I wonder if this happens to men, too.
I wonder if they can report on stories without at some point filtering them through their perspective as parents.
I can’t help it.
When Patrick Kane said today that the worst part about his arrest a little more than a week ago, was his family seeing him in handcuffs, his voice caught in his throat. And my throat closed up.
Lately, parenthood has become a race. With one child going to high school in the fall and the other starting junior high, it’s like we’re trying to pack in all the fun before it’s too late and both kids are too embarrassed to associate with us any longer.
At least this is what we hear from all the cool, professional parents who have already experienced this. They tell us that eventually, like when they’re 30 or so, your kids come back around to liking you again. But soon, and thankfully my husband and I are not so feeble as to have forgotten going through this ourselves, they will be mortified to do any of the following:
It’s just a bed.
A little twin bed with a tendency to creak too much for our daughter’s liking. It’s also way too small, according to Amanda, who is prone to exaggeration and has been dying for a new one for the last few years.
I remember when we all used to be able to fit in that bed. The whole family would climb in together – Amanda, Rick, me and even Alec, who usually ended up falling into the crack between bed and wall and had to be rescued.