I know why I’m second best. I know that since I’m the one involved in the daily parenting grind, telling her – make your bed, go brush your teeth, get dressed, STOP jiggling my butt! – I’m the prime target for her frustration and anger. I WANT TO BE THE FAVORITE PARENT!
This one felt different. It was closer to home than ever before. This time, my children are old enough to see the news and ask questions.
My hair became impossibly thick. I started getting teased in grade school as the adorable curls morphed into some curls, some shag carpeting.
The next time someone says, “you can just adopt”, feel free to kindly remind them that adoption is much harder than one would ever guess.
I was advised not to have more children after a high-risk pregnancy resulting in a preemie son. I’m still judged for my decision to have an only child.
To me, mom hair means hair that is way too long and far too neglected. I have not had a haircut since before my second child was born.
Learning to find my way home when I was lost, has allowed me to teach my three children that they, too, can go wherever they want to.
“Hate isn’t new,” he calmly stated. “Cameras are new. This has always happened. And it’s always been wrong. But now more people know about it. More people see it happening. It empowers us to work harder at ending it.”
Four years ago, I spent a very rainy Friday afternoon in a temple sitting with other mourners as I listened to a rabbi say beautiful things about a friend I knew…
Loving like a mother is simply defined by the object of that love. When you love someone unconditionally, you love like a mother.
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Dear last child of mine, You are the last baby I will hold, the last baby whose soft body I will smell, the last one I will feed and comfort at night.
My children take melatonin. Every. Single. Night. We refer to their nightly doses as their “meds.” As in, “Are you ready to brush your teeth, or do you still need your meds?”
With six kids, I got caught up in the day to day of family life. It’s easy to do. But when I forgot to love my husband, I realized my mistake.
As our kids grow, the firsts come less frequently and the time stretched between them lengthen. We don’t celebrate the later milestones.