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Meeting Mila
Children used to annoy me. They cried. They pooped. They cried some more. They yelled obvious questions at the movies, screamed constantly in the grocery store, and seemed to have an affinity for yelling out facts that the general public did not need to know (such as when in a department store, Bobby informs the sales clerk, "MOMMY SAYS MY BROTHER BILLY WAS AN ACCIDENT!") Furthermore, I had no idea how to deal with children. I was the youngest sibling in my family, and unlike most girls my age, I had never been a babysitter. All of that would change, however, when I met Mila. She would show me just how intelligent, honest, and wonderful children can be.
It was around Valentine's Day when I met a strange and interesting young man named Jack. He was a writer, chain smoker, and lover of all cartoons -- especially those involving giant fighting robots. I was going to Topeka West High School, he was a freshman at Washburn University and despite our age difference, we clicked. He told me when we first met that he had a little girl, that her name was Mila, and that she was two years old. I like to think that the fact he had a child didn't freak me out, but it did. As a sixteen year old, I was too young to have to deal with a kid. Also, I was convinced that I didn't have the time or patience to spend time with both Jack and his daughter.
Mila had a squinty-eyed smile that could lighten up my foulest mood. Her eyes were like a prized Husky's, a beautiful, piercing ice blue--just like her father's. Her hair was so blond, it was white. It amazed me (and still does) that so much beauty could be bundled into such a small package. I noticed right away that she also had his ears--they stuck out from the sides of her head just like his, but hers were more feminine, with earrings adorning her tiny lobes.
At first, she was shy around me. (Of course, back then, she hadn't mastered opening doors yet, and oh, how that's changed!) But over the weekends she spent at Jack's house, I became "Her Sara." She started becoming more comfortable around me when I began driving Jack to Lawrence to pick her up and then driving back with her in tow.
...rld, parents need to provide them with structure, discipline, and emotional support. The word, “child” shouldn’t be interchangeable with “small adult”. Treating them this way can leave someone insecure, lost, and unprepared for life, as I frequently feel. People are becoming more and more likely to write children into their narratives as these self-governing characters who know what’s best for themselves, but however convenient and valuable that may seem, that is never the role they were intended to play.
You have to teach them all of the rules, but you get to have a lot of fun with them, too, and that’s the best part-that you get to experience that feeling of having a child.”
Eventually, she started asking me questions. She asked them with such interest. She was coming up with questions much more creative than mine.She was responding with kindness. She maintained eye contact the whole time no matter how boring my answers were. She made me feel very
While driving, Lacey and I laughed while reminiscing, over old stories of love and trouble that we seemed to get into over the past decade at the cape, Lacey’s cousin Mary was quite, she seemed shy.
The third summer we were together was a bit more hectic that the other summers we had together. I was working more hours and Allison was also working for a neighbour, but we still met up every evening we could.
All of this happening within the span of roughly three months. Like McCandless, I have also formed friendships with others that resulted in nearly becoming family. It wasn’t adoption, but we became so close, it was almost like I’d grown up with them all my life, and am viewed as another daughter. this was all because I had decided to strike up a conversation He wasn’t too fond of truly becoming close to others.
now that I am a mother I understand her ways of parenting and thanks to her many lessons
Marilyn Monroe had a difficult childhood. Born Norma Jean Mortensen on June 1, 1926 to a mentally unstable mother and absent father, she spent her childhood in a series of foster homes and an orphanage. Norma’s father is still unclear. Mother Gladys had married Martin Mortensen in 1924, although they separated in 1925, before her pregnancy with Norma. As Gladys was mentally and financially incapable of caring for Norma, she placed Norma with foster parents. Norma stayed until she was seven, but in 1933 her mother had bought a house and took Norma to live with her. Shortly after that she had a mental crises, Norma became a ward of the state. She was on several occasions sexually assaulted; later said she had been raped at the age of eleven.
My mother across from me and I couldn’t stop shaking. I was aflutter. I was supposed to be meeting someone my doctor said would make everything better. About thirty minutes in a lady with dark hair, Teddy gram skin and a rather big smile came out. Latisha Lewis. I was uneasy and hesitant at first. She didn’t appear like your typical life coach or what I perceived on to be. She just looks like a normal person to me. It was difficult for me to get comfortable with her at first and for the first few weeks of me knowing her I often spent most of our secession studying her appearance and trying to convince myself to actually say something. She was patient with me and I loved her for it. Around this time it was time to be applying to college and I without my mom at my aid I sought help and this was when I confided in Latisha and she assisted me. She pushed me and motivated me. She was everything I’ve ever wanted and
I met her in the autumn right after she had taken a terrible fall going to her mailbox and I was hired by her family as an in home aide. Her name was Jane* and she became a fast friend and provided me with never to be forgotten lessons that cant be taught within the walls of a school. Jane took the time to prove to me that I was worth loving and showed me unconditional love that at the time I couldn’t find. In the end all I have left are a few cherished memories, a pearl necklace, and some of the best lessons in life.
I have had the luck of being the oldest of my mothers’ seven children, and the pleasure of having three of my own, and one step-son. I’ve spent a lot of time changing diapers, wiping noses, and kissing ouchies. I’ve carried babies on my hip that I’ve seen off to kindergarten, helped dressed for the first school dance, attended their graduation, and even been there when they have had their first baby. I have spent a lot of time analyzing their behavior, moods, or lack thereof. I’ve concluded that there are 4 types of children, I have been blessed with one of each. The 4 different types are: The Superstar, The Kool Kat, The Lil’ Mama or Little Man (depending on the sex of the child), and The Rebel.
I was in the 7th grade when I started talking to my sons future father sadly to say. We grew up in Queens the suburbs houes had green cut grass and colorful trees through out the streets. We were carless about life with no responsibilities yet. Michael was such a joker he would always make me laugh and maybe that is why i became comfortable with him. He shared to me about his father being diagnosed with cancer
It was like living a dream. He took me out to dinner, met my parents –
In fact, this reminded me so much of my eldest daughter's first boyfriend. It was really the first boy that had ever talked to her and she was completely and utterly mesmerised by his presence… They then broke up 2 months later, which supposedly ‘left a huge hole in her heart' as she would say… from mum to mum, I'm glad that relationship ended.
These kids were just kids to me, and as we grew up, they were just people. I would say that my first encounter with someone different from me and what my mom told me did leave me with the engrained idea that I didn’t need understand someone’s situation perfectly, and my imperfect understanding didn’t give me license to ask probing questions. All I had to do was treat everyone I met, no matter where they came from, what they looked like or what language they spoke,