The history of National Grandparent's Day and ideas for grandparent celebrations

If you live in the United States you know how we just looooooove to make holidays for everyone, and September 8 is yet another: it's National Grandparent's Day! I'm a big fan of celebrating just about anything and anyone, so I'm totally on the Grandparent's Day train. While looking around for cute ideas for stuff my kid could do for his long-distance grandparents, I realized I don't know ANYTHING about the origins of the day. Anyone up for a history lesson/craft party? Let's do it.

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We couldn't find a childbirth class we liked so we made up our own

I knew almost immediately that the class was not what I was expecting it to be. I expected my husband to be a little resistant, but I also expected to feel like I should defend the class. I couldn't. He said he hated how it all felt like a sales pitch for itself, that it tried to tell us, "Yes, you CAN have an unmedicated birth, but only with US!" and I agreed with him. He hated the format of the class, too — the instructor read us questions straight out of the workbook and we wrote down the answers. Not a good learning style for either of us. I don't know how much of this is related to the method, and how much was our particular instructor. I know Bradley classes are great for some people. They just weren't right for us.

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It's cool if you're not a woman, and 9 other rules for dating my son

Since the advent of Pinterest and Tumblr, posts venting parental frustrations have been shared, pinned and reblogged with silent nods of understanding, uproarious laughter and the occasional GPOY tag. Now and then, I'll come across a post intended as humor that really bugs me. When I look at what the post is really saying, it's just passive-aggressive repetition of the tropes and assumptions that I don't want to include in my parenting.

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The road to acceptance for parents of children with special needs

With the birth of our son we joined the ranks of that undefined, amorphous, limitless group of "special needs parents." Within the first days of the NICU I knew there would be challenges, but I could not ever imagine the constituency of belonging to such a group. A stat perhaps. A label. A stigma?

A legacy of abuse is broken

Then I met him. He was a young man, not without his own faults. We saw in each other a solace. He didn't save me, but through his love and kindness I learned there was a different way to view the world — a manner of seeing, of feeling without shame, of expressing my love without fear, and love him I did.