Growing up in the 90s was a fun time! I miss the good old days of playing with the infamous Skip-It toy and eating Sodalicious fruit snacks—boy… those were the days! I grew up in a simpler time, where we had dial-up internet instead of Wifi, and VHSs instead of DVDs.
My house is dirty. Yes, I know. You're all thinking, "Surely not so much. Mine is much worse. Etc, etc." But believe me, it is dirty. At first glance, it does not look like it. But I have moved recently, and I've taken a few surprises.
I think it's reasonable to guess that almost everyone in the world has experienced a situation in which they have received no closure. Whether it be an incident, a relationship, an experience, an addiction or lifestyle, I believe we all have dealt with something that moved us deeply and created a wound which refuses to close. In fact, I think it's safe to say the majority of people have experienced several things in their life in which closure seems out of reach.
It’s well known that children begin to basically talk at around 12 months on average. That’s when a child generally has the mental development, cognitive skills, and has heard enough verbal communication around them to be able to do so. I myself began to talk at around that age. However, it didn’t feel quite as much of a sudden milestone for me as learning to walk did.
It should be self-evident that both parents will contribute towards the upkeep of their children. Both parents contributed equally to the child being born and children should not live in poverty or miss out on the things that their friends have just because their parents don’t live together. Even when there is a step-parent on the scene, that doesn’t mean that both parents shouldn't still take responsibility for the child’s upkeep.
The room is dark, save for one fluorescent light turned on in the corner. My heart races, my palms are sweaty, and I feel the familiar sting of tears for probably the thousandth time that morning. Something isn't right, and I know it. There's no way the doctor is going to have good news. You don't bleed that much, have that much pain, and not have it end in the worst way possible.
"Wow! You started all over, didn't you?!" That's something I hear often when people ask me how old my kids are. My daughters are 15, 13, two-and-a-half, and one. I really did space them out, didn't I? I was a very young mom when I had my first two babies. It was tough but I wouldn't trade them for anything. Things didn't work out with their father and years later I found myself with the man of my dreams, the man I deserved.
"Lauren, I need your help,” she weakly said, as she passed me a box of a couple dozen bottles of pills. I was all of six years old and my Nana passed me the large slotted, weekly pill organizer.