Fireworks don’t go off for great parental achievements. There are no major awards to be handed out.
Fireworks don’t go off for great parental achievements. There are no major awards to be handed out.
I may have helped, but his successes were about him doing it, not me teaching him.
It’s why my stomach gets knots. It’s why I come running.
Getting hurt is easy, not letting it change who you are isn’t.
In that hospital bed, the question of whether I would do anything for my kids was real.
The best I can do is come storming back down the hallway mumbling about, “Freakin’ socks and this house.”
There are some days when I am in awe of his nerve.
It’s everyone’s chance to remember, even if you don’t want to.
I don’t want to live my life angry and, just because I have kids, it doesn’t mean I have to.
I’m ready for anything. I’m not excited about it. I’m not looking to have long talks about it. But I am prepared for it.
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