It is not until you become a mother that your judgment slowly turns to compassion and understanding.
When my kids become wild and unruly, I use a nice, safe playpen. When they're finished, I climb out.
I come from a family where gravy is considered a beverage.
My second favorite household chore is ironing. My first being hitting my head on the top bunk bed until I faint.
The family. We are a strange little band of characters trudging through life sharing diseases and toothpaste, coveting one another's desserts, hiding shampoo, borrowing money, locking each other out of our rooms. . . and trying to figure out the common thread that bound us all together.
Families aren't easy to join. They're like an exclusive country club where membership makes impossible demands and the dues for an outsider are exorbitant.
No one ever died from sleeping in an unmade bed. I have known mothers who remake the bed after their children do it because there is wrinkle in the spread or the blanket is on crooked. This is sick.
Family life got better and we got our car back - as soon as we put 'I love Mom' on the license plate.
In general my children refuse to eat anything that hasn't danced in television.
I read one psychologist's theory that said, "Never strike a child in your anger." When could I strike him? When he is kissing me on my birthday? When he's recuperating from measles? Do I slap the Bible out of his hand on Sunday?
Like religion, politics, and family planning, cereal is not a topic to be brought up in public. It's too controversial.
You hear a lot of dialogue on the death of the American family. Families aren't dying. They're merging into big conglomerates.
To my way of thinking, the American family started to decline when parents began to communicate with their children.
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