The worst is definitely not over, people. Yes, let's take the needed sigh of relief that the calendrical end of this nightmarish year might offer, but remember that, in some ways, the nightmare is just getting started. Hold on for dear life to whatever joy you've got left, and please, please, please, if you're reading this: stay home as much as you can, if you can. Wear a mask. Avoid gatherings. Do it for all of us.
Nobody wants their children to recognize their own mortality, and that of everyone around them. But death is a part of life. Let us strive to speak the truth to our children and help them to face bravely the many goodbyes they must encounter during this life's journey.
The world has been saying "no" a lot lately. So I've made a conscious decision, and here it is: This holiday season, I'm going to say "YES" as much as I can.
Let us uphold the three hundred million years of mammalian wisdom that course through our veins: the knowledge, baked into our DNA, that we must let go of the comforts of the past in order to welcome what is to come.
I'm not sure what it is about my parental role that has bestowed me with some preternatural sixth sense about where everything is. Nor am I certain how I wound up the guardian and keeper of things in this relationship. But perhaps more aptly, I'm very attuned to things being lost and missing, and desperately wanting them to be found.
In my last post, I said we were finding our rhythm, but when rhythm becomes too predictable, it becomes monotonous. What punctuates your rhythm?
Today marked day 22 of our self-isolation. I don't know about all of you, but we're starting to find our rhythm around here. For those who know anything about music theory, you'll recall that rhythm can take many forms.
What's a parent to do when their preschooler doesn't want to join virtual circle time? First, count your blessings. Second, join in and sing along!