I hear a mom utter the words, "We are not here for fun. We are here for things to eat," and find myself on the threshold of judgement.
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I did love the exploding-onto-the-stage triad of divas. But most of the rest of the time, I thought Beyoncé looked like a cobbled prancing thoroughbred horse.
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"It takes a village" they say, but does this give permission for fingers to point and tongues to lash at the choices other mothers make?
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Trying to be perfect can stop a person from wanting to get out of bed in the morning. Instead I resolve to do this.
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While waiting for the head-on collision to be cleared, I realized how we react in moments like these informs the way our children in their turn will cope.
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When the face paint washes away, will the memories still be there or will they fade away like chalk on a sidewalk?
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Where we see weeds, our children see wishes and dreams. The rituals of our childhood are being lost in a tide of poison and banishment.
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One of the powerful ways in which we prepare our kids for life’s mysteries, disappointments, and achievements is by weaving childhood myths.
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