children
Children: Our most valuable natural resource.
My First Four Christmases
Throughout my childhood, my personal view of Christmas literally changed with every passing year. Yet I’ll begin with my first four which occurred when I was 0-3 years old.
Rebecca SharrockPublished 6 years ago in FamiliesAn Introduction to My Life
My name is Jessica. I am 24 years old and I am a stay at home mom. I have two children: Tristyn is seven and Teagan is one. Their father and I have been together for almost three years now. We live in Northern Colorado and have a crazy life sometimes. Right now, we are getting ready for Christmas like most families. This story is the first in many that I plan on posting about our life, family, and any stories that I feel like sharing.
Jessica HeidPublished 6 years ago in FamiliesThe Numbness of Motherhood
As I looked at his sleeping face I felt relief. Relief he was finally asleep, I watched as he breathed and knew I should be feeling something other than this.
Vicki CockerillPublished 6 years ago in FamiliesWhy 4-Year-Olds Are Cooler than Adults
1. Their life is a canvas. They are natural artists, maybe not the best at coloring in the lines, but that is what is beautiful. If given the environment to be authentic in their creativity, they have no reason to judge themselves. In fact, a child doesn't judge themselves until an adult tells them to color in the lines. Now what part of the adult mind is judging itself? Are we really judging ourselves or are we listening to the past conditioning from other adults of what we "should" be doing or how we "should" be acting?
Emily RainflowerPublished 6 years ago in FamiliesTo My Babies
My babies. My sweet, sweet babies. It seems like just yesterday I was staring at two pink lines, wondering how the hell I was going to do this. I was afraid for you. I was afraid that I wouldn't be good enough for you. I was afraid the world wouldn't be good enough to you. I was afraid your Daddy and I wouldn't know how to take care of you. But here we are, killing it.
Shelby PoseyPublished 6 years ago in FamiliesAm I Their Aunt/Uncle or Their Parent?
Do you have a sibling(s) that struggles with parenting? Does your niece or nephew run to you whenever there's a problem? If you answered yes, than welcome to the club.
Hailey MattsonPublished 6 years ago in FamiliesTen Things I've Learned as a First Time Mom
Oh motherhood. How sweet and terrifying it is. Not to mention hard. It is by far the hardest, most exhausting job I will ever have. I remember as a kid always wondering why my mom was so tired. Well, now I know.
Aurora MedinaPublished 6 years ago in FamiliesJust Out of Reach
Childhood is the place where we grow from. Just like anyone who has gone to school feels like they are an expert on teaching school, I think we probably all feel like we are experts on childhood to some extent.
Erin McDonaldPublished 6 years ago in FamiliesGrooming
Grooming, for many it is a normal word, something we do to a pet. It has two definitions in the dictionary; 1. look after the coat of (a horse, dog, or other animal) by brushing and cleaning it 2. prepare or train (someone) for a particular purpose or activity. In an abusive relationship grooming is the second definition and it is a horrible thing. The abuser trains or prepares their victim for further abuse. It is done so subtly that often the victim does not even realize it is happening, nor do those around them.
Janet RhodesPublished 6 years ago in FamiliesBecoming a Cancer Mom
Let’s face it: being a mom is hard. Whether you are a working mom or a stay at home mom, it’s hard. Five years ago I took on this task and gave birth to my first born: eight pounds, fifteen ounces. Healthy baby boy. For three years, I worked little jobs, but nothing serious. Then we got pregnant with our second, and I became a full time, stay at home mom. Awesome right?! It was. Then, March 13, 2017, our lives changed forever.
Jessica PhillipsPublished 6 years ago in FamiliesWhy I Would Put My Child in Daycare Even If I Didn't Work
I sobbed, like most mothers out there, all the way home the first time I dropped my son off at daycare. Ugly, can’t catch your breath sobs. When I was leaving and was holding back tears, a woman made a comment “First time huh?” I could only nod. While it was a day I still wouldn’t go back to, how oddly grateful I am that my husband and I were forced to be put in that situation where our son had to go to daycare.
Tiffany WilliamsPublished 6 years ago in FamiliesThey Say a Picture Says a Million Words
Three years, $30,000+, and a mother who chose a drug-dealing, wife-beating husband over her own flesh and blood fresh out the womb. That's what it took for my dad to get custody of me, and for what? A better life? There is always someone with a life worse off than you, right? That's what they told me growing up, as if it was their way to tell me to just be happy with what I have. Growing up, it was mostly my dad and those around him until my stepmom came in to take the role of "mom." Even then I got the occasional reminder that there was, in fact, another lady I was supposed to call "mom." That term meant shit to me growing up because I never really knew who to call mom. The biological choice was awarded custody of me because in NYS, any mother can get custody of their kids and good luck getting it from them. You could be a horrible mother, crack head of all crack heads, child beater of all child beaters, and you still have custody somehow. It's unbelievable. Trust me. I know because I was the child in the middle for years and years. My Bio mom, whom we'll call Susan for (ID protection of my profile) wanted custody of me for one reason and one reason only: DSS. And for those of you who don't know the abbreviation, it stands for Department of Social Services, AKA food stamps and free rent give away center. To her, I was a meal ticket and free housing. To this day, you'd never believe me when I say she'll admit to that very fact. I vaguely remember the good times, but for some unknown reason, no matter the age, I've always remembered the bad. I remember standing under the doorway and this unknown man throwing dagger knives above my younger sister and I. He thought it was funny as he held a cigarette in his teeth and laughed, throwing another. I remember waiting in the window on nights of school concerts with a "guaranteed promise" she would show up to support me and enjoy what I worked so hard for. I remember being late to those concerts because I was so sure she was coming. I remember being young on Christmas day waiting with my dad at Stewart's Shop for over an hour for her to take me for a holiday and her not showing up. My dad called and called and there was no answer until she picked up only to say she wasn't showing up to get me. Tears in your only child's innocent, yet desperate eyes. How do you fix it? You can't. She's going to remember every single bit of it all. Even the free milkshake the ladies gave me to cheer me up didn't make it better. It merely coated the way back to my car seat for the ride back home. I remember all the promises of spending the weekends with her and "no gas," "no money," and the no to anything excuses for years and years. I remember the anger you caused me and the depression that consumed me over the years. I remember the damage you did to me because you weren't the mom I needed you to be. I needed you there for a lot of things and you weren't anywhere in sight. I fought with my dad to defend you and told his wife she wasn't my mother when all she tried to do was raise me into a proper woman. For years, the fighting went on and so did the oncoming damages that are now what have scarred the only relationships I have left with my dad and stepmother. I fought so hard and so long with someone who could care less I was even breathing.
sara sullivanPublished 6 years ago in Families