“Mommy was in jail,” Etta casually announced, as she swung her feet on the exam table in the doctor’s office during her annual checkup. At eight years old, Etta is a tall girl, in the 95th percentile for height. And, apparently, somewhere in the bottom 5% for tact.Read more
“I’m sad today,” I said to my kids.
I didn’t want it to be a big deal. I wanted it to be like one of Kate’s thousand little conversations, casually mentioned and repeated over time so that the lesson gradually and naturally sinks in.
But a thousand little conversations have to start somewhere.Read more