
How to Deal with the School Bully
Bullying. The not so last frontier of childhood. Despite the passing of decades, it is one piece of childhood that refuses to go away.
Bullying. The not so last frontier of childhood. Despite the passing of decades, it is one piece of childhood that refuses to go away.
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.
Yup. You read that right. I let my 5-year-old use a pacifier. Cue the judgment.
“So is motherhood worth it?” asks my colleague somewhat skeptically from across the cafeteria table.
My father is an abusive alcoholic. I am determined to ensure that my children have a completely different childhood from the one I had.
Success in college isn’t some grand event that happens overnight. It’s developed every day, little by little. It’s more an evolution than revolution.
Somewhere, at some point, a woman sat connected to a pump and had gotten more than her baby could eat. Her lactation donation helped my preemie.
He was already in his sophomore year, the tears surprised me. He’s been busy growing up at college. Without me. And he’s doing a damn good job of it.
It’s my turn…but somehow I can’t get over my body. Does he notice?
The first day of school would inevitably include the correction of my name in the vast majority of rolls called. It’s not “Rhianna” or “Rhiawwna.” I don’t know why people seem to assume the “n” is silent.
Bullying. The not so last frontier of childhood. Despite the passing of decades, it is one piece of childhood that refuses to go away.
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.
Yup. You read that right. I let my 5-year-old use a pacifier. Cue the judgment.
“So is motherhood worth it?” asks my colleague somewhat skeptically from across the cafeteria table.
My father is an abusive alcoholic. I am determined to ensure that my children have a completely different childhood from the one I had.
Success in college isn’t some grand event that happens overnight. It’s developed every day, little by little. It’s more an evolution than revolution.
Somewhere, at some point, a woman sat connected to a pump and had gotten more than her baby could eat. Her lactation donation helped my preemie.
He was already in his sophomore year, the tears surprised me. He’s been busy growing up at college. Without me. And he’s doing a damn good job of it.
It’s my turn…but somehow I can’t get over my body. Does he notice?
The first day of school would inevitably include the correction of my name in the vast majority of rolls called. It’s not “Rhianna” or “Rhiawwna.” I don’t know why people seem to assume the “n” is silent.