Hey Dana Jane

Tag: Motherhood

  • Cold Weather Logic: A Teenager’s Guide to Freezing on Principle

    Ah, teenagers. The fascinating species that walks among us, simultaneously believing they are invincible and victims of the cruelest injustices. Case in point: my son. The other morning, he requested a ride to the bus stop because, and I quote, “It’s freezing outside.” Logical, right? I mean, who wouldn’t want to avoid hypothermia?

    Except there was one glaring issue: he refused to wear a proper coat, hat, or gloves.

    Let me paint the scene: It’s January. In Wisconsin, a.k.a The Frozen Tundra. The kind of cold that freezes your nostrils shut and makes your car sound like it’s crying when you start it. I looked at him, standing there in a lightweight hoodie (unzipped, naturally), sweatpants, and sneakers. No gloves. No hat. And the pièce de résistance? His insistence that “a coat is too bulky.”

    So, here I am, torn between sympathy for his chattering teeth and sheer disbelief. My motherly instincts kicked in, but not in the way you’d expect. “Why,” I asked, “would I drive you when you won’t even make the basic effort to protect yourself from the elements?”

    Cue the sigh. The teenager sigh. You know the one—the dramatic exhale that suggests I have personally ruined his life.

    Now, I’ve been around teenagers long enough to understand their logic—or lack thereof. Somehow, dressing appropriately for the weather is an affront to their entire identity. Hats? Uncool (and would mess up his perfectly styled hair). Gloves? A social death sentence. And a proper coat? Apparently, that’s only for grandpas and people without Wi-Fi.

    But here’s the kicker: he didn’t argue that he wasn’t cold. Oh no, he fully admitted that the Arctic blast outside was a problem. He just didn’t want to wear the solution. And this, my friends, is where my grasp of teenage logic fails.

    If you’re cold, dress warmly. This is not rocket science. In fact, this is the sort of wisdom I thought I had passed down to my offspring along with basic survival skills, like brushing teeth and not licking frozen flagpoles. But alas, he is a teenager, and they operate on a different plane of reasoning—one that adults are not invited to understand.

    So, I gave him my final word: “No coat, no ride. Your choice.” And off he went, shivering all the way to the bus stop like a martyr in a Netflix drama, no doubt imagining how he would recount this tale of hardship to his friends.

    Parenting a teenager is a lot like negotiating with a toddler, except the toddler thinks they’re smarter than you. The good news? This phase will pass. The bad news? It might take a while—and several frostbitten walks to the bus stop.

    In the meantime, I’m just going to keep shaking my head, sipping my tea, and reminding myself that one day, he’ll have kids of his own. And when they refuse to wear a coat in the middle of winter, I hope he hears my voice in the back of his head saying, “Told you so.”

  • Marriage, Resentment, and the Unequal Exchange of Labor

    Marriage has long been painted as a union of love and mutual respect. It’s sold as the ultimate partnership, where two people come together to build a life as equals. But let’s be honest: in many marriages, the scales of labor are far from balanced, and the weight of that imbalance almost always falls on women.

    Women often enter marriage expecting partnership but end up with responsibility instead. Studies repeatedly show that women perform the majority of household labor, childcare, and emotional caregiving—even when they also work full-time jobs. Husbands may chip in, but it’s often the wife who keeps track of doctor’s appointments, plans the kids’ schedules, and ensures the fridge is stocked and meals are ready. This unequal distribution of labor leaves many wives feeling more like exhausted managers than equal partners.

    And let’s not ignore the emotional toll. It’s not just about folding laundry or helping with homework. Women often bear the mental load—the invisible, unpaid labor of keeping a household and family running. Meanwhile, some husbands dismiss this as “nagging” or downplay the significance of what it takes to make a family thrive.

    This isn’t just anecdotal frustration—it’s a systemic issue rooted in patriarchy. For centuries, marriage was less about love and more about ownership. Women were considered property, their roles confined to serving husbands and bearing children. Although we’ve made strides in women’s rights, echoes of this archaic mindset still linger in how many marriages operate today.

    The truth is, marriage doesn’t always protect or support women. In too many cases, it burdens them. And while some men step up, far too many don’t—and women are becoming increasingly resentful of the ones who don’t even try.

    Here’s where feminism comes in. Feminism isn’t about vilifying men; it’s about leveling the playing field. It’s about ensuring that women aren’t entering marriages destined to be one-sided arrangements where they’re treated as the lesser sex. Feminism challenges us to reimagine marriage as a true partnership—a collaboration between equals where the work, love, and responsibility are shared, not dumped disproportionately onto one person.

    We should be entering marriages as teammates, not as master and servant. It’s time to dismantle the idea that wives exist to pick up the slack or bear the brunt of the work. No woman should feel like she has to mother her husband while raising her kids or carry the entire emotional and logistical load of a family on her back.

    The power dynamics in marriage won’t change overnight, but they won’t change at all if we don’t call them out. Women deserve better than marriages that drain them, leaving them bitter and broken. We deserve husbands who see us as equals, who value our time, and who recognize that a true partnership means sharing the burdens of life—not adding to them.

    Marriage can be beautiful, but only when both partners are committed to pulling their weight. Let’s stop settling for less. Let’s demand equality, respect, and balance—not just in society but in our homes.

  • Adventures of a Boy Mom

    The other day my single friend asked me what motherhood is like. Her question gave me pause for a moment. I could tell her how wonderful it is. I could sugar coat it and only share the good parts. But then I thought, why lie?

    Being a mom is like juggling chainsaws while riding a unicycle on a tightrope. But being a mom of not one, not two, but three boys? Buckle up, friends. That’s a whole new level of chaos! Yeah, you read that correctly – three boys. Ages 8, 14, and 19. If I survive this, I deserve a medal or at least a lifetime supply of wine.

    So, let’s start with the youngest one – my eight-year-old tornado. You know you’re in for an adventure when he’s awake. It’s like having a tiny, over-caffeinated superhero who can’t decide whether he’s saving the world or causing chaos. Just yesterday, he decided the living room was a perfect jungle, and I found him jumping across the furniture, tennis racket in hand (thanks, Aunt Kathy), hunting a lion, also known as our dog, Daley. And don’t get me started on his food preferences. If it’s not shaped like a dinosaur, he is not eating it. I tried to sneak in some broccoli disguised as “dinosaur trees” – the look he gave me, you’d think I’d served him a plate of actual T-Rex poop.

    Speaking of food, feeding three boys is like trying to fill a bottomless pit. I’m convinced they have some sort of secret compartment in their stomachs. I cook a meal, and within seconds, it’s gone. I sometimes wonder if I should just skip the plates and serve everything in a trough. It’d be more efficient, honestly.

    Our dinnertime conversations are interesting. We go from discussing the mysteries of the universe, like why pizza is round but comes in a square box, to the intricacies of Minecraft architecture. I’ve learned more about pixelated building techniques than I ever thought I would.

    Next we have the 14-year-old. Ah, the teenager. I remember when he was eight, he used to think I was the coolest person on Earth. Now, I’m just a walking embarrassment. Apparently, my mere presence is enough to mortify him. He communicates in a series of grunts and eye rolls. I recently tried to use some of his slang to seem “hip.” Big mistake. I mentioned his new shoes were “fire” and he looked at me with contempt.

    Finally, the 19-year-old – he’s supposed to be an adult, but I swear he’s just a taller version of the 14-year-old with a driver’s license. He comes home from work and immediately hides in his room. He’s in that phase where he’s too cool for everything. Conversations with him usually involve a lot of one-word answers. I’ve become an expert at decoding grunts and deciphering the hidden meanings behind a raised eyebrow.

    Let’s touch on the topic of laundry. It’s like a never-ending cycle of dirty clothes, especially with a 14-year-old who thinks that wearing the same pair of sweats for a week is totally fine. I’ve considered handing out gas masks to the family when it’s laundry day – you know, for safety reasons.

    But you know what? Despite the craziness, being a mom of three boys is an adventure like no other. It’s like running a zoo, a circus, and a demolition derby all at once. There’s never a dull moment. I’ve learned to perfect my referee skills when they’re arguing over who gets the last slice of pizza – because apparently, that’s a matter of life and death. These boys might drive me up the wall, but they’re my heart and soul. They challenge me, they make me laugh, and they keep me on my toes. I wouldn’t trade it for the world.

  • Embracing the Journey: Watching Owen Grow from Little Boy to Young Man

    As the calendar inches closer to October, my heart swells with emotions as I prepare to celebrate my son Owen’s 14th birthday. It’s a time of reflection, and as I sit down with a collection of photographs taken over the past year, I’m struck by the profound transition that has taken place. In the quiet moments when I pour over these images, I can’t help but see my little boy evolving into a young man right before my eyes.

    Each snapshot tells a story of a year filled with growth, change, and discovery. In every photograph, I can trace the path of his journey, from the innocence of childhood to the budding maturity of adolescence. It’s a transformation that’s both beautiful and bittersweet, and it leaves me feeling a complex mix of pride and nostalgia.

    Looking at these pictures, I can still vividly recall the day Owen was born. I held him in my arms for the first time, feeling an overwhelming rush of love and responsibility. In those early years, he was my little buddy, my partner in all sorts of adventures, and my source of endless joy. His laughter and curiosity filled our home with an indescribable warmth.

    As I flip through these snapshots, I see glimpses of that same little boy I birthed, the one who used to run around the backyard with reckless abandon and who could always be found with a mischievous smile. But now, as his 14th birthday approaches, I also see something else – the emergence of manly features and a growing sense of independence.

    Owen’s face, once adorned with the cherubic innocence of childhood, now bears the subtle contours and sharp angles of a young man. His voice has deepened, his shoulders have broadened, and his interests have evolved. He’s developing his own tastes, opinions, and dreams, and I couldn’t be prouder of the person he’s becoming.

    Yet, it’s impossible to ignore the bittersweet tinge that accompanies this transformation. As I watch Owen evolve into a young man, I can’t help but yearn for those simpler times when he would crawl into my lap for a bedtime story or reach for my hand on a walk to the park. The days when I could still cradle him in my arms are fading into cherished memories.

    But in this bittersweet moment, I am reminded that growing up is a natural part of life’s beautiful tapestry. As parents, our greatest task is to nurture, guide, and empower our children to become the best versions of themselves. It’s a journey filled with moments of nostalgia, but it’s also a journey filled with hope, anticipation, and the promise of the future.

    So, as we prepare to celebrate Owen’s 14th birthday, I embrace this transition with an open heart. I am privileged to witness the evolution of my son, to be a part of his story as he grows into the man he is destined to be. Though I may always see the little boy I birthed when I look at him, I am also excited to see the man he will become, for I know that his future holds boundless potential and countless adventures.

    Happy early birthday, Owen. May your journey into young adulthood be as extraordinary as you are.

  • Embracing Bittersweet Moments: My Kids are Headed Back to School

    As the sun begins to set on another hot summer, a new chapter unfolds before me – the return of my children to school. The house, once filled with their laughter and boundless energy, now takes on a quieter, more reflective atmosphere. Time has flown by, and it seems like just yesterday they were in my arms as infants, utterly dependent on my every move. Now, they stand at the threshold of independence, ready to face the world on their own terms.

    The sight of my kids heading back to school triggers an array of emotions within me – pride, nostalgia, and a touch of melancholy. It’s a bittersweet moment, one where joy intertwines with a pang of sadness. I remember the days I sent each of my boys off to kindergarten, fighting back tears as I left them, alone, at school, without me. The realization that my children are growing up far too quickly is both awe-inspiring and a little overwhelming. It’s as if the hands of time have conspired to whisk them away from the cocoon of our home, transforming them into individuals with dreams, aspirations, and their own unique paths to follow.

    The journey of motherhood has been an exhilarating whirlwind, a series of precious moments strung together like pearls on a necklace. From their first steps to their first words, from the contagious laughter echoing through the hallway to the late-night conversations that taught us about life’s complexities, every step has been a testament to their growth. Each day, they’ve been building wings to carry them to heights I can only dream of, and as they flutter ever closer to their aspirations, I find myself in awe of the people they’re becoming.

    One can’t help but reflect on the inevitable truth that one day, they will leave the nest and embark on their own journeys. The thought of them forging their own paths, making their own choices, and living lives independent of my guidance is simultaneously thrilling and heartrending. It’s akin to releasing a fragile butterfly into the wild – knowing that its beauty and grace are meant to be shared with the world, but also recognizing that its flight will take it farther and farther away from me.

    While I’m excited to witness the greatness I know lies ahead for them, a part of me aches at the prospect of an emptier home, devoid of their laughter, their arguments, and their presence. Yet, that ache is a testament to the depth of love we share, a love that has bound us together through all the highs and lows of life. It’s a love that allows me to let go, to give them the space they need to grow, while always being there to catch them if they stumble.

    As parents, we’re custodians of our children’s dreams, architects of their foundations, and cheerleaders for their aspirations. We’ve planted seeds of curiosity, nurtured their individuality, and watched as they’ve flourished into vibrant young souls with the potential to shape the world. And while the day will come when they’ll spread their wings and take flight, our roles will evolve into that of silent supporters, watching with pride as they make their mark.

    So, as I watch my children set off on their new academic year, a symphony of emotions fills my heart. I can’t help but marvel at the privilege of being a part of their journey, of witnessing their growth, and of loving them unconditionally. The road ahead might be uncertain, but it’s paved with the knowledge that they are well-equipped to face whatever challenges come their way.

    As a mother, I stand at the intersection of pride and nostalgia, allowing these bittersweet moments to wash over me. And while I’ll miss them terribly, I am excited to see the incredible things they will achieve, and to be there, even from afar, cheering them on every step of the way.