The Moment I Became A Grown Up

My son Evan has a habit of measuring himself against his growth chart. He stands up tall, shoulders back, chin up and anxiously awaits how he will “measure up”, so to speak. After one of his recent sessions, he walked off dejected, shoulders sagging and head hanging. I followed him out of his room to offer some comfort, but before I could say anything he turned around and stated, “I’m still not a grown up, I keep waiting and waiting…” and off he went again. I thought to myself that they should make growth charts to include not just a cold hard number, but your current stage in life such as toddler or big boy as a warmer measurement. My heart broke to think my little boy was in such a hurry to grow up. It immediately took me back to a hospital room in a small Texas town when I welcomed him into the world and our family. It also took me back to another hospital room…this one the place where Evan’s mommy became a grownup.

My dad was an amazing man. He approached life with a passion for living and a love of family. Weekends at our house always seemed like a celebration with aunts, uncles, cousins and friends always gathered for some kind of potluck event complete with music and dancing. For my grandparents, he was the last of eleven children but throughout his life he was the first to offer a helping hand and welcome a newcomer into our family circle. His friends ranged from a Corporate CEO to the guys who picked up our trash every Tuesday and Thursday. He was a hard-working man and preferred working with his hands and outdoors whenever possible.

So, it came as a huge shock to all when he was stricken with cancer and deteriorated immensely within a matter of months. I was a sophomore in college and my siblings and I flew back home during those final weeks. We did the usual round the clock bedside vigil with him at the hospital during long days and even longer nights. One particular morning I remember getting to the hospital and sitting by his bedside. As I held his hand and looked into his eyes I knew there was something he wanted to ask of me. He softly whispered, “Please take me home. I don’t want to die in a hospital room. I want to be home, surrounded by those I love, celebrating my life.” Had there been a growth chart in the room at that moment my measurement would have suddenly changed from carefree college student to full-blown grownup. I jumped to my feet and made all the necessary arrangements to transport him home. My mom rode with him in the ambulance and I headed to the pharmacy to fill his pain medication only to leave that same pharmacy without the meds but with an urgency to get home. He arrived to find a houseful of family and within a couple of hours of being home he looked around him trying to take it all in. He asked my mom if all his loved ones were there and when she reassured him they were, he took a deep breath and finally went home.

For some, losing a loved one is an immediate gateway to adulthood. For me, it wasn’t the moment he took his last breath that I became a grown up. Instead it was the moment I realized I was able to fulfill his last wish.

This was an excerpt from my book, Red Circle Days available on Amazon, Kindle, Nook, the Apple iBookstore, and Sarah Book Publishing.

 

Outside the Box: The ExPat’s Dilemma

As I walk through yet another cardboard maze on my way to the kitchen, I can’t help but wonder if there is some underlying issue in me that needs addressing. Should I have kicked up my feet on some black leather couch for an hour a week with a psychological counselor instead of TripAdvisor? Should I have been content at some point to embrace the sunset, the peace and finality it depicts instead of chasing the next sunrise and the hope of the new beginnings it promises? After so many relocations, how can I still feel the spark of excitement igniting within me as I grip a roll of packing tape and yet again seal our precious belongings?

Eight years ago, I gave up my career to stay home with my daughter who was almost three years old at the time. My husband was offered a higher level position within his company. With it came a fatter paycheck and the opportunity to pad his resume while gaining much experience in his field of expertise. It also came with a relocation, our first in a series of relocations for our family. My husband, born and raised in a military family, had a different perspective on relocations. I, born and raised in the same state, same town, same house until the age of seventeen, longed for my children to experience the stable comfort of the familiar. Yet, as much as I entertained those visions, a fire I never knew I had in me, was fueled. And so began my thirst for new adventures, next chapters, clean slates, and a passion for the unknown.

However, there are a few known facts about relocations. Facts whose presence makes me feel a bit uneasy each and every time the moving truck pulls away. A truck carrying my children’s christening gowns, our wedding albums, their first tooth and their first teddy bear – memories that fill each moving truck near capacity. What the truck doesn’t hold are those memories that fill my own heart near capacity when I take my trip down the latest memory lane. Those moments, feelings, memories that aren’t gently covered in bubble wrap and placed in a box labeled “Fragile” to be carefully transported to the next residence where more are sure to be created.

As we embark on each new adventure, I think of the fact that relocation is often the cause of divorce for many couples. On the Holmes and Rahe stress scale for adults, “change of residence” is considered a stressful activity, assigned 20 points (with death of spouse being ranked the highest at 100), although other changes on the scale (e.g. “change in living conditions,” “change in social activities”) often occur as a result of relocating, making the overall stress level potentially higher. I think of the effort we will all have to exert once again in replacing our social network. I think of the challenge ahead of finding new doctors and a new gym. I think of my son and daughter once again being the “new kid” in school and all that entails. A study conducted by Ahamanson Department of Pediatrics, Cedars-Sinai Medical Center in Los Angeles, CA covering 9,915 children ages 6-17, found “frequent family relocation was associated with an increased risk of children failing a grade in school and four or more frequently occurring behavioral problems.”  I also think of all the tearful goodbyes that come with each move as we leave behind old friends that were once new.

I place the last item in the last box, take a deep breath, and can’t help but let my imagination wander through the new residence we will occupy in just a short time. In my mind I’m already pulling these items outside the box, and seeking out the perfect place for each of them. I picture the wall that will hold our family photo gallery, and the corner that will hold my dad’s old worn out Ricky Ricardo drum. I imagine just where we will place the Christmas tree this year, and visualize my family gathered around it Christmas morning. I carry the last box to the front entrance, and catch a glimpse of myself in the hall mirror. I don’t see the baseball cap, the faded blue t-shirt and cutoff shorts that through the years has become my moving uniform. All I can see is the smile that lights up my face with hope and anticipation. And, once again I wonder if this spark of excitement within me is normal.

My top twelve tips when relocating your family:

1. Communication among all family members is key. Communicate with your spouse as well as your children.
2. Hold a family meeting where all members discuss their pros and cons list. Really listen to all the cons and discuss them, trying to find the positive while making sure that family member feels like they’ve been heard.
3.  Go to your doctors offices and request your medical records in a digital format that will be easy to share with your new doctors. Same goes for school transcripts.
4. Be prepared to “camp out” in the new place for a night or two while you wait for your household goods to arrive (we have fond memories of these “camp outs”).
5.  Forward your mail even in today’s day and age when we receive more virtual mail than snail mail. The act of forwarding your mail can you give the closure you need in closing one life chapter and beginning another.
6. If you have children, balloons can keep them occupied for hours in an empty house while you await your items. It’s also the best time to pull out some Play-Doh as it’s easy clean up.
7. Make sure your children are set up with friends and family members phone numbers, etc. so there is literally no break in their communication with them. Nowadays, there are many channels for staying in touch – FaceTime, Skype, Texting, FaceBook, Instagram (great way to share photos of the new place)
8. Look up the local Newcomers Club for your area. It is a great way to meet people and also get recommendations for doctors, restaurants, etc.
9. Bottoms up! Drink up your alcohol or throw a party before moving. Open containers of alcohol will not be transported by some moving companies.
10. Label the side of your boxes so you can read what’s in them even when stacked.
11. Expect that you will be thrown out of your routine for some time as you adjust to your new life.
12. Be patient. In my experience it takes 10-12 months before it really starts to feel like home.

Do you enjoy moving? Do you have any other moving tips? 

To My Daughter: It’s A World Full Of Sea Glass

Dear Olivia Rose,

Eleven years ago you entered the world and as I held you in my arms and looked into your eyes, I once again voiced the many promises I had been whispering for months as I gently rubbed my growing belly. I promised to always love you with all my heart. I promised you would never be alone in this great big, complicated world of ours. I promised to love you unconditionally, and I promised to guide you on your life’s journey in the best way I know how.

You are turning into an amazing young girl full of wonder and imagination, full of compassion and love, full of hopes and dreams. In all the promises I’ve made to you, the one thing I couldn’t promise – I can’t promise – is to shield you from the doubts and fears the world will create in you.

When we take our long walks on the beach, both in awe of the amazing untouched beauty that surrounds us, I often wish I could keep you in this protective bubble of endless sea, a world in which human nature and life experiences can’t dull your spirit.

However, if I did that there is so much you would miss out on, so I shall continue to walk by your side through all that is in store for you – walking ahead when you need guidance and falling behind when you need to face the world on your own. I do promise to always remain present on your walk, understanding it is your walk and your walk alone, and all I can do is offer my love and my wisdom.

As you continue to grow and mature, my hope is that you walk through life the way you walk along the shores, eagerly searching for sea glass. I hope you never lose your sense of adventure, always imagining possibilities beyond anyone’s expectations or jaded views. I hope you comb the earth for hidden treasures and view the world as a vessel of sea glass waiting to be discovered. Each person you cross paths with a treasure, whether they’ve been smoothly polished from tumbling around or a bit rough around the edges. Each has something to offer you. Do not be quick to discard them.

As you travel, I hope you embrace the many colors you will encounter on your walk and understand the world isn’t always black and white. I hope you learn the lesson intended for you when you expectantly reach for a piece only to be hurt by its sharp point. Learn the lesson and move on. Do not let it stop you from continuing to search for the beauty that lies in wait. Never give up hope. Sometimes the most beautiful pieces are buried a bit under a layer of sand. Do not be afraid to dig a little deeper. There will be times when facing your fear of what lies down the path you are on is the bravest thing you will do. The reward will be great and the experience the greatest treasure you will ever uncover.

As I walk a few steps behind you, I can’t help but hope that you will always see yourself through my eyes because I see a beautiful young girl both inside and out with so much to offer this world. I see an intelligent young girl who is practical and wise beyond her years, but also one who refuses to close her mind to a carefree world of imagination and possibility.

My hope for you is that you never let the obstacles that lay in your path change you, but mostly that you take your time and treasure your walk one step at a time.

And, whenever you find yourself needing company, know that I’m always up for a walk.

Love,

Mommy

The Ugly Green Sweater

Some days comfort can be found in the most unlikely places, a well-worn pair of jeans, a pint of Ben and Jerry’s, a glass of wine, comfy pajamas at the end of a trying day. For my mom, it was an ugly green sweater that she donned each evening without fail before settling on the couch after a busy day of playing taxi driver, chef, and everything in between. If I close my eyes, I can see her sitting on the brown velour seventies couch in our living room wrapped in that ugly green sweater, relaxing with each passing minute as though cocooned in a blissful state of peace.

Credit: holsro

My dad worked the night shift and only saw her in that ugly green sweater on the weekends, but he made up for all the days he missed by giving her a hard time about the sweater which he believed was more suited for an eighty year old grandmother than his thirty-something young bride and active mom of three children. As my siblings and I got older we joined in the friendly ribbing of the ugly green sweater, coming up with a slew of creative names for it. Not surprisingly, no amount of mocking stopped my mom from slipping into that ugly green sweater and the comfort it promised night after night.

I recall a particular school day when a fellow classmate took it upon himself to tell me Santa wasn’t real. I rushed home to confront my mom, only to have her gently confirm what he had told me. Devastated, I threw myself on the living room couch burying my head in the cushions. Through the tears I saw a bit of green fabric peeking out from under the cushions and didn’t think twice about pulling that ugly green sweater and wrapping myself in it, desperately seeking the comfort it so often provided my own mother. Within minutes I was fast asleep on the couch, and woke up with a sense of peace and acceptance that I choose to attribute to the ugly green sweater and not the exhaustion we are left with after a crying jag.

Through the years, there have been moments when I wish I had that ugly green sweater within reach. Moments when a diagnosis of cancer shattered our world, moments when the bank funds were low, moments when a son’s mental illness turned him into a stranger, moments of unemployment. In each of these moments, I don’t wish I had that ugly green sweater for myself. Instead, I wish I had it to wrap my mom in once again in hopes that it would bring her the same peace it brought her night after night so many years ago. To this day, with so many miles between us, all I need is to detect a hint of sadness in her voice no matter how hard she tries to hide it, and I find myself selfishly wishing that ugly green sweater was still with her.

Is there an “ugly green sweater” in your life? If so, can I have it?

***This is my 100th post here, and I dedicate it to my #1 fan, my mom!***

For more ugly click here.

Red Circle Days Book Review

When CrazyMeetsExhaustion dedicated a blog post to reviewing Red Circle Days.

Here’s what she had to say about it!

It has been months. Maybe even a year. But I’ll never forget being moved to tears over a blog post, and leaving a comment begging the author to write a book because her words were so beautiful, so poignant. I wanted more.

Is it any surprise that the author bought a sponsor ad here on WhenCrazyMeetsExhaustion, became wildly popular, and published a book?*

*Events may not be listed in sequential order. 

Leah Vidal’s work appears weekly on her blog, Little Miss Wordy. Her writing covers a range of topics including current events, health and wellness, parenting and daily tribulations. While she enjoys writing about each of these, she is most at home when adding a personal element to a broad topic by sharing life’s little moments…those that plant the thought-provoking seed of self discovery. She believes it is these moments that are life’s biggest lessons.

Enter: Red Circle Days. I downloaded Leah’s book on a flight to North Carolina a few weeks ago and knew immediately it was a bad idea. I don’t like to cry in public. But I’m getting ahead of myself…

The book is a perfect quick read as it’s less than 100 pages and written in vignettes of all different topics.  But much like my toddlers have proven, little packs a bigpunch. Red Circle Days is a culmination of the dates that remain despite the waves of time eroding other memories. Birth of children, death of loved ones, holidays. Leah eloquently muses on all this and more, and at the end of each passage, engages the reader by asking her to connect with the piece: do you have a special place for photos? Is there a superhero inside you just waiting to come out?

My favorite vignette is on a subject that comes to the surface several times over and, in my humble opinion, is where Leah’s writing and heart shine: her dad. He passed away when she was in her early twenties, but regardless of the years that have come and gone, Leah remembers with clarity and the stinging kind of love reserved for those we miss terribly the “Milk Duds on Their Pillow.”

You see, her dad would put Milk Duds on her pillow to “…remind her of her strength at the end of a tough day, willed her to work harder when a particular grade needed improvements and comforted her through many a broken heart” (12). I like the guy because he obviously knew chocolate can fix everything.

“My Summer Valentine” is quite possibly the sweetest love story I have ever read, like EVER–and it’s true story. Leah’s parents were an unlikely couple from the start, but undeniable love overcame age difference and geographic distance. You have to buy the book to read the rest and have your heart swell and come *thisclose* to bursting. It’s worth it, I promise!

In addition to her novel dropping recently, Leah’s Memorial Day piece Soldiers of the Same Name was featured on BlogHer just this weekend, and her blog has been Freshly Pressed on WordPress and featured on Fitness and Parenting sites. She’s pretty bad ass and if you haven’t already, connect with her on her blog Little Miss Wordy, Facebook page, or Twitter @LeonyVidalCarr.

So add these things to your to-do list today:

1. Buy Leah’s book Red Circle Days

2. Purchase a sponsor ad here on my site because you’ll become rich and famous*

*Rich and famous are relative terms. BUT I do write a dedicated post about something I love about my sponsors, so seriously, buy one.

*************

Leah paused her career in Public Relations to raise her two children and has never looked back, except on the days when it would be nice to have an office to escape to or at least a desk to hide under. Her family currently lives in Puerto Rico, where she is a fitness focused (physical, spiritual and mental health), homeschooling mom of two, and wife of one, who enjoys combing the beach for sea glass, avoiding the kitchen, and making words come to life.

Soldiers Of The Same Name

It was the summer of 1970 when a little boy was born to a young couple in Atlanta, Georgia. His name was chosen to honor another young boy who gave his life for our country. On that day, as one boy came into the world to parents filled with hopes and dreams for his life, another young boy’s parents had already laid their little boy to rest as a Vietnam Veteran…burying their own hopes and dreams.

I captured his reflection when he found his uncle’s name.

Neither ever got to meet the other, yet that little boy grew to become one of the most patriotic men I know. His love for our country and his passion for our history make me proud to stand by his side as we instill the same passion and love for the United States of America in our own children and continue to honor the boy he was named after. In honoring his name, we honor all those who chose to fight for our freedom. In honoring his name, we honor all those who suited up before him and entered the battlefield. In honoring his name, we honor all those who walked before him, those who protect us today, and those who will choose to follow in their footsteps. Each and every one of these young men and women may not share the same name on their birth certificate or their dog tags, but they do share a name we should never fail to honor…Soldier.

May you each enjoy your Memorial Day and thank a soldier this weekend.

dOn’T gEt UpSeT wHeN yOuR FiVe-yEaR oLd aCtS LiKe A fiVe-YeAr oLd!

Sit up straight. Say thank  you. Be quiet. Keep your voice down. Say please. Sit still.

As parents we are constantly surrounded by suggestions on how to make our children behave properly. From parenting books to self-help books (because let’s face it, it’s always mom’s fault), there is an endless string of advice designed to guide us. Complete strangers are quick to share their nuggets of wisdom, based on their child rearing years. I don’t take offense, because I agree that children should be taught to have good manners, be respectful of others, and sit quietly in certain situations. At restaurants, I understand when the wait staff sees a family with small children walk through the door, and after taking a deep breath escorts them to the table at the back of the restaurant where the noise, spills, tantrums, etc. can be shielded a bit from the other paying customers. I get it.

The thing is, parents with children are also paying customers, and sometimes I think people immediately make a judgment call based on the children’s ages. I’ve witnessed many a full-blown toddler tantrum which left me paralyzed, fork hovering in the air, never making it to my mouth. Some of those tantrums by my own kids, but my husband and I always walked them outside at that point so as not to disrupt someone else’s meal. There were times we even took our food to go after not being able/willing to continue the toddler vs. parent battle back in the restaurant. Not everyone does that. Again, I get it.

However, when a child speaks a bit louder than a grownup, or lets out a belly laugh to beat all belly laughs, there’s no need for the disapproving stares as they are just being children. I’m all for instilling the proper manners in my children, but at times even I feel like I’m too hard on them. Years ago, our priest gave a sermon on just this topic and one line has stuck with me since then. It is also the title of this post. “Don’t get upset when your five-year old acts like a five-year old.”

Yes, we need to raise our children to be responsible, respectful, kind, generous, and morally conscious. I believe that we need to start these lessons at a young age, and as parents we need to consistently enforce these lessons. We also need to teach by example, but that’s another post. However, we also need to understand that our children are still children, each age a necessary developmental stage building on another developmental stage.

1. We shouldn’t be surprised when they aren’t organized at the age of five…am I at the age of forty-two?

2. We shouldn’t be surprised when they interrupt a conversation…we’re all guilty of it every now and then.

3. We shouldn’t be surprised when they get a bit loud in a restaurant or church or the library…if granny can speak that loud why not them?

4. We shouldn’t be surprised when they forget their homework, or that permission slip for us to sign…it’s not as bad as the day “the tooth fairy” forgot their only job.

5. We shouldn’t be surprised when they cry uncontrollably and can’t explain why…don’t we all need a little more love some days?

Have you ever been in a situation where you were judged based on your child’s behavior? How did you handle it?

Dear Mom, Can You Tell Me How You’ve Done It?

 Today’s Daily Prompt invites us to write a letter to mom.

I am sharing my guest post on Black Box Warnings.

A mother figure comes in many shapes and forms. Today, I celebrate all the women in my life who helped me become the mother I  am today. 

I encourage you to do the same!

Dear Mom,

I can imagine the feeling of sheer joy you felt the day he was born. I can imagine the peace that blanketed you while your arms blanketed him. I can imagine the look in your eyes as you looked into his, and thanked the Lord for another healthy child. I can imagine how proud you felt to present Dad with his first son. After having two girls, I can imagine a boy was a welcome addition. I can imagine the dreams you had for him. I can imagine all the visions of “firsts” that went through your mind as you held him for the first time.

I can imagine all of this because I too am a mother now. I too have held my children and dreamed of what their future would hold. I too have envisioned each “first” in their life and the happiness each may bring to mine. What I can’t imagine is how you have coped with all the “firsts” you never envisioned in his life.

How did you survive the first time he had to visit a psychiatrist? How did you deal with a complete stranger telling you there was something wrong with your son after having only known him for one hour, when you had known him for years? He didn’t know his favorite homemade meal. He didn’t know his passion for music. He didn’t know his compassion for others. He didn’t know these things and so many more, yet in one hour he determined there was something so wrong with your son that medication and therapy were ordered. How did you hold back the tears when you realized you were being told years of after school conversations around the kitchen table over milk and cookies were a thing of the past? What your son needed now were hour-long sessions with a stranger who promised to reach him, when his own mother couldn’t.

How did you manage to get through the phone call letting you know your son had been hospitalized because he was confused and couldn’t even tell the day of the week? Did it take you back to the days when you would circle important dates on the calendar for him to look forward to? Or, did it take you even further back to the times you repeatedly sang the days of the week song to him, so he would be ahead of the game when he entered Kindergarten?

How did you hold it together when you stood by his hospital bed time and again, and looked into his eyes much like you did in another hospital long ago? Could you still see your baby boy in those eyes even if he couldn’t see you? How did you make your words reach him when he was trapped in a world incapable of speech? Where have you found the courage mom? Where have you found the strength to pick him up each time he has fallen when his pain now is so much deeper than a scraped knee?

How have you listened to the many different labels placed on your son throughout the years? How have you helped him to accept those same labels as a positive step on a path to mental health, when the only labels you’ve ever had for him are my son, my baby boy, my world? What have you done with all those dreams you had for him? Have you given up on them in your heart of hearts or have you altered them? Have those dreams now simply become ones where he is as happy and healthy as he was when he entered this world? How have you continued to live each day, mom, when you must be dying inside?

As I look at my own son, I think of you mom. I can’t even begin to imagine what you have been through with your son. As his sister, I know what my experience has been, but as I look at my happy, healthy little boy I can’t even begin to imagine the depth of your pain. From one mother to another, I can say you have given me the best example of what it means to be a mother. It isn’t about teaching them their first words, but about being their voice when they can’t speak for themselves. It isn’t about cheering them on when they take their first steps, but about walking alongside them no matter what their journey entails. It isn’t about putting a band-aid on their knee when they fall, but about always being there to pick them back up. Most importantly, it is about never giving up on your child…no matter how many sleepless nights it may cost you.

Forever in awe of you,

Your grateful daughter

Lessons in Gardening

Summers at her house were filled with long hours in her garden. I learned many life lessons in that garden, lessons I carry close to my heart and revisit often. My grandmother taught me it was okay to get my hands dirty, to embrace the moist soil between my fingertips, to tilt my face up to the sun and let the warmth reach my soul. She showed me what the art of nurturing, of loving, and of communicating could do for the living as well as for those desperately needing a little life breathed back into them. From her, I learned that life is ever-changing, and some of us will be quicker to adapt to our new surroundings than others. I learned that some of us need to immediately plant our roots and settle down. Others need a little more time to grow, experiencing and outgrowing different spaces, eventually needing a bigger space to spread out and show the world how much beauty we are capable of. And, she taught me to embrace the rain when my soul is thirsty for it, letting it cleanse my soul as it showers me with forgiveness, because we all make mistakes. Thankfully the land is plentiful, forever providing room for us to plant again, to grow, and ultimately to flourish.

During my recent trip to Washington, DC, as amazed as I was with the historical sites, I was in awe of the nature all around me. With each click of the camera, I thought of my grandmother and the many lessons I learned through the art of gardening by her side.

Happy Birthday and Happy Mother’s Day to one amazing grandmother!

May your garden in heaven be as beautiful as you are!

photo credit: littlemisswordy

photo credit: littlemisswordy

photo credit: littlemisswordy

photo credit: littlemisswordy

photo credit: littlemisswordy

photo credit: littlemisswordy

photo credit: littlemisswordy

photo credit: littlemisswordy

photo credit: littlemisswordy

photo credit: littlemisswordy

photo credit: littlemisswordy

photo credit: littlemisswordy

photo credit: littlemisswordy

photo credit: littlemisswordy

photo credit: littlemisswordy

photo credit: littlemisswordy

photo credit: littlemisswordy

photo credit: littlemisswordy

Raising Bad Parents

A soccer field covered with teenage athletes, a game in progress, a referee’s call. A normal event until an angry teenager disagrees with the ref’s yellow card call, and punches him on the side of the head. A palpable hush, stunned spectators, a horrific event. The referee becomes dizzy, needs help sitting down and begins to vomit blood. The teenager is whisked away and hidden by his father. An ambulance is called, the ref’s brain is swollen by the time he arrives at the hospital. A father, husband, brother, and role model is dead.

Another soccer field, first and second graders scrambling to keep up with the ball, a little girl gets injured…a bloody lip. Tears stream down her sweet face. The coach searches the sidelines for her parents. They are nowhere to be found. Her greatest injury, her parents never stay for her games.

A little league baseball field, young boys suited up and keeping their eyes on the ball. Their ears bombarded with the jeers, insults, and pressure filled yells from overly competitive spectators on the sidelines. The spectators are their parents.

photo credit: littlemisswordy

The teenager becomes a father. When his wife and children don’t do as he commands, he beats them bloody.

The little girl becomes a mom. She places more importance on herself than her children, never making time for them, never showing up to their games.

The young boys on that baseball field become those spectators, yelling, jeering, insulting, pressuring their own sons because they believe in winning at all costs.

Every child may not be affected the same way by these poor examples of parenting. Some may walk away unscathed. Why take that gamble? Why choose to bring another human being into the world, then not put our best foot forward in molding them? We don’t build a house without giving it the proper foundation. We don’t let our children drive a car without driving lessons. We don’t grow a tree, by simply planting a seed, then never watering it and leaving it in darkness. We reap what we sow.