My plan was to have perfect children. I know, I know, it is not realistic, but that never stopped me from reaching for the ideal.
We started this “kid with a cellphone” journey a few years ago, and I have since found myself pining for pioneer times when families read books by candlelight and bonded over farm chores.
Being honest is hard, and being honest about important things is the hardest.
I love youth sports. I have four boys and they play them all the time. For the most part, win or lose, sports are something we enjoy and grow from.
Holidays at our house are pretty low-key, until December rolls around. I have always been crazy about Christmas. Growing up, it was truly the most magical time of year when our home and life felt incredibly full.
Mindi Edstrom had casually thought about a mammogram, but with no family history of breast cancer and no signs of concern, waiting a few extra years didn’t seem problematic.
I love my birthday. I love the calls, the messages, the texts, going out to eat for every meal, the plans my husband makes and the way my kids say, “Happy Birthday Mom” at least five times each.
Middle school. There are few words in my vocabulary that elicit such a visceral reaction. Reading them together takes me right back to sweater vests, Girbaud jeans, bad bangs and a burning desire to fit in.
I was slow to the smartphone party. My phone had always been for conversation and an occasional text. Then I got my first iPhone, and I was in love.
Being a father has never been an easy job, but you are doing it so well. When we had our children, some of us could only look at them through the glass window of the hospital nursery. Today, you are there during, through and right after birth.
Let us start by saying we are in awe of you. Being a mother now seems so much more difficult than it was when we were mothers.
I have been thinking a lot about stones lately. At my grandmother’s funeral, my uncle told of a time when he tried to share neighborhood gossip with her. Her response was, “People who live in glass houses don’t throw stones.”
I was overwhelmed by the love and support for my last article, It’s Time to Stop being Friendly and start being a Friend. My heart broke for the amount of people who told me about their loneliness and how starved for friendship they feel.
Today, I lost a friend. She was a widowed mother of two, working full time to provide a life for her son and daughter. She was kind and energetic. She was happy and involved.
I know you don’t get it. Social media is not your thing. You have a group of 15 guys that mean something to you.
The argument is as old as school itself. “Why do you care so much about my grades?” This is often followed by a long list of who gets paid big bucks for A’s.
Our life has been far from perfect. In fact, when Mike and I envisioned our future 18 years ago as wide-eyed barely 20-year-olds, it looked nothing like the one we have created except for one thing, we promised to love each other through it all.
It’s the new year, and Instagram has 27 million posts with the hashtag #cleaneating and 5 million more for #paleo. January always makes me want to slip from my moderate, happy, healthy lifestyle and spiral into a slippery slope of restriction.
Bringing Christ into Christmas gets increasingly more difficult each year. As our schedules fill up with choir concerts, parties and other worthwhile festivities, our best intentions often get relegated to afterthoughts.
Can I take you back seven years? Seven years ago, my children were ages 4, 2, and 1. Seven years ago, I had things all figured out for “older” children.
Instagram is booming. It’s simple to use and fun to keep up with. At face value, it seems incredibly harmless, and maybe even a safe site for kids...easy, private, and full of pictures!
The other day, my seventh-grade son showed me a text from a girl who is a friend. It said, “One a scale of 1-10, how cute am I?”
I wanted to share a few things with you before the big day that I hope you will remember.
My children have a problem. They think the purpose of life is to have fun.
I have varicose veins that scare children, love handles I can’t help but pinch, stretch marks like cat scratches and plenty of wrinkles already, but it’s all OK because my mom taught me something much more valuable than how to accessorize.