Well, it happened. I’ve reached that inevitable crossroads between passing for someone sort of hip and vaguely young to looking like a middle-aged suburban mom on her way to Target.
If I acknowledge that life is unfair and depressing and lonely, will my kids believe me when I tell them it is also exhilarating and joyful and full of beauty?
When my kids were little, I'd go to parent-teacher conferences or chaperone a field trip and think, my kids, are angels compared to most of these yahoos. As a high school teacher, I'd see my students getting into trouble or making bad choices and pat myself on the back. Clearly, I had cracked the code on this parenting thing. Naturally, my kids would be model teenagers because I was a model parent. Boy, was I wrong.