The boundless love a parent has for their child is matched only by their capacity to embarrass them.
There she was
Alastair He got up at 7am every morning. He made the bed, took a two-minute shower and got dressed. He would look at himself in the mirror, comb his hair over the bald patch at the back of his head and say: ‘Today is the day.’
Time Is Precious, And So Are Your Children!
Undoubtedly, one of the greatest blessings in life is having children. Any genuinely loving parent would agree that their child or children are the most precious asset/s to them in life. Such is the power of love we have for them, they mean the world to us. Let's be honest here also though, parenting is far from an easy job, and there are many times our children severely test our patience, cause us stress, make us angry, are disrespectful to us, are disobedient towards us, and they completely exhaust us. At the end of the day though, we still love them with all our heart, and we want nothing but the best for them in life. We often forget though, that part of giving the best to them in life is giving ourselves to them. What I mean by that is giving our time to them, and quality time at that. As a parent myself, I know the importance of having a mental break from our children also, just having some time out for ourselves, or sharing some private time with our partner, both being vitally important and beneficial for us, so we can be the best version of ourselves. The thing is though, are we really spending enough quality time with our children? Part of wanting the best for them in life also includes providing for them. Providing for them consists of ensuring they are adequately fed, they have shelter, they have clothing, they have a comfortable bed to sleep in, and basically, anything that offers them a decent quality of life. All these provisions cost money of course, so we need money, and we obtain that money from our job. This is where the problem lies.
"Would you take $1500.00 for it?" I ran my hand down the fender, impressed with the condition of the truck but trying not to show it.
Black Book of My Heart
They tried to take it from me, clasped in my hands I held it close, never letting it go. They saw it gave solace and they wanted it.
My mother taught me to read. She didn't mean to…it just kind of happened. We didn't have much money. She was the navy wife of a low-ranking seaman and that meant scrimping and saving and doing without a lot of things.
I wake up to the shrill sound of Janice in the hall again. She can’t stand the neighbors’ yapping Chihuahuas and thinks that yapping back will help. I’m actually accustomed to the chaos of incessant barking, thanks in part to my mom always having at least ten dogs in the house at a time. I prefer a little chaos. But Janice claims to have moved to New York City for “peace and quiet”. The whole building—the whole city—knows that’s a lie. No one in his or her right mind moves to New York City to find peace. No, you move here to get lost within the corridors of its commotion and incredible history, and quite frankly, to forget about your own past. You move here if you don’t know who you are and what you want, because you want this city to squeeze it out of you. At least, that’s why I moved.
I woke up freezing. The wind and snow cut through my windbreaker as if I was standing out in the weather wearing nothing at all. I knew I had to get up, get moving, but I was so, so cold; cold and alone.
The Little Black Book
Growing up the son of a mobster was tricky to say the least. I never knew where I stood with the man. Example: the scariest thing about him was his laugh. Sometimes he was amused, but most of the time he was mocking me. I was his target practice for humiliation. These episodes caused my insides to squeeze, my palms to sweat, and my cheeks to burn with anger. I dreamed of running but could not imagine actually escaping his reach.
My own path
"Aw crap! Nothing to eat again. I bet Mom’s at the Gaslamp or Rosie’s bar." "I’ll find out, it has to be one or the other. Maybe I’ll see who she’s been ‘with’ for the past three and a half months. I haven’t really had a chance to meet him yet but he’s got to be better than Frank! That guy only lasted two months. Heck, just another loser for the list."
3 Ways to Tell if your Mother is a Narcissist
When coming to terms with who really raised me, it has taken years of therapy and education to really grasp what has happened to me and how my traumas have uprooted themselves in my adult life. Trauma can dictate how we view the world and how we are viewed in the world so it is important to be honest with ourselves. Sometimes that means taking a deeper look at who raised us, who taught us what to believe about the world and ourselves, who taught us who we are. For most of us that is our mother. Our mothers our 1st teachers. They either directly or indirectly teach us how to interact with the world around us. In my case, my mother was a narcissist by definition. I will discuss three issues that were more traumatic to me than I realized many years later.
The Back of His Hand
The boy knew his father like the back of his hand. The back of his hand, the front of his hand, the father's palm connects with the boy's leg in multiple, wild swipes. He’s a man possessed by his own inadequacy. His short temper and busted ambition turn him to a frenzy of hate, barely held, with eyes that betray his fear. Nobody knows in the moment, least of all him, whether it’s fear of who he is or how far he could go. Something inside of him wants the boy to feel it too.
A Hot Mess Mom's Guide to Mindful Living
It was pouring down rain, and I’d just wrapped up my work. I’d promised myself I’d keep my work to the hours my kids are in school, but they were deep in a Harry Potter movie I’d seen a million times, and there were a few tasks I could stand to get out of the way. So, I did. Then, the movie ended, my work wrapped up, and the sky was falling.