two sisters, different though they were.
Her love was like a noose, suffocating her children until the blue of their lips was the last thing they could sense before falling into the abyss of motherly love. Lessons every day, music, church, sports, lessons of any kind, she pressured them to learn as much as they could about everything in the known universe, which was really too much for an eight-year-old. It was really no surprise when her teacher read her poetry in class, the final line ringing out like a single solid shot, “I’m so busy I don’t know who I am.”
You have no concept of mothering. You think that taking everything away is mothering. You think creating something in your own little “perfect image” is mothering. No. Mothering is facillitating the growth of a beautiful human being. Mothering is helping your child realize who they are on their own, and holding their hand along their individual path of life.
The arm slung across when she slammed the brakes; the
tender kisses when I scraped my knee; the hot chicken noodle soup
when I was sick; the tears when I said I hated her; this is
mothering…….and I miss it…..
Rea
My mother used to read to me when I was a kid. Most kids fall asleep because the sound of another human voice gives them the comfort they need to drift off. Not me. I sat there wide-eyed, waiting for the magic to take me by the throat. Hours and hours. My mother read to me. My mother is the definition of mothering. She gave me the greatest gift a woman can give. Life.
Mothering is a precious thing. It is a form of caring. It shows how proud you are. And that is one of the reasons that you now sit, tears streaming down your cheeks as she drives off to collage. But now you get to smile and smile more as you hold your new granddaughter safely in your arms, and you remember everything about the past. This is what mothering means to you.
Trees rooted deep below surrounded us. This is our gift to her, the four of us together, in the land of trees which defy gravity forcing them down. Together, this is all that matters.
I really hate the word mother
It reminds me of you
And my brain already does enough of that subconsciously
In my sleep
In waking
all the time
You were my mother
But you were not a mom
and I don’t have any desire
to try to mend that
So universe, please stop reminding me.
He grew up lacking any sort of mothering care the other kids at his school had. There was no nurturing, no love, no packed lunches or hugs and kisses. The house he lived in was sad, and the clothes on his back were ragged and dirty. Yet, at school, he showed more compassion to his classmates than most other kids his age would; a kid with a scrapped knee would get a hug or flower from him; another with a belly ache would get a reassuring pat on the back.
“Quit your mothering, woman!” I demanded, swiping at he with renewed vigor.
She laughed and, after fixing the last of my stubborn curls, stopped her meddling. “You send such mixed messages, sister,” she began, eyes alight. “First, you ask for my help. And then you demand I stop,”
I huffed. “That’s because you have a tendency to go overboard,” I fingered a ringlet with distaste. “Like you did this time,”
Mothering is something that I do well because I am a mother. Sometimes I wish that my instincts were not so…I feel like I mother too much and not take care of myself…Motherhood is a blessing, but I feel so run down by it at times.
As soon as she saw it, her mothering instincts set in. She picked it up, held it close, and looked straight into its eyes. It smiled at her, recognizing that one thing all babies desire; food!
The young man was being driven crazy by the queens’ mothering. They were always making sure he was doing well and had enough to eat. Never mind that they couldn’t cook. They still wanted him to eat. He wasn’t skin and bones, he was a healthy weight. He didn’t care what Ivana said he didn’t need to go lift weights. No, he didn’t care that Flora could pick him up with one hand. She was a tough lady and he knew that. (Yes, this is why he tolerated the mothering.)
Caring, mothering, nurturing. These are what’s missing in both their lives. Peter decides to adopt a little girl. He told his wife and she agreed. They had a little girl. When they told her. that she’s the one, she said. ” I know. I already know before you came.”
mothering, as i have known it
was too often a smothering.
a vise grip on what i, myself, could not control
with the manic fear of what she
could not fix,
from the first doctors,
to the realization,
that not all that is broken
need be fixed
nor fretted over.
Another email. Before I read it even, I know the contents. Another round of reminders, another round of information, another round of suggestions. It would drive me mad except … I know that each round of questions, each round of information, each round of suggestions are made with nothing but the best of intentions — and all that research didn’t do itself.
Ah mothers. Even after we grow up they never stop.
She was never what could be considered the mothering type. Her touches were superficial and forced, mouth permanently pressed into a thin, bitter frown. She much preferred the company of her bottle of gin to the company of her children.
Being a mom is one of the most rewarding things I have ever done in my life. You just love and receive love from this tiny child. Then the child grows and learns, and you teach it as well as learn all new things about life and love and yourself. You learn more teaching then you do at any other time in your life.
Everything I am about from the depths of my soul. I miss this in my recently emptied nest so The Universe sent an orphaned dove that needed nurturing and launching. I did good.
What do I even say about this? Is it a verb? And adjective? Do I ‘mother’ someone, and thus while I am performing this I am ‘mothering’? Or can you describe someone as so? It’s a word that envokes (misspelled) comfort, but that’s it.
Mothering? More like smothering. He couldn’t even leave the house without his mother bombarding him with a thousand questions.
“Where are you going?”
“Who are you going to be with?”
“When will you get back?”
“Do you have your phone on you?”
The woman wouldn’t stop badgering him until he relented and answered all her skull-splitting questions.
taking care and love in the nurturing of another being; be it animal, plant, child; your own or one of the earth.
oral fixation
and something good must’ve happened to him, along the way,
to pick up the habit of kissing my temple;
after he’s pushed me onto my knees,
smiles
mothering is a good thing with no mother you would be alone with your father and he could be abusive!
It was a fine work of mothering, really. She was angry, but the anger dissipated and she was so rational. Trying to cow me into revealing all, little did she know I was vulnerable but still devious. I still kept my secrets, even though she kept my flask.
“Mom, sometimes I just feel like you’re not listening to what I’m saying…”
“No. I listen. I always listen.” She interrupted.
“I feel like you don’t care about me when you..”
“I care! You don’t feel that way. That’s not how it is!” She but in yet again.
“How can you tell me how I feel,” I try to explain “You don’t know what it is that I’m feeling and you won’t even listen when I try to tell you.”
I’m bad at mothering. You’d think that’s crazy, if you knew who I was. I mean, it should be easy, since I’ve got it all put together. It’d just be easier if I wasn’t 17. That’s it.
They say that a mothering personality is a blessing. Doesn’t explain much positivity to me, honestly. When I was young, my “mothering” parent smothered me to the point in which I was just about ready to smack her in the back of the skull with a frying pan.
I didn’t actually do that, by the way. My brother did. He’s in jail for aggravated assault and battery. He blames my mother’s “concerned shrieking.”
I never want kids. People try to convince me otherwise, but to no avail. The day I become mothering is the day the trauma goes away.
“Stop /mothering/ me!” Enjolras snapped. “I can take care of /myself,/ Combeferre!”
Combeferre closed his mouth. He exhaled slowly. “You’re right,” he murmured. “Sorry. I’ll just. Let me know if you — never mind. I’ll leave you alone.”
The second the door clicked shut behind his roommate Enjolras felt regret surge hot into his chest. He resisted the urge to catch up with him and beg to be taken back into that comforting embrace, instead opting to fall facedown into his bed and berate himself for lashing out at the last person on earth who deserved it.
She didn’t mean never to stop with the mothering, but as he lay there on the hospital bed, unconscious to the world, she felt a need to take the brush and fix his hair one last time before leaving the room.
Mothering smothering. Mothering: not a word but a sentence. Poor mothering’s a death sentence. Good mothering helps prepare you for life. Mothering’s one of the most important jobs in the world. But you don’t need any qualifications to be a mother.
She was matronly, I guess you could describe her as. She was dumpy and short, but she always had a smile on her face and cookies freshly baked. I guess that was why she was a bit dumpy. She looked after us, she really did. None of us had mothers, but she really did her best to be one to us all.
Mothering is a wonderful word unless it bchanges to smothering. Being a mom and knowing just the right amount of support is difficult
Mothers are super important. I know half the time I want to run around screaming, half mad, half reckless. But I really do appreciate my mom. Sometimes its too much “mothering,” but it shows that she expects nothing less than my best.
Mothers are so good at mothering. Some dads can also be mothering if the time calls for him to be. To be mothering is to be caring about your children. To listen to their problems
She lifted her child to the light with her soft hands, she laughed as she spun in circles. The child reached down trying to touch the soft features of the beautiful, thin creature that stood before him. With a simple smile, the mother melted, holding the infant in her warm embrace. She laughed as he laughed in the sun bathed living room of the small house.
Mothering: that’s something Ms. Fuji had always done for her, wasn’t it? No, she wasn’t her mother but she’d always stepped in without being obvious. She’d knitted her scarves and blankets and made her food for no reason at all when she’d see the bruises. Always taking care of her.
She held the baby in her hands. It’s eyes were sweetly staring back to her, full of wonder, appreciation, and love. A soft shade of blue, like a brisk and clear winter sky. The child was surely hers and would grow to be a loving, caring, and compassionate leader for their city. She would raise him to be the greatest man their block had seen.
Nascido em uma rica família Jongin nunca soube realmente o que era um amor materno, sua mãe vivia ocupada com problemas da empresa que antes era responsabilidade de seu falecido pai.
Friday was the mothering one. It was unusual because the oldest child was supposed to be the mothering one, but Gwen was anything but. Gwen was a flame too hot to the touch and if you tested her, you would burn.
Friday was sweet like maple syrup, and warm too.
Edward loves his two sisters, different though they were.
Her love was like a noose, suffocating her children until the blue of their lips was the last thing they could sense before falling into the abyss of motherly love. Lessons every day, music, church, sports, lessons of any kind, she pressured them to learn as much as they could about everything in the known universe, which was really too much for an eight-year-old. It was really no surprise when her teacher read her poetry in class, the final line ringing out like a single solid shot, “I’m so busy I don’t know who I am.”
You have no concept of mothering. You think that taking everything away is mothering. You think creating something in your own little “perfect image” is mothering. No. Mothering is facillitating the growth of a beautiful human being. Mothering is helping your child realize who they are on their own, and holding their hand along their individual path of life.
The arm slung across when she slammed the brakes; the
tender kisses when I scraped my knee; the hot chicken noodle soup
when I was sick; the tears when I said I hated her; this is
mothering…….and I miss it…..
My mother used to read to me when I was a kid. Most kids fall asleep because the sound of another human voice gives them the comfort they need to drift off. Not me. I sat there wide-eyed, waiting for the magic to take me by the throat. Hours and hours. My mother read to me. My mother is the definition of mothering. She gave me the greatest gift a woman can give. Life.
He held the baby to his chest and her crying eased. “You can cry,” he told her. “I know you’re sad. I miss Mumma, too.”
Mothering is a precious thing. It is a form of caring. It shows how proud you are. And that is one of the reasons that you now sit, tears streaming down your cheeks as she drives off to collage. But now you get to smile and smile more as you hold your new granddaughter safely in your arms, and you remember everything about the past. This is what mothering means to you.