Blending. We simply stepped in, one after the other, in and out of transitions. Once in a while smooth, with snack-y dinners, family snuggles & pick-up soccer games. Oftentimes tense, in the loudest silence, a harsh word, or slamming doors. The world around is full of pain, and we're feeling that on an intimate level. Try as we might to hold each our own, all of our feelings spill onto one another. Blending, as we know it, has not been easy or clean. No, it's very messy. But it's beautiful, too.
Have you heard the saying, "it's like comparing apples to oranges"? This idiom means that while both are fruits, they are extremely different from each other. One of my kids is as different from his brother as their juice preferences... This post was originally posted on the Bridging The Gap blog. Expectations and realitiesAs my…
Grieving with children is a complicated thing. I want to be genuine with my young boys about sadness and the freedom to feel and express emotion, but I also want to keep unnecessary burdens off of their shoulders. I want to help them grieve in their own ways and in their own timing, but I also want them to be able to be just happy sometimes. My strategy for how to grieve with children is as young as those children and it grows and develops with them.
I struggle with a quick-fused temper that sometimes spews onto the people I love most in this world. From talking with other moms, I've learned that I am not the only one that yells in anger say her kids. This is a very difficult thing for me to admit because it is so contrary to who I want to be as a mother. It hurts my heart more than almost anything else to see my beloved boys in pain, and there just aren't words to describe the kind of regret I feel when I know that I am the cause of that hurt. It’s also hard to admit because I haven’t found a fix-all solution; this is not a past-tense issue. I haven’t tied this up and thrown it behind me; there’s no pretty bow.