Endless Pursuit for Mom of the Year

Be somebody who makes everybody feel like a somebody. ---------------- It's hard to live in the midwest, least of all Iowa, and not know of Carson King. The sign toting individual asking for beer money to his Venmo account, who later raised millions of dollars for the University of Iowa's Stead Family Children's Hospital. This isn't a Carson King story. Sorry if that's what you came here for. It is a story about the kindness and good in the human spirit. As a parent, no one wants to think about the harsh realities life can and sometimes does deal. The pain of assisting a child through an illness or, worse, losing a child to that illness or tragedy is not a reality I'd ever want to face. Every three months for the past two years, I have entered Suite 514 at a local children's hospital with daughter of the year #1. When I first entered that door, I was not prepared for what I would see on the other side.  Suite 514 appears as a very non-descr...

The secret to staying young is to live honestly, eat slowly, and lie about your age. - Lucille Ball Dear 16-year-old mom-of-the-year, Happy sweet 16. I know you waited for this day for a long time. It seems like you are about to leap into adulthood, some newfound freedom, but before you take that jump, take a deep breath. For every jump you take from here on out leads you on a path to your future, and it's one lovely ride.  Look around at those friends at your party. It's not a huge friend circle but larger than most. These girls have been here through almost every moment of growing up and will continue to be. In fact, many of those friends are still going to be there for you 30 years later. Cheering for you in a whole new way to achieve every dream you have, and sending you the Twizzlers you so dearly love when things don't go quite right. By the way, lay off the Twizzlers. You've been driving for two years so I can't even say congrats on getting...

When we seek to discover the best in others,  we somehow bring out the best in ourselves. - William Arthur Ward I remember the day well. The day my friend stopped talking to me. I was 12 and it was as I entered the gym for volleyball practice. The difference in the air was palpable, weighing on me like a brand new coat that hadn't quite broken in to my body yet. The talking stopped, the sideway glances began, and then just as quickly, no one would speak to me. I remember scanning my memory to recall everything I had done, what I had worn, what I had eaten, how many times I had blinked in the past 24 hours. I tried speaking to someone and was met with a cold nothing like this midwesterner has ever felt. I still feel that pit in my stomach.  Why I can remember this instance better than I can remember what I ate yesterday is beyond me?! Perhaps because it left an indelible mark on me, one I'm not sure I'll ever shake. It happened more times than I could count...