parents
The boundless love a parent has for their child is matched only by their capacity to embarrass them.
Free Bird Nation
Wife. Mom. Friend. Co-worker. Sister. Empty Nester. And so it began. Empty Nester was added to the top-line summary of who I am. Now to be sure, I am proud that my “birds” are reaching adulthood and leaving the nest. There is just something about the term “empty nester” that I have simply never liked. Maybe it’s just the word “empty” itself.
By Alison Kreuch5 years ago in Families
The Bipolar Life
There has always been a little (and I mean little) part of my conscious that knew things were bad. Decisions I have made in life were always impulsive, weren't thought out all the way through, and were hardly ever good. Being bipolar, my ups and downs always had me going in ways I shouldn't have.I went un-diagnosed for almost twenty years of my life. I could never explain the rash decisions I made to my parents, friends, or anyone I knew.
By TurboedGoddess5 years ago in Families
Open Letters to My Mama – Letter Three
Dear Mama, Okay, so you KNEW this one was coming. How could I not talk about your talent?! You’ve got more talent in your little finger, than most people I know put together. You ace your fucking job, every single time, you can sing (yes, yes you can), you nail being a mum, you have a talent for being able to cheer anyone up; no matter what’s wrong. AND - and this could be the most important - your Pesto Pasta is the best I’ve ever tasted. True story.
By Rebecca Smith5 years ago in Families
Being a first time mum with mental health
Being a First Time Mum and Mental health STOP. This is a safe place for you to stop for a minute and read. The words mental health are scary to admit and no one really likes to say they struggle with this but so many people do and I think it's a subject we all need to talk about more in a positive not a negative way.
By Sherilyn Smith 5 years ago in Families
What My Dad Taught Me
My sperm donor was Polish/Russian. My mother is Mexican. My stepfather, the man I called daddy was a smart, well educated, financially sound black man. He married my mother after the divorce and raised me from the age of seven. I identify more with the black community than the white. I lived in a predominately black neighborhood. I went to predominately black schools. My mother said I was the only person she ever knew who could easily flip flop in and out of different people situations. I had friends of every race and got along with everyone.
By Melanie Crane5 years ago in Families
Below the Surface
“If you do not have anything nice to say, keep your mouth shut,” I remember her saying. Looking back, I see my report cards littered with nice things my teachers said about me—“She’s so quiet, shy, and such a good girl.” I was not superiorly witty, in fact, the earliest memory is of the nameless boy spitting in my face, on the sidewalk after school. The shy, nice little girl stood stunned until I cried, not even a thought to wipe my face. I ran all the way home. Fast forward looking back, the little girl in me pictures a sharp image—one of the serious objections of a boy ejecting any such aversion or contempt toward me. Little did I understand, the value of such a lasting memory, how this event shaped my inner spirit.
By Tamara Sobolewski5 years ago in Families
Boyhood to Manhood
I new it was our last Christmas with him. With that in mind I had an overwhelming desire to do something memorable for him. I went shopping and bought him a Montreal Canadians Jersey, because I knew how much he loved hockey. I bought him a card as well. When I arrived home I sat in my office and began to write. I felt my mind become emotionally guarded when I began writing. I was doubting if I should write the things I wanted to say. I was unsure of myself and perhaps a may be going a little over board with the emotional thoughts on this paper. Eventually I said SCREW IT! I freed my mind and just let my thoughts and emotions just go and wrote how I really felt. Christmas Eve finally came. I wrapped my presents put them in my backpack and headed over to Mom and Dads for dinner. A week before my mother told me NOT to give Dad a Christmas present this year. He knew it was going to be his last and all he wanted was for us to all be together, he did not want material objects. I thought about what my mother said but in the end I decided not to listen. I knew this was going to be his Christmas so I was going all out in showing him how much he means to me and the value that he added to my life. When I arrived at the house on Christmas Eve I greeted Mom and found Dad in his recliner like he always was. He looked tired worn down eyes were dazed from exhaustion, his back was hurting and God knows what the cancer inside his body was doing doing to him. However no matter how he looked or he felt he still maintained a beaming spirit. That is what impressed and inspired me the most. The fact that cancer was tormenting his insides but he never complained or got angry or frustrated about it. When we entered the house he put all is positive energy onto us. After we had our turkey dinner it was time to open our presents. I was nervous about giving my Dad his gift. I was not sure of how he was going to got respond. The response that I got was way beyond anything I could have imagined. He opened up his present he was thrilled. He loved The Montreal Canadians sweater. However now came for the emotional part. He opened the card and began to read it. As he began reading the Christmas Card he got two sentences and his voice became very shaky, his eyes started tear up and for the first time in my life he saw cry. I may have refer to him as my father but he was my step father that came into my life 12 year earlier. When I first met him I was apprehensive of attempting to build a connection with him. I was not a lucky boy when it came to strong reliable role models in my life. It took many years of consistency and devotion to building a connection with me. My step father never lost patience with me and allowed me to come to him at my own pace. When we arrived at the last 6 months of his life and really dawned on me of the positive influence that he had on my life. I finally came to the realization that he was able to be the strong reliable father figure that I never had. From what I understood from his tears when he was reading my card was he was waiting for my stamp of approval for a very long time. He yearning for me to finally accept him as the father that I never had. I realized in that moment that he earned from me. He established a fatherly son bond with me that one else was ever able to do. After he was done reading the card we both stood up and hugged each other and told each other "I love you". That was very first time in 12 years we have said that to each other. From there we enjoyed our Christmas dinner. After dinner my mother pulled me aside in the kitchen and as my father was taking a nap in the living room. She told me that she had many conversation over the years with him that he was waiting for the moment of acceptance from me for a long time. Before I left that evening my father told both myself and my mother that it may be his last Christmas but it was also his favorite Christmas and I was an enormous contribution to that happiness. Every single day I pattern myself after his example. He was my constant and now its my turn to be the constant for someone who needs it just as much as I did.
By Logan Rider5 years ago in Families
