Love More, Judge Less
Yesterday, my seven year old said to me, “I want to play Legos upstairs.” I glanced up from my phone, and said, “ok, go ahead.” He replied, “No. With you.” WITH YOU. Both of my kids say this all the time. If they go upstairs, out in the backyard, or even to the bathroom, they want me
I first discovered the magic of horses at five years old, and, as the saying goes, we were off and running. By age seven, I (literally) landed my first pony-related concussion and sutures. Undaunted, I climbed back into the saddle the moment the doctor gave the OK. My parents were initially in some form
Lately I’ve been thinking… Am I happy? There was a point in my adult life when I knew, for a fact, I was not happy. I was not depressed. I was able to find some joy but I was definitely not living a happy life. I was overwhelmed, worried, and bombarded by stress
Teaching our children is an oft-discussed topic among parents. What and who should educate them, and which environment will provide the best platform for learning. Factors including genetics, culture, family structure and parenting styles are considered. Variables like demographics and geography find their way into the equation. We debate, we rate, we rant. We theorize, and
The Hamilton soundtrack has been in heavy rotation in our house for several months now, partly in preparation for a planned Broadway adventure on Lili’s upcoming birthday – but mostly because it’s awesome. Lili digs the varied genres of music incorporated into the score, I enjoy the history and creative wordplay. Two songs have
Helicopter parents are a readily identifiable species: Omnipresent, hovering, constantly scanning the area for dangers (both real and imagined) that might warrant swooping in to rescue their beloved child(ren). Many people know at least a few who fit that description, and some of us will recognize ourselves therein. Although I do not know if there
“You are only free when you realize you belong no place — you belong every place — no place at all.” Maya Angelou
I quickly lose sight of the fact that she is only 4 and a half. I’ll be the first to admit that I have become complacent. I leave her to her own devices at times. Especially when I am trying to run a house by myself. She is also painfully independent (see aforementioned slamming of bedroom door). I trust her not to put peas up her nose or to eat crayons. I am far too trusting.
Looking back I wish I could have been kinder to myself. I wish I could have just said to myself that it’s okay to lay down all the time, it’s okay to take a break, and to have actually believed it. But self-care is hard for me. I think it comes down to being a perfectionist and also living in a society that so strongly values productivity and busyness.
These days, most of my time is divided between wishing my toddler would talk more, and silently willing nearly everyone else to shut the f*ck up. You see, my beautiful, bright, sweet little boy has a speech delay – which, while both common and curable, is not without its own set of trials and tribulations.
