For an addendum to the previous post on Avigail, I have decided to extend that thought to some positive aspects.
Because there is so much suffering out there in the world, I believe we need to try to find the silver lining in life. We mothers-in-law, grandmothers, middle-agers, empty nesters, Baby Boomers – whatever you are going to call us — must view things with rosy colored spectacles. Now that doesn’t mean we have to be like Pollyanna. No. We see the reality.
Nor does it mean we have to advocate for helicopter parenting and grandparenting. Nope. Not that either.
But here’s an example: Let’s say we are out somewhere and notice something that a younger mom (you know someone who reminds us of what we were like 25 or 30 years ago?) is doing.
Now suppose that behavior is not something we think we would have done when we were that age. Or for sure, we wouldn’t do it now. And double for sure – we wouldn’t want our own children to do it.
What do we say or do?
To find out about seeing the silver lining, read today’s post on Rivki Silver’s blog “Life in the Married Lane.” Enjoy!
It happened yesterday. I thought I could push it off for at least another few months. But alas, the inevitable occurred. Deep down I knew it was bound to happen, but I was in denial and I was enjoying the honeymoon. And when it — the inevitable –happened, it hit me between the eyes. I felt the sting for about a minute. Then the pain , having reached its peak, began to subside. After several minutes of deep breathing, I was fine. Yes, I survived and yes, I am here to tell the story. Continue reading
My grandson graduated from nursery school yesterday.
When I got to the backyard where the “event” (sounds a bit formal for 4 year olds – doesn’t it?) was being held, I took a seat in the front row – next to his mom. As soon as the kids came marching into place on the stage (with their teacher leading them in song), I searched for my grandson among the group, and zeroed right in to watch him in his debut.
I turned to my daughter-in-law and whispered, “Why is his hat crooked?”
She said, “Ma, he’s FOUR.”
True. He’s four. I’m fifty two. And I’m worrying about his slanted sailor cap on his head. Continue reading