To Insanity and Beyond, A Mom's Journey

By Bria Daly

Despite its spacey title, this book's take on parenting and family is down to earth and funny!
Preview here what type of stories you'll read. This collection is about every mom, dad, and surviving each and every stage of growing up.

Spoiler alert: it's not just the kids who need growing up!

Excerpt below:

The Play Doh Factor

I met my husband in college, about a thousand years ago. Well, maybe not quite that long. It’s just that after 2 kids, three dogs, a bird, 20 odd one way moves, separations, goodbyes to friends, and high and lows, when we celebrated the Millennium, I felt more as though we were commemorating my life time.
As I said before, I met my husband in college, and if I must be exact in calendar years, I would estimate that it was about 22 years ago. My husband and I took some of the same classes, sat through impromptu discussion groups just for fun, and had the same interests. We were equals back then.
We have been together all these years, living in the same house, sharing the same children, but we’re not equal any more.
Don’t get me wrong, I feel a great sense of accomplishment (and exhaustion) every day. I am a stay at home mom (my kids are turning out pretty good), I keep a neat house (a couple of days of the week), I put in many volunteer hours in the schools and community (I know my efforts are valued), but I realize my college professors would be disappointed by the outcome.
My husband has two Masters degrees, can hold intelligent conversations with words in excess of two syllables, and can apply oxymoron’s without stumbling and making a moron of himself.
My college studies however were not totally wasted: I use negotiating skills I learned in Political Science to get my kids to behave, guilt I learned in my Psychology class to get my husband to do things for me, and the Chemistry I once took taught me how to mix a mean infant formula when my kids were little.
Okay, okay, you're probably wondering what this has to do with Play Doh.
It was on a hike that we ran into a classmate of my husband’s from school. My husband dutifully introduced his family, but not surprisingly, didn’t offer the man’s name.
My kids were one and three years old back then.
A few minutes later when my husband approached I said, “You don’t remember his name, do you?”
“I think it’s Bill”, he responded, “At school we call him Plato” he added.
That caught my attention. “Why do you call him Play Doh?”
“I don’t know, I guess he’s some kind of expert on Plato” my husband responded.
“Why would anyone want to be an expert on Play Doh?” I asked patronizingly.
"Who knows?" He responded impatiently, "He just happens to know a lot about Plato." Aware of my interest, yet confused by it, he patiently added with finality: "He's just interested in all the Great Philosopher's. That's all."
That statement finally shut me up.
Read more...

• Language: English
• Publisher: Bria Daly
• Release date: Feb 27, 2014
• ISBN: 9781310061349

Bria Daly

I'm a mom, wife, sister, friend, and author.My books are available in paperback, and as eBooks. Writing is something I've always enjoyed doing, but if you ask me what my greatest accomplishment is, I'd have to say it's my children, and with very good reason (I'm a super proud mom).About me...Bria Daly is a pen name created from the names of the most important people in my life: my husband and my two children.I was born in Buenos Aires, Argentina and I moved to the United States when I was young. I married a U.S. military man, and my husband's career took us to wonderful places around the globe. We lived in Japan, Germany, Argentina, Brazil, Honduras, and seven U.S. states. I feel privileged to have had the opportunity to see and experience different worlds and cultures. My experiences, the people I met, and the places I lived in, have made me the person I am today, and someone who appreciates all this wonderful world has to offer.I am also an advocate and defender of children, animals, the elderly, and the disabled. My house is always chaotic and loud. Chaos is not what I aim for, but it is what it is. Still, I don't think I'd want it any other way.My furniture is eclectic, our diets are all different (we have 2 vegans, a vegetarian, and an omnivore - I'm one of the 2 vegans), we have 3 dogs, 3 cats, 3 cockatiels, 2 hermit crabs, and two large fish tanks with a variety of fish (today, who knows what we'll have tomorrow?). And I believe my pets are my muses because they're ALWAYS with me and wherever I go.Thanks for giving me the opportunity to share my stories that are mostly family themed, because for me, family is what it's all about.If I can ask for on favor, it would be to please help me reach other readers by leaving a star rating or review whenever you get a chance. Visibility in online searches is based on author ranking and those numbers are generated by reader reviews.And another thing, and I really mean this, go ahead and contact me, I promise will write back. You can also visit me on Facebook, or stop be my website at anytime by going to https://briadaly.wordpress.com/Wishing you and yours my very best,Bria

Book preview

Introduction

by Lia

A.D. (After Delivery)

Ready or Not Baby's Here

On Pregnancies and Memory Loss

A Dog's Lament

B.C. (Beginning Children)

The House of a Toddler

Super Toddler!

Nightmare in Toyland

Aftershocks:

Living with children

The Play Doh Factor

The Memory Bank is Currently Closed

The Way We Were

Evolution

Worthy of Insanity Plea

The Day Sentence and other Calendar Stresses

Mother Earth and the Environmentally Challenged Child

Confined Children

What Good Mommies and Daddies Want For the Holidays

Picture Perfect

On the Road Again

The Family Van

To Camp or Not to Camp

100 Bottles of Beer

Drowning in the Carpool

Parenthood:

An Enchanting Experience

A Mom's Insurance

Dad Spelled Backwards still Spells Dad

The Burden of Praise

I Believe in Magic

Have I Told You That I Love You?

About the Author

Introduction

Dear Friends,

I used to feel sorry for people with children.

The friends I used to go out with suddenly had babysitting problems, ballgames, and chickenpox. They had been beautiful, fit, fun loving people and now they looked like something the cat had dragged in. And worse, they couldn't hold an intelligent conversation if their life depended on it.

Despite this obvious transformation, they claimed to be content, and had a smug look about them as if they knew a secret, and those of us without kids didn't. The secret to mixing a good baby formula, or getting squash stains off bibs, was nothing I'd brag about, but that was the whole point. They believed they were one up on me, where I simply pitied them.

When I had my son, who came to this world at a whopping 9.5 lbs yet to me seemed to be so small, helpless, and needy as most babies do, I knew that what I had just experienced was a miracle, a true revelation, which would change me forever.

There is nothing so sweet, as a newborn.

At the hospital I was given flowers, balloons, cards, and a pair of tight jeans from a skinny friend (we haven't spoken since). Among the cards was one that only stood out because of its simplicity, single sentence, and lack of signature. The card read: Enjoy the Journey. I tossed it without a second thought: I wasn't going anywhere.

I didn't know then what I know today, but I've learned a lot since, like the fact that I'll know a lot more tomorrow.

I feel sorry for people with no children.

The day I returned home from the hospital with gifts and flowers, minus one card and a pair of tight jeans I had also tossed, I held my newborn to my chest and began a life of observation.

My first day at the park (why a park I can't imagine - the baby was only 3 days old!) I observed the parents of toddlers. They were running in every direction, climbing, chasing, and performing incredible athletic feats in an effort to keep up with their little ones.

I felt for these people as I held my small bundle, snuggled tightly against my chest, so warm, so small, so manageable. And before I knew it, I was doing the running, because suddenly (it seemed), my son was two.

Two is a great age. I was enamored with my son's joy of discovery: the feel of sand between his toes, cold water trickling in a stream, the sound, smell and feel of the rain, the colors of a flower, the fur of a dog, mashed potatoes between his fingers, and paint on his nose. Everything was new and exciting.

We ran in every possible direction, he in search of new discoveries and me, behind him, watching for his safety while witnessing and sharing the thrill of newness through his eyes.

Two is definitely the best age.

My friends had older children who were past the age of innocence, or so it seemed. I really, really felt sorry for them.

When my son started school, it was harder on me then it was on him. I missed having him around, but it was great to be a part of his learning and growing.

I volunteered as much as I could at his school, and loved the fact that he was turning into a boy, and was getting past the baby stage. He was a little person still discovering the world, but now, to his discovery he added past experiences and information he already possessed. He began to ask questions and reach his own conclusions with the help of lots of imagination.

Five, I decided, was a great age: not too young, and not too old. Just right.

From the Kindergarten side of the school I could see the older kids, in the big kid playground. These kids were not much older than mine, and only a couple hundred feet away, but worlds apart it seemed in other ways: the rough housing, the smart remarks, and their lost innocence (or so I thought).

I felt sorry for the parents of those kids, because at 5, I had the best of both worlds: not too young, and not too old.

Five is the best age.

My son is 9 now. He's at that in between stage where he's still young and naïve about so many things, but so knowledgeable about others. He tells me about things he's heard, read, and seen. I can't even begin to keep up with what goes through his mind. I used to know about all of the books he read because I read them to him. I love the fact that he shares his discoveries with me and teaches me along the way.

I love '9'. We have the best of talks. It's like talking to a young adult. And still, I can give him guidance, answer some questions, and hold him close when he's afraid.

Nine I've decided is the best age.

I feel sorry for the parents of young teenagers. I see them driving their kids everywhere: to parties, basketball practice, school, movies, and the mall. Parents of teens drop their kids off, pick them up, and if they get lucky they hear what kind of day they had if they eavesdrop, and listen in to the conversation going on in the back seat of the car where two or three