I can still remember the first time that my sweet-faced, doting, little princess ripped my heart out. She was two.
Every family has their own language. It’s made up of words or phrases that no one else would understand. Every person contributes. Every person speaks it.
The hardest thing about my non-verbal son’s first day of school was sending him alone on that bus.
“What time do you guys fight Santa?”
I want her to believe that she’s the best artist on Earth. Why? Because she is.
I forced myself to ride the exercise bike for at least 30 minutes and did a series of weights afterwards. With each rep, I seethed with anger.
The days of, “there are no socks up here” quickly become “I’m going to a study group with friends” as they hit the teenage years.
Kids today aren’t as coddled as you might think. They’re also not kidding themselves.
All the “Just For Men” hair dye commercials and black birthday balloons with tombstones on them can’t shake me.
We’re all artists who can’t enjoy our own work because we see the errors that no one else does.