“Mom, how come Uncle John drinks so many beers? How come Grandma G doesn’t get down on the floor and play with us? How come dad gets mad at me for getting rocks in the grass? Why do we have to put all our toys away before dad gets home?”
Some of those questions are easier to answer than others. I could have glossed over some of the answers, or completely ignored some of the more difficult questions.
When my kids were little people learning to talk, figuring out that a lot of life was spent relating to other folks and not just their mom and dad, I made an instinctive decision to answer each and every one of their questions.
I made the choice to use other people’s actions and attitudes as learning opportunities.
My instincts also told me to use a respectful, adult voice when relating to my kids. Sure, there were times when we’d be snuggling or they’d be sitting on my lap, and I’d coo to them the way I sometimes feel that I’m biologically programmed to do. And, when they were sick, I’d use a sweeter, more tender voice. But for day-to-day interactions – discussing how to tie shoes, why you shouldn’t kick your sister in the butt with the pointy part of your cowboy boot, and why you may want to wait until you’re a 13 year old girl to roll your eyes – I’d use an adult voice. Continue reading →
There was tech-decking at 2:30 a.m. There were empty cans of Coke on every table, hot chili pepper eating contests, loudest burp contests, and soggy ski pants, mittens, hats, and sweatshirts strewn from one end of the house to the other.
I’ve been writing here for over a year. Jen and Will know what the blog is about. Will keeps asking for permission to read the whole blog. He’s not ready for that.
My fingers are still thawing as I write this post.
There’s a post rolling around in my head. I keep trying to avoid it. It’s going to make me write it. It’s about why I believe divorce is the only way to survive a relationship with a narcissist.
They hadn’t seen him in three weeks. On Friday night, they spent over five hours with him. When they walked in the door, at the end of the night, I did a quick scan to check for rapid blinking, slumped shoulders, nervous pacing or shell-shocked expressions.
Yesterday marked three weeks since
