Tonight I had a proud momma moment. A rare moment where I am not second guessing myself or doubting my abilities as a mother at every turn.
I truly realized that I am doing something right when my child went to pick out a bedtime story and he returns with the extraordinary life of Malala Yousafzai ❤ he also read the extraordinary life of Rosa Parks and the extraordinary life of Anne Frank when we went camping! Today he came to me and asked why something bad had to happen to them to make their lives extraordinary, but nothing bad happened to Neil Armstrong when he was reading about him. My 8 year old child came to the realization, all on his own, the difference between how men and women are treated because of their gender. People talk shit about the fact that I am so real when it comes to interacting with my children because of their ages…but I think that the things I can teach them, as well as the lessons they learn on their own, are so much better for them to learn now. My kids are kind, compassionate, empathetic, feminist children who respect other people’s boundaries and aren’t afraid to speak their minds when they know that something is wrong. Whether it is #blacklivesmatter, #lgbtq+, or even #metoo, they see the inequality and they see through those who keep causing all these movements to be necessary. They see color…they see that not all people are the same, and they embrace all of those differences. And when they see someone who is being hurt by other people simply because they are different, they lend their voices to those in pain.
Love me, or hate me. Love my parenting, or hate it. I honestly don’t give a fuck. I am beyond proud of the people my children are becoming, and you will NEVER convince me otherwise. They form their own thoughts and opinions about the world, and I would be doing them a huge injustice if I didn’t allow them access to the real world. Raising the next generation to be better, and to do better, is a fucking honor.
The opinionated widow 