“He said his favorite time of day is when he’s going to bed and gets to talk to mommy for a while,” said the text from my husband, referencing my three year old son.
Kid, why don’t you just stab me in the heart again?
“He said his favorite time of day is when he’s going to bed and gets to talk to mommy for a while,” said the text from my husband, referencing my three year old son.
Kid, why don’t you just stab me in the heart again?
“Hmmm, do I really want to go?” I thought to myself as I read the email invitation to my work’s Native American Heritage Month celebration. “Sometimes these things are good – sometimes they’re really not.” I twisted my mouth in contemplation. “Oh, what the heck,” I finally decided and walked downstairs to the auditorium.
“Noooooo,” my older son yelped as we got near the front of the ride, backing away.
My first reaction was annoyance. I thought, “We’ve talked about this for weeks, if not months, and you’re going to back out now?” We were about to get on Space Mountain at Disneyland, my favorite roller coaster in the world. Riding on the one at Magic Kingdom when I was in third grade captured my imagination and sparked an unexpected love of thrill rides. My son – who loves roller coasters – had been desperately looking forward to it. Or at least he had until right then.
“Come over here!” my husband called to me and my younger son as we dawdled down the trail.
“What?” I yelled back, squinting at him and my older son.
“Just come look!” he said.
As I approached the playground sandbox, I spotted my six- year-old marching away from it with purpose. My husband followed close behind. “We’ll find it!” he proclaimed.
“Find what?” I asked.
“The ball! We don’t know where it went,” my husband responded. Oops.
“I, uh, gave it away,” I admitted.
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“He’s so smart!” said the man sitting next me on the plane, referring to my older son. “I can tell by the questions he’s asking.”
“Uh, thanks,” I replied. To me, intelligence is a bit like physical beauty – nice to have, but not something I as a parent can take credit for, per say.
“What is it? Please tell me,” my six year old asked, his eyes wide.
“No, it’s too sad,” I replied. I had been telling my husband about news involving the Immigration and Customs Enforcement raids to deport undocumented immigrants. My speaking in veiled terms sparked my son’s interest. Telling him it was too sad for him only fueled his curiosity more.
This may look like a plate of waffles to you, but it looks like growing up to me.
“Mickey waffles!” my five year old (nicknamed Sprout) declared, holding the box up and spinning around. The waffles responded by flying out of the box and smashing into the floor. There wasn’t a single clean waffle left.
“Heroes. Noble warrior heroes,” says Carol Danvers in the new movie Captain Marvel, referring to the group of aliens she’s part of.
Spoiler alert: that wording is a red flag.