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.
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.
"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?
Trying to be perfect can stop a person from wanting to get out of bed in the morning. Instead I resolve to do this.
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.
When the face paint washes away, will the memories still be there or will they fade away like chalk on a sidewalk?
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.
One of the powerful ways in which we prepare our kids for life’s mysteries, disappointments, and achievements is by weaving childhood myths.