It is a privilege to be published on the parenting site www.grownandflown.com. I am an avid follower of their site and am thrilled to be included with other talented contributing authors. If you haven’t read this essay on my Facebook page, I hope you will take a moment to peruse it now. The subject is near and dear to my heart.
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We must have done something right. Somewhere between bringing the babies home from the hospital and sending pre-adults off to college, we did at least one thing right. That’s an expansive amount of time – eighteen years to be exact – in which to make mistakes, to try to correct the mistakes, and then to make mistakes all over again. In fact, it is too much time NOT to make mistakes and to hopefully be forgiven for parenting mishaps made …
We all have it. We all see it. Everyday. That one out-of-place item lingering in our home. But suddenly, it becomes such a fixture in our life, in our living space, that we no- longer notice it anymore. Almost as if we ‘un-see’ it, if that is even possible. It could be a sock sagging helplessly in the middle of the floor. A napkin or tissue or food wrapper carelessly left behind. Possibly it’s the subscription magazine that has been …
Good news, friends, neighbors, avid Scout readers, and dog lovers alike. Exactly a week to the day following the “Great Otis Chase,” I had a random encounter with Otis’ mom, so I was able to put the event to rest and sleep better at night finally being able to tell her Otis was indeed a good boy. This past Sunday, I was walking my two plume-tailed Golden retrievers on the exact same route as the previous week. We were almost …
This is a nod to a childhood picture book I used to read to my boys called “The Great Gracie Chase: Stop that Dog!” It made us laugh every time we read it! No good deed goes unturned, or so I’ve been told. Random acts of kindness can be payed forward, or so I believe. Sometimes stepping in to assist others works in my favor, sometime not so much. Like the time I attempted to help an elderly gentleman out …
I’m an excitable, anxious person. My calm exterior fools many, but inside, I’m a bundle of nerves, my metabolism churning at the speed of light as I breath through the daily stress called life. This relaxed façade is something I taught myself over the years: how to control my anxiety, be patient, stay calm. I’ve had years of practice and am pleased to say my hyper-self is somewhat under control. Which is why it should come as no surprise when …
This was both a difficult and awkward piece to write simply because it is challenging to express just how conflicted, as a mother, it is to experience our children dropping back into our lives briefly only to leave again. I accept this as the natural progression, but the raw feelings still linger. I often reflect on my own mother and how she quietly dealt with this issue for years without ever making us think twice about packing our bags and …
Warning: This story is not for the faint-of-heart and contains some slight, graphic detail. It is, however, much to the author’s chagrin, a true story. Proceed at your own discretion. There is nothing like a trip to the Emergency Room, on a Saturday night, no less, to bring a couple together. Talk about your perfect bonding experience. The day started pleasantly and productively with no indication that the evening would end with cross words, wounded pride, and hurt feelings. But …
For as long as I can remember, people have told me that I look just like my mother. It happened again today via a Facebook post for her birthday. Someone who has never met my mother commented on how ‘you look just like your mother!’ I have heard it before and have always worn that compliment with pride. I have admired my mother forever, modeling myself after her kind, gentle demeanor, trying to be as patient and accepting of people …
It’s not often that I cry. When I was younger, significant moments always generated tears: good-byes, both long and short; songs, both sweet and sad; post-party blues, both thrilling and tedious. The good-byes struck me particularly hard; long, drawn-out sobs with no-end-in-sight. Eventually, I trained myself to breathe through the hyperventilating. This technique worked so well that today, I barely shed a tear. Ironically, it’s sad that I don’t cry more often. The tears have long been bottled up. Until …
