I think I've discovered the problem with my parenting.
I sat next to my children at the kitchen table, and realized that
I feel so damned out of control because my children are just
gelatinous blobs of goo that I gave squeezed off myself and are now
somehow living next to me. I still feel the need to control what
they do much is the same way I need to control what I do...
We are like an amoeba, except in revearse.
We are like a bowl of Christmas Jello that was left on the counter
too long, we are melting and separating at an alarming rate.
I know that my children feel it, too. Judging by how much of their
flesh must come in contact with my flesh at any given moment throughout
the day. It's like we are trying to get our cells to rejoin into one
gooey girl blob.
We are a wet and messy bunch.