It took me twelve years to recognize my step-father as my Dad — and I wish it had happened a lot sooner
Since I’ve spent just under half of my life as a child of a single parent, I never thought I’d be able to pinpoint the exact day I finally got a Dad of my own. I grew up with my Mom, two brothers, and my (maternal) Grandma. I had a few male role models throughout my childhood — mostly family members like my Uncle, Grandpa, and my younger brother’s dad — but they came and went without trouble and I wasn’t too concerned with why they didn’t stick around. After all, they weren’t my father — they had their own lives and their own things to do… which didn’t include raising me.
Embracing toddlerhood in all of its bedazzled, pop-star-inspired incarnations
My foster son Noah dances like a bedazzled, hormone-charged pop star. His foray into mock super-stardom is very likely the result of being babysat all summer along with his hyper-girlie cousin who is six years old going on 16, and his four-year-old sister who emulates everything said older cousin does. Noah is regularly subjected to marathon sessions of trying to nail down the choreography in Miley Cyrus’s “Hoedown Throwdown” and other tween delights.
My step-mom stepped in after my mom died and helped me find my life again
I never expected to call anyone my step-mom. To have a step-mom means your dad got divorced and he remarried or his wife died. In my case, it was the latter. My mom died when I was nineteen, meaning that my dad would likely remarry at some point. About two years after my mom’s death he met a woman who would become my step-mom. Two years may sound like a long time, but in “grief time” it might as well have been two months. Is anybody truly ever ready to accept the person who might try to replace her mom?
Standing at the brink of thirteen
There’s an endearing, exasperating naivete to this age. She wears eyeliner but doesn’t wash her hair without reminders. Sometimes she leaves the house looking like a million bucks. Other times I turn her around before she hits the breakfast table because I cannot stand to look at the same sloppy gym shorts for even one meal more.
You’re Doing it Right: what 18 years of weird parenting looks like
My good friend Alexander and his wife Nicole just celebrated the graduation of their oldest daughter from high school. I wanted to know what their tricks and tools for raising such stellar kids were, and what I can learn from their experiences. The following is an interview with Alexander.
The supernatural powers of kisses
Finally, in the car with the child safely strapped in, pacifier negotiations resolved, and teddy bear crackers distributed, I realized: I have a superpower! For a very brief time of my life, as short lived as maybe one or two years, a beautiful little person with adoring and admiring eyes will look at me and from the bottom of his heart believe that Mamma in fact has the magical, supernatural ability to heal with a kiss.
Respectful parenting begets respectful teens
There seems to be the almost universal belief among North American parents. I’m sure this is a phenomena found elsewhere as well, but I’m just talking about what I’ve personally seen. Kids, whether these are theoretical future children or actual kids, will hate, or, at the very least, dislike their parents. Teenagers hate their parents: everyone knows that.
I’m finally dating after my divorce — and my six-year-old loves it
A few productive, insightful, sadly celibate years rolled by after my divorce, and then it happened: I meet a fella. I couldn’t even believe it was happening… until my now six-year-old asked me if I have a boyfriend. When I said yes, she asked to meet him.