I don’t know how old my kids were before they figured out that rubber bands weren’t actually called ammo. Will had this wooden gun that shot red rubber bands. He’d holler, “Mom, I need more ammo. Where’s the ammo?” Jenny would be cruising around with a Barbie tucked under one arm, and she’d spot a red rubber band behind a chair, and she’d yell, “Hey brother! Over here! There’s ammo behind the chair.”
I think they discovered rubber bands were called ‘rubber bands’ about the time they discovered bars of soap. Seriously, they didn’t know soap came in a solid. The first time they took a bath with a bar of soap was a thing to behold. They spent a big soapy long while in the tub. The bar of soap was squeezed between their little slippery wet hands, until it popped up and landed back in the water with a big splash.
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I used to follow this chat forum about daughters of narcissistic parents. I was thinking I’d learn a lot and find some new tools. I can’t go there any more. It’s heartbreaking. In some cases, I would read about a 70 year old woman hoping that one day her 90 year old mother would love her. I read of a 28 year old woman trying desperately to get her mother’s approval. I would read their accounts of wrongs or hurts, and I could hear all the dashed hopes in their posts.
Now I am seeing my kids get their hopes up about next week’s counseling sessions. It is good that Mark is taking this step. Jenny and Will want to believe that things can change. They want to go to bed at night believing that their dad really loves them in all their unique, sweet weirdness. They want to be like their cousins who are fathered (and loved) by dads who like spending time with them, who take them to T-ball practice and wrestling meets and swim lessons. Continue reading →