I thought about what it would be like to go back and tell myself in 2011 all that was about to happen.
Slime-making is basically when you spend $30 on supplies to make a handful of sticky goo that you could buy for 50 cents in the vending machines as you leave the supermarket.
No one really said anything for a moment. They didn’t need to.
Our minds are littered with thoughts that begin with “when I was a kid…”
They don’t make bumper stickers that say, “My Child Didn’t Break My Daughter’s Barbie House Today”
He’s my son. I made him. He’s a part of me. Any good I do for him, I do for myself.
The most amazing thing is how easily it all could have never happened had I just brushed her reply aside like an arrogant grown-up.
It”s rare that I leave an interaction with him without smiling a little bit more than when I went in.
It wasn’t a secret word anymore. Soon it was just another aspect of our lives and categorized along with all of the other quirks in our family.
Yes, it’s an exaggerated sense of fault in situations like these, but that’s how they become learning experiences.