I am thrilled to be launching the Militant Mama column to address issues and stimulate discussion pertaining to your children; those mystical, loving, challenging creatures that have shaken up the old you and turned you into someone new, someone you may not understand, someone you love yet may confuse and frustrate you, someone who perhaps used to have a big career filled with lots of ego strokes but is now dangling a plastic Big Bird in front of a baby and blathering along to a Raffi tape.

We love our kids fiercely, but this shift in identity often spurs a War Between The Selves.

As the author of the book Surrendering to Motherhood: Losing Your Mind, Finding Your Soul, I've had the opportunity to meet hundreds of women throughout the United States who are feeling those same feelings: the joy and the pain that come with personal transformation. What I have come to know after three years of conversations with women is that as mothers of young children, we all struggle with the same issues, and this makes it less lonely, more empowering. After we give birth, we all wonder whether we should keep working, and how much. We all ask ourselves whether we are good mothers. We all feel the angst that comes from trying to make time for a husband when saddled by needy children. We are all tired. We all love our children deeply, but are wistful for something we left behind. We all labor over finding the perfect child care, yet we all know in our gut there is no one as perfect to care for our children than us.

As the mother of four sons, ages 9, 7 and 5-year-old twins, I feel all of these things too, all of the time. In part, I see my role as The Militant Mama as someone who helps solidify the network between iParenting readers. And I see myself serving as someone who helps get your views across and respond to common problems, thus our choice to feature frequent Question and Answer columns.

Let me share with you something central on my mind as the lush rainbow of autumn is turning into a brown and brittle landscape and the holidays are rushing upon us, and I am wincing about the swift passage of time. I long, ironically, for those few days in September when the hurling winds of Hurricane Floyd forced us to slow down. Floyd hit our town near the Chesapeake Bay with such ferocity that President Clinton marked our county a disaster area. Yet the storm that turned the skies to angry gray and flooded our streets and severed our electrical lines flung my own family into a serene and glorious place. It forced us to stop: to stop the whirlwind of school and soccer practice and gymnastics, to stop the car pooling, the scheduling. There was nowhere to go -- everything was closed. For two wonderful days, we were suspended in the moment: no television to lull us into a mechanical daze, no glaring lights, only the soft glow of candles and the calm that comes from reading stories to our children in a cluster around the fireplace.

In the blackness of those days, our family came away with a blinding illumination on the simple pleasures of sitting around doing nothing with the people you love the most, being content where you are when you are there and not itching to be somewhere else. When life overwhelms you and there's too much to do all at once, remember the valuable lesson of Hurricane Floyd: Stop and savor the glorious moment that is right in front of you. As mothers of young children, it is crucial to find ways to slow time, to embrace the Now. You know from your pediatrician visits when the children get measured and weighed how fast they grow, how quickly an 8-pound newborn turns into a 30-pound toddler.

My own first born, Theo, turns 10 in December and already stands at 5 feet, 2 inches. In a finger snap, he will be a teenager. It seems just yesterday I was sitting in a rocking chair and he was a tiny bundle slumped against my chest. Theo is often my teacher when I'm going in a thousand directions, mind and body rushing so fast that the present moment is a blur. Last Saturday on my way to our mailbox, I stumbled upon Theo lying face down on the cold pavement, mesmerized by a snail. The snail was laboriously inching its way across the driveway, millimeter by millimeter, and there Theo lay, perfectly still, his face aglow with wonder.

"Mommy, why does a snail go so slow?" he asked. I found myself stretching out beside him, my nose in the mud, to figure out the slowest of creatures with my boy. Soon I forgot the mail I was dashing to fetch, the 20 unanswered phone messages, the lunch dishes in the sink, the beds not made, the piles of laundry in the house. There was nothing more pressing to do than share a moment of magic with a snail and Theo.

Look around you at what's going on -- right here and right now -- with your own family and relax into the moment; something our children seem to do so effortlessly. Time goes too quickly, and we can never get it back. Please write me with your thoughts on motherhood, on marriage after childbirth, on balancing work and family and on your own war between the selves. We are going to have fun!