We may have been safe, but we were not unscathed. I felt the potential catastrophes around each corner. And in the shadows lurked the great What Ifs. The Could Have Beens packed themselves into each crack of my surface.
Yup. You read that right. I let my 5-year-old use a pacifier. Cue the judgment.
My son ate peanut butter all day every day during the summer, but now that he’s back to school in a nut-free environment, he has given up his beloved peanut butter for 6.5 hours a day, and the world has continued to spin.
My father is an abusive alcoholic. I am determined to ensure that my children have a completely different childhood from the one I had.
When I decided against redshirting my four-year-old, he had a lot of growing up to do, and he had trouble adjusting to the regimen of school.
Forget report cards. No grade can measure who my daughter truly is. She is so far beyond “outstanding” in every way to those who know and love her.
Raising a teen is often likened to riding a rollercoaster, but that may be an understatement. I charted the emotions that came with parenting for a few days. It was a lot.
Every new parent goes through that phase when marriage inadvertently crawls to sulk in a dark corner of the basement, hidden by cobwebs, grieving alone.
Eighteen gets to be a gut-wrenchingly small number when you realize that’s the number of times you have to make significant memories with your kids.
Your name is Emily. You are loved. Fiercely. You complete our family, and it is hard to imagine being without you. But you don’t exist. You never did. And you never will.
We may have been safe, but we were not unscathed. I felt the potential catastrophes around each corner. And in the shadows lurked the great What Ifs. The Could Have Beens packed themselves into each crack of my surface.
Yup. You read that right. I let my 5-year-old use a pacifier. Cue the judgment.
My son ate peanut butter all day every day during the summer, but now that he’s back to school in a nut-free environment, he has given up his beloved peanut butter for 6.5 hours a day, and the world has continued to spin.
My father is an abusive alcoholic. I am determined to ensure that my children have a completely different childhood from the one I had.
When I decided against redshirting my four-year-old, he had a lot of growing up to do, and he had trouble adjusting to the regimen of school.
Forget report cards. No grade can measure who my daughter truly is. She is so far beyond “outstanding” in every way to those who know and love her.
Raising a teen is often likened to riding a rollercoaster, but that may be an understatement. I charted the emotions that came with parenting for a few days. It was a lot.
Every new parent goes through that phase when marriage inadvertently crawls to sulk in a dark corner of the basement, hidden by cobwebs, grieving alone.
Eighteen gets to be a gut-wrenchingly small number when you realize that’s the number of times you have to make significant memories with your kids.
Your name is Emily. You are loved. Fiercely. You complete our family, and it is hard to imagine being without you. But you don’t exist. You never did. And you never will.
