Parental Love Means Never Having To Say You’re Sorry (For Cleaning Up Your Vomit)
Maybe it’s the most basic kind of love. A love that says, “I will do anything for you. Including cleaning up your vomit in the middle of the night.”
Maybe it’s the most basic kind of love. A love that says, “I will do anything for you. Including cleaning up your vomit in the middle of the night.”
I learned years ago that they either ignore me or are mildly freaked out by a middle-aged dad hanging out in the store. Sales clerks regularly offer me a place to sit down.
A new research study from Dove Men+Care reveals that 2/3 of all dads feel that they aren’t accurately portrayed in media. Crazy, isn’t it?
After my mother died, when I was 14, he never missed a beat in filling the parental void in my life. He mastered cooking. He mastered laundry. He mastered scheduling. Most of all, he selflessly mastered my world.
It was one of the many things that reminded me that my dad was thinking of me.
We’re called to be the nurturer. The protector. The clown. The therapist. The teacher. The shoulder. The safety zone. The listener. The drill sergeant. The encourager and the beacon of light – to name just of few.
A validation that gives them an absolute conviction that every day has purpose. That every minute they are given can be a minute of good. And I want them to feel the joy in validating others.
It’s the one room in the house that I freely leave in a state of mess, shut the door, and forget about it. It’s my secret room.
“Ask questions, and listen, really listen, to what your kids have to say.
These kids come in our lives and most of us start to figure things out. We figure out childcare. We figure out our respective roles. We figure out how the money works. And mostly, we figure out that we have to be flexible because no two children are the same.