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"Child in a Storm" Stories | Cookies & Tea

"Child in a Storm" Stories

The Unfriendly Night....
Incontinence in Women and Children: The Trauma of Bedwetting

A cold, wet-bodied night monster called on me when I was four years old.   The monster has a name that sounds like a Greek myth - Enuresis.  Enuresis is the clinical term for bedwetting or incontinence.  I wet the bed and soaked the lace panties beneath my flannel pajamas.  This was not a very ladylike thing for a small girl child to do, but in my later years I have learned it has nothing to do with poor manners or insolence, it has to do with the act of incontinence.  And incontinence does not only occur in children, it follows millions on into adulthood.

My story is not unique; the lack of bladder control affects over ten million people.  This is a massive number of people to have what is considered a socially unacceptable disorder.  It does not make for easy tabletop conversation by any stretch of the imagination.

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Pearls & the Blue Dress

As we search our childhood memories for unfulfilled dreams and disappointments, the true architect of our individual markings often surface. They serve as gentle influences - brilliant imaginings of how lives might be - if only. The "if only" is like a long, lazy day in bed with the flu- there are aches and pains, but also the delicious joy of hiding under the blankets and sipping a hot cup of broth - nourishing the body and the soul.

When I want to call up who I really am - not who I play at being, I tap into my bank of memories. My memories have helped shaped me into who I am today. One such memory is of when I was eleven years old and played beautiful music and wore a dress fit for a princess. And while the ending was not a "living happily ever after", it was a meaningful childhood event, lining my journey to womanhood.

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A Thief of Sorts

The following story is one of a family in need - dollars drawn from outreached hands by a father who could not have loved his family more, but who was drawn by alcoholism to dance with the devil of drink. Many families rob the pockets of a family member while they lie idle, silenced by drink. Blessed are the families who consider it extraordinary as such an act has not been a part of their heritage and has no room in their future. Blessed are the families who have dealt with this and who, on occasion can laugh at the ridiculousness of it all.

I picked my fathers pockets when he passed out - drunk. I feel no shame for my acts, as there was no other way for us to have money for food and shelter. However, there are children who steal for many other reasons - far beyond my small incident. Visit with Steve Houseworth, Executive Director of TheftTalk™ at the end of the story. It will help all of us find ways to provide direction for a child who has at one time or another crossed the line to steal - "A Thief of Sorts."

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Cookies & Tea

I can't find myself. "Have you looked in the Clothes Hamper?"

The cup of herbal tea, gently stirred with a slice of lemon and teaspoon of honey was just not cutting the haze of my menopausal funk. And, I was giving no points to the gloriously warm four- colored afghan I had picked up at a Senior Citizen bazaar nicely nestled around me. I was certainly warm and cozy in the afghan, cashmere socked feet tucked tightly beneath me on my satin upholstered settee. However, none of the ambiance of the setting was making a dent in the "I can't find myself anymore" feelings that were overcoming me.

The foreboding feeling had been creeping up on me for days and I had managed to cast it aside because I simply did not have time to deal with it. My schedule at work was hectic and when at home, there was a score of domestic items needing my attention.

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Recently, I was holed up in a hotel room while attending an educational program. My after class routine included clearing e-mails and returning phone calls. I checked my business phone mail and after five basic business calls, was welcomed by the effervescent voice of my daughter, Bethany. A warm smile crept up to tease my study weary face.

"Hi mom, this is your daughter calling to tell you a few things. First of all, travel safe so that we can celebrate your next birthday. Second, you kick butt Girl! Make me proud while you are out in the field with all those testosterone bulging males. Three, I won a baking contest and you know that you never thought that would happen, huh? Call me when you can!" Click.

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Long Distance Coaching When Mother Knows Best

It's a small note card, very likely bought in a local card shop, but the writing on the inside of the card is something I will cherish forever - "Gezil, I love you more every day." It was written by my mother and I just found the note in a box of keepsakes she kept in the bottom of her bedroom closet. I will keep the card on my desk to remind me of my Mother's love and how words can soften the heart.

My mother died in October and I miss the opportunity to hear her speak these words to me. She was such a master of small talk. Or at least she thought she was. I always let my Mother think everything she said had great meaning. She was very well read - she had two or three books going at the same time. She often passed on to me something she read in a book and captured it as if was her own original work. I realize I do the same thing with my daughter.

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