I’ve come to realize that most of the things I want to wish away are pieces of me that have been shaped because of my parents.
You are expected to feed your new roommate and they have less motor control then someone with no arms and no legs.
“My son keeps having nightmares and complains about something called “The Tall Dog”…does anyone know what the hell this is? It’s happened three nights in a row! It’s driving me crazy! Help!”
I envy how they exist—just to be loved and taken care of. Just to be held and played with and smiled at. Just to be the wonderful, fragile, mind-blowing creation that they are.
“I’m going to start this off by saying a phrase that apparently no woman is ever supposed to say. I don’t want to be a mother.”
LOL I wish I could talk to customers this way.
We still get mad when things don’t go our way, we still don’t like hearing the word ‘no’ or getting rejected, we still hate it when we want someone who does not want us back and we still hate feeling ignored or neglected. We still don’t know how to deal with abandonment.
Kiss your old life goodbye and prepare for a plethora of bruises in the most obscure parts of your body.
Your wild child will pull their life together – probably last minute – and everything you’ve wanted for them will fall into place.
For the multitude of voices that spoke publicly about Muhammad Ali, it was the voices of his own children, the ones who called him “Dad,” that touched me the most. He was a hero because his children said he was a hero.