Growing Up

The pitter-patter of little feet - the phrase everyone uses when talking about having babies. While it refers to a major milestone, it's not one that happens for quite some time. So many others take place first: first smile, foods, word, etc. So many other things to soak in as brand new parents. Then it hits you. A little over a year ago, my sweet baby boy was born. My second baby. And yes, things have gone by so much quicker this time around. Our attention is shared and so are his moments. They blend in like additions to a painting instead of being the main focus. He was just born; now he's laughing, waving ... and walking. Walking. I've always...

  Where do I begin? Son, you are my first born, and the first person I ever loved more than myself. Starting off as a teenage mom, we have been growing up together. I can remember the first few moments we shared as you wrapped your tiny fingers around mine, and I said, "It’s me and you, kid." You went to LSU with me and were present for way too many shopping trips. Now you are about become a teenager yourself. I would be lying if I said I saw any of these emotions coming. (Though I was warned.) There are moments when your adolescent sighs and nonchalant replies push all my buttons. Then in the next minute I will find...

"She was bullying him." Those words. Those very words were spoken to me about my daughter. In that moment was I full of disappointment, anxiety, sorrow, fear, anger, and embarrassment. My sweet, bright eyed, loving child who prays for passing ambulances and readily offers to donate her toys had been the offender toward another human being. She had used her words to cut down another child. They say "sticks and stones," but we all know that it's not true. Words hurt. I will not share the details of the incident, but suffice it to say this incident was a personal low for my daughter and for me as a parent. I have a personal rule that I will not complain about...

I am not who I used to be. I use words like “potty” and “tummy.” I am more gentle when speaking and will talk to any child I come into contact with. I am not who I used to be. I no longer stay up past 9:00 p.m. The days are longer now. The evenings are so hectic. My eyes are heavy by the end of the afternoon. I run only on adrenaline now. I am not who I used to be. My car is always messy. Crumbs and completed school assignments are everywhere. I used to take pride in my car but we are always in it now, so it’s harder to keep clean. I am not who I used to...

As a mother of both boys and a girl, I write this a little torn. I want my boys to be strong men and rise to the occasion as providers and protectors. Primitive thoughts I know, but anti-feminist, I think not. You see I also want my daughter to be strong and able to provide, and protect herself and her future children (as any mama bear would.) These thoughts began to flood my mind as I listened to my wonderful sweet children argue with each other in their room one day. My boys would shout something then my daughter would cleverly reply. Then suddenly I heard her sing in a loud voice, “anything you can do I can better,...