I am an assistant principal in a middle school (grades 6-8). When I have to search a student's cell phone, I often get sick to my stomach at what I find. It gets worse and worse every year.
I am an assistant principal in a middle school (grades 6-8). When I have to search a student's cell phone, I often get sick to my stomach at what I find. It gets worse and worse every year.
I never want to forget how to appreciate each moment for what it is, a passing morsel of time that tics away far too quickly, a moment that could fall away and be forgotten if I don’t take the time to look and lock it away.
"Mama glanced over at her but never got off the phone. After 10 minutes Mama ended her call, collected the sunscreen that was never applied, the water toys that never touched the water, and then her daughter and left the pool."
Now your friends just know that you are human. You didn't stop being strong. You didn't stop being capable. You aren't going to be an outcast. You are going to open a dialogue that needs to exist between us as mothers.
“I’m just a Mom” a friend told me in passing, as we were chatting about life and catching up. JUST a Mom. Why do we attach that word “just?” Why do we feel the need to defend our role or note that our position is without pay or merit in the business world?
“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.
