Gratitude is not a lesson to be learned like English or Math. It’s not something I can MAKE my kids understand. It is not something I can shame my kids into either. I have to model it. I have to model HOW to be grateful to them.
“I’m scared. Scared I’ve ruined my life and I’ll never be happy again,” I cried, wishing I wasn’t alone. Wanting someone there to help me, to pick up my baby and hold his anguish for a little while. To let me stand outside, away from the cries, away from his need of me, away from my shame. I wanted to hear that this would pass, there was help, a break.
My mom has decided now that she’s 71, it’s time to say f-you to what…
I sat in a monster’s lap one summer and I drank from his glass. It was filled with the most delicious vanilla milkshake I’d ever had.