I don’t care if my kids swear. I do care if you’re judging me for it.
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.
Your child’s senior year is not only a year of to-do’s, tasks and applications to finish, it is also a bit of an emotional roller coaster.
The lessons from our Founding Fathers in Hamilton: An American Musical are remarkably applicable to today, and Lin-Manuel Miranda’s lyrics are genius.
These two teens living in my house, have survived every parenting mistake I have made. No one is perfect; we are all learning as we go. And that is the one lesson, the most important lesson I have learned; as long as I am doing the best I can do, they are going to thrive.
Anxiety, stress, and depression are normal and valid feelings in today’s landscape. How can we help our teens to reduce stress and conflict?
Reality sets in when your kid slides behind the wheel. Having a teen driver can turn a laid-back parent into a hand-wringing, nail-biting nervous nelly.
If your daughter is heading to college next fall, you’re probably in the same place I was last year. It was my daughter’s last summer before college.
Her words, I hate you, kept playing over in my head. I could feel her hostility towards me, the mere fact I was standing in her room, had her head spinning.
Side by side, we’ll walk home, shadowy branches swaying gently overhead, their claws finger painting the constellation of a runner darting across the sky.
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“Come,” the face said. “Let me help you break free of this average life. Let me help you find your joy by throwing away half your stuff.”
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?”
We made it: we survived. Fifteen years married. Three kids, countless diapers, everything couples do to build a life. And we made it.
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.