I’m entering unchartered waters, and for the first time I won’t be able to think back of my own mom and what she did for me when I was his age.
This month, my family and I are taking an epic journey—in an RV. We’ll put ourselves and our kids – who aren’t exactly clamoring to spend more time with us – and a limited amount of belongings inside a 25-foot vehicle for the next four weeks.
That moment when you tell a child YOU ARE NOT ALONE, and in doing so, realize that you are not alone.
“OK, Mom. I trust you. We can do this.”
Who you are and the qualities you possess will take anywhere you want to go.
“I hope by the time I’m your age I have found my confidence.”
In a way, these gestures imply that the crying needs to hurry up and stop. What happens when this is communicated to kids and teens when they cry?
I am still madly in love with my daughter. I know she still loves me, too. But that isn’t enough to make her want to live with me.
My greatest desire, like all parents, is for my children to grow into happy, healthy adults. But watching it happen in front of my eyes is achingly bittersweet.
When could the right moment come to tell your son he has a brain tumor?