"Tears-pouring-down-my-face, couldn't-talk-couldn't-breathe kind of laughing. Screaming laughing. So hard that I was sobbing because I couldn't get it together."
"I could feel hot, salty tears coming down my face. I sat and cried silently... I was scrunching myself up against the wall as far as I could. All of a sudden, someone from behind us taps on the guy’s shoulder..."
When I seek to punish or control my kids with harsh words just because they aren’t behaving exactly the way I want, I need to call my response what it is. It’s not a bad day. It’s not a mom fail. It’s not a joke. It’s sin.
"When I first saw Kiana she was with a TSA agent. I thought that maybe she was in trouble. When I asked if she was doing okay, she just broke up in tears."
“Baby, I need you to stop crying about everything,” I say to my 4-year-old son, followed by a heavy sigh. Another day, another sob fest about something that broke his little heart. He is my sensitive soul, my middle child, my gentle spirit.
"Now I measured success in goodnight kisses and bedtime prayers with my girls. I measured it by the adoring look my spouse gave me at the end of the day, and by the feeling of tremendous love I felt for him when I looked back into his deep brown eyes."
