According to a recent study, the most stressful number of kids to have is three.
Do I look the same?
Does the cafeteria still exude that overcooked broccoli stink?
Will my first boyfriend be there with his wife?
How strange will it feel to walk those fluorescent hallways again, older, wiser, far stronger now?
I was born and raised in Minnesota. My husband is from Wisconsin. We're raising our seven-year-old son in Los Angeles and trying hard to instill in him the values we grew up with.
Story telling is a precious and invaluable way of holding on to your history and never forgetting. It’s a way to create memories that can last a lifetime.
In 2012 the National Association of Mothers’ Centers asked me to write a letter to my children in recognition of Mother’s Day, as a way to impart to the world what wisdom I would like to pass on to them. This is the hardest thing I’ve ever written, by far, especially since it is only 650 words or so.
The whole country has been transfixed by the events that happened in Boston. The tragedy has stirred up a lot of feelings in my family and provoked many questions from my younger children.
Living in the era of constant connectedness can mean bearing the burden of grief and sorrow for those that are suffering in far reaching corners of the world. That burden is amplified when those horrors strike home.
The following is a guest post from Andrew Taylor, Partner in the Family Law Practice at Weber Gallagher
Recently I wrote about the shameful state of women’s health care in America and how America’s broken health care system affects women.
It sucks to be a second child.
Being a first child myself, I always kind of knew this, but it wasn’t until recently that I’ve really come to understand just how hard it is. When I was a kid, I used to torture my poor little brother. My favorite line to use on him was that I was bigger, faster, smarter and stronger, and it made no difference to me whatsoever that I was only conferred those advantages because I’d been born three and a half years before him. I didn’t care that one day he would most certainly be bigger, faster, stronger, and maybe even smarter than me. At the time, he wasn’t, and I let him know it whenever I got the chance.
It wasn’t until I took Psych 101 in college that I even thought about the damage I might have done to his self-esteem. But now that I’m the parent of a big sister/little brother, I’m really starting to see how awful it must have been.
