It was routine for me to enjoy books with my children before they fell asleep. The books I picked out helped them get to know me, and the ones they chose showed me who they were.
What I've come to understand is that no matter how much I read about raising children, the only way to learn how to do handle things is by actually doing it myself. Children are all so different, even when raised in the same household, and no two tactics or books would have worked.
You should date, and let your kids know about it. Denying your sexuality and need for romantic connection sets a bad example for your children and thrusts too much responsibility on them to care for your emotional needs now, and physical and financial needs in the future.
I'm with Natalie Bree Hajek-Richardson on this one. That's the woman who got punched in the face outside of a California Nordstrom for asking the mother of a child throwing a tantrum if she could calm her child.
So Jerry Seinfeld says he has autistic tendencies. Can we use this a stepping stone to broaden the conversation to how autism affects so many people? How there is such a range to the diagnosis. Can we stop fixating on how someone doesn't fit your prejudiced idea of what autism is?
I'd been living all day in neon office light, with grown-up office people. My head was still buzzing with the rhythms and problems of my fast-paced day. Home was domestic, lamp-lit and adhering to its own time table.
let's shift our focus just a bit. Let's evaluate ourselves at the end of the weekend on the fun we have had, on the joy in the home, and the memories made, and not on how clean the house is or how much we've checked off of our list.
Revel in your own bite, then offer some with a casual, take-it-or-leave-it attitude. "Ooh, wilted spinach. That's good. I taste a little of that lemon. Would you like some, too?"
I can guarantee you that not once in the seven years since I have had small children in Rome have I ever been charged for the kids' milk. They brush it off with genuine kindness, almost as if they were offended by your offer to pay.
It's what my high school film teacher Mr. Hosney would call a 700-layer-cake experience, that with each new viewing of the film, another layer of insight -- whether cultural, generational, or emotional -- is uncovered.
I want my words to have weight as I set them in the hands of my children, when they put them in their pockets to pull out long after they've left my lips.
We have four kids at four different schools with two different custody schedules. Not to mention piano, tutoring, soccer, cross country, basketball and two girls playing tennis. He and I both will probably spend at least eight hours in the car this week carpooling kids. Every week is tough logistically, but I am proud to say we are surviving.
I don't know what people picture when they think of someone who would dare admit that she was molested as a child, but I don't think it is me. Nor do I believe it is the face of the several female and male friends of mine who are also survivors living "normal" lives.
When we allow our children to be our teachers, they remind us of the value of seeing the world as they do, which involves living more simply, showing greater compassion and being more mindful.
It took us long time to get pregnant with Molly. Not a long, long time, but long enough. Long enough to start to get used to the knot in my stomach every month as I counted the days and the symptoms, trying not to convince myself that every little twinge of nausea was a good sign.
She cried when you found out she was pregnant. She cried as she gave birth to you. She cried when she first held you. She cried with happiness. She cried with fear. She cried with worry. She cried because she feels so deeply for you.