1-800-273-TALK (8255)

As a parent, I know that there are certain topics that are hard to talk to your child about.

Sex, drugs, and alcohol are probably the main three that a a lot of parents dread having to talk to their kids about. When it comes time for the conversation, the message is simple:

Don’t do it.

There’s another topic that parents can’t afford not to add to that list.

Suicide.

The message is just as simple:

Don’t do it.

As a parent, just the thought of your child knowing about suicide is sickening. The thought of your child having suicidal thoughts is enough to take your breath away and bring you to tears.

For a lot of parents, it’s easier to think that it’s not necessary to talk to their child about suicide. To default to thoughts like, “My son/daughter would never do that.” or “I would know if my son/daughter was having a hard time.” or “My son/daughter is too young to talk about suicide.”

Like abuse, trauma, and addiction, suicide does not discriminate. It doesn’t have an age limit. Skin color does not provide protection against it. Nor does gender. Zip codes mean nothing.

In my career as an elementary school counselor, some of my most difficult days were the ones when I listened as students told me of their desire not to live anymore and their plans to attempt suicide. The youngest of these students was in Kindergarten. My first experience of a student contemplating suicide to the point of having a plan was with a 1st grader. Some may say, “They’re just saying that for attention.” And I would agree. These students were not okay. They needed help. Big time.

Listening as these students talk about these things is heartbreaking. Calling parents and hearing the shock and confusion is hard. I’m sure the conversations that were had at home were extremely difficult.

But you know what would have been even harder?

Finding out that one of those students attempted or completed suicide.

We all have mental health, and just like our physical health can change at a moment’s notice, so can our mental health. It’s nothing to be ashamed of, although there seems to be a part of our society that is bound and determined to convince us otherwise.

Don’t let them see you cry.

Boys don’t cry.

Neither do big girls.

Suck it up.

Get over it.

You’re fine.

Today I spent the morning in a neighboring school district trying to provide even a little bit of comfort to students that were struggling to accept and make sense of the fact that one of their classmates completed suicide yesterday. More than once I heard them say things like “He was always so happy”; “I never thought he would do something like that”; and “I never thought that would happen here.”

Please talk to your child about suicide. You’re not going to plant a seed or “give them ideas”. What you are going to do is open a line of communication that is vital. That lets your child know that you’re not going to stick your head in the sand and that she can come and talk to you when she’s struggling. That he can tell you about a friend that he’s worried about. That you will listen and take her seriously when she says she feels hopeless. That you will find the right way to help him just like you did when he had a fever and a sore throat.

If you’re wondering how to talk to your child about suicide, this article gives some good ideas on how to broach the subject.

If you’re wondering what to say to your child if he tells you that he has thought about hurting himself or has had suicidal thoughts, keep it simple. Say “I’m so thankful you told me” followed by “I’m going to help you get through this”. If anything else, call the National Suicide Prevention Hotline at 1-800-273-8255.

I’m not saying it’s going to be easy. But it will be easier than wishing you had.

Changing the Lens of Down Syndrome

A while back, I wrote about a conversation I had with a woman wherein she told me that her daughter was not likely to have a baby of her own because of her age and the higher probability of the baby having Down syndrome. (You can read it here.)

This past summer, I ran into a woman that I had known growing up but hadn’t seen in years. She and I were catching up when she told me that her daughter had one child and was thinking about having another one. The woman said that she hoped her daughter would just be happy and thankful for the one she had because there had been a “genetic scare” and they got lucky the baby was born “normal”.

As with the other conversation, my mind was racing as I tried to listen respectfully while trying to figure out how I was going to enlighten this woman. My chance came when she asked if I had any kids of my own, and I told her that yes, I had two children, Josie and Moses. For some reason, I didn’t come out right then and tell her that Moses had Down syndrome. That didn’t come up until she asked about their ages and school.

I explained to her that we had decided to wait another year before sending Josie to kindergarten because of her late birthday and that Moses would be starting the early childhood program, too, when he turned three in October. That was when I told her that he had Down syndrome and would be going through the evaluation process to have an IEP developed to make sure he was getting what he needed at school.

To be honest, there was a part of me that got a teensy bit of satisfaction from seeing her reaction and scrolling back to her earlier comments to make sure she hadn’t said anything outright offensive. But what really brought me joy was getting to tell her about how amazing Moses is and what a beautiful relationship he has with his big sister. To get to tell her with 100% honesty that I wouldn’t change Moses having Down syndrome for anything because he has brought so much happiness and richer insight to our lives.

A couple of months ago, I was talking with another older-ish woman about a close friend of mine who won a state-level award the same week that she gave birth to her beautiful daughter who has Down syndrome. I watched as her the look on the woman’s face transformed from one of sadness to pure confusion when I went on to say that my reaction was, “How amazing is that?! She hit the lottery! She was named Missouri School Counselor of the Year AND her daughter was born AND she has Down syndrome!” I would say it’s safe to bet that she thought I was saying that to be nice. But I truly wasn’t. I was honestly so incredibly excited for my friend because of her good fortune on all accounts.

Even though it’s the year 2020 and we have amazingly advanced technology and an abundance of information at our fingertips, it is apparent to me that when it comes Down syndrome and other disabilities, it can sometimes seem like we’re still in the Dark Ages. Down syndrome is still viewed through a very negative lens. I know we’ve come along way from the viewpoint that Dr. Benjamin Spock held and published in his best-selling book Baby and Childcare where he recommended that babies born with Down syndrome should be immediately institutionalized because “If [the infant] merely exists at a level that is hardly human, it is much better for the other children and the parents to have him cared for elsewhere.” (Globaldownsyndrome.org) That suggestion was held as true until research was published in 1979 that showed that the IQ of children with Down syndrome that were raised at home both with and without specific attention to stimulation was higher than children with Down syndrome that were raised in an institution.

Nevertheless, we’re still facing a generation of mothers encouraging their daughters NOT to have a baby out of fear it will have Down syndrome. There are still doctors who recommend aborting a baby that has Down syndrome as if they have a crystal ball and somehow know the deficiencies and limitations the child might have will overshadow and negate the child’s strengths and abilities.

Anyone can be a part of helping others change their views and see the beauty and value in the life of a person with Down syndrome. Be excited for a woman who gives birth to a baby that has Down syndrome. Share in a family’s excitement when its child with Down syndrome reaches another milestone. See the beauty in the perseverance and strength of a person with Down syndrome working to overcome one of life’s challenges.

Let’s work together to change the view of Down syndrome from a lens of doom and gloom to one of celebration and possibilities.

Letting Go of the Guilt

The first time I felt it was after getting the results of the fetal echo at St. Louis Children’s Hospital about 2 1/2 months before Moses was born. Hearing that his heart looked perfect sent a huge rush of relief through my mind and body, but instead of walking out of the hospital feeling light as 7-month-pregnant feather, I felt the heavy weight of guilt. 

You see, as Tyson and I walked through Children’s and saw kids with various forms of illnesses and severe disabilities on the way to get the echocardiogram of our baby’s heart, I was prepared to join their club. Even though the ultrasounds up to that point indicated the baby with Down syndrome I was carrying was healthy, I was sure that the other shoe would finally drop and we would find out that we were in for a rough time in the form of an unhealthy heart. 

As happy as I truly was to know my baby’s heart looked healthy, I couldn’t help but to feel incredibly guilty that we were getting off easy. 

Over the past three years, I’ve had that “my son with Down syndrome is very healthy” guilt quite a bit. Yes, we’ve had health issues with him: the scary RSV at 3 months; a heart catheterization procedure at 1 year; two sets of ear tubes; slightly elevated TSH (thyroid) levels. But on days like today when the only “bad” news we get from the doctors is that his TSH level is still slightly elevated and that he’s slightly far- or near-sighted (I can’t remember which!) and has a slight astigmatism in his right eye that will be rechecked at his ophthalmology visit next year, I feel guilty. 

He is healthy. Period. 

While we were at Children’s today finding out that Moses is pretty much the picture of health, I once again saw children with various disabilities and illnesses. I met a couple who’s 1-year-old son with Down syndrome had heart surgery several months ago, coded about 8 hours post-surgery, and are now “back at square one” with his heart and he is still on a feeding tube. I saw another little girl with Down syndrome who was in a modified stroller that could hold her oxygen tubes. I watched as her mother did something to the tube that was connected to her trachea. I saw a couple of kids with Down syndrome with glasses. I saw another boy with Down syndrome who was wearing a mask so as not to either spread germs or contract them or both. 

That’s not even mentioning all the other kids without Down syndrome that had different disabilities and health conditions that I saw as we went from doctor to doctor. Then there’s the infants in the NICU, and the kids in the PICU. The children in the Heart Center and the ones that are there being treated for cancer and other illnesses.

Since we left the hospital today, I’ve once again been experiencing that heavy weight of guilt of having a healthy child where so many others are not. As silly as it might sound, I’ve been asking God “Why?”. 

“Why does my son get to be so healthy?”

“Why does my son get to be so strong?”

“Why does my son get to be so cute?” (Obviously the answer to that is genetics, right?)

And then I had to stop myself from asking “Why?”. I had to give myself permission to let go of the guilt and just be thankful. Feeling guilty isn’t going to do Moses, those other kids, or even myself any good. Instead I should be telling God “Thank you.” 

“Thank you for letting my son be so healthy.”

“Thank you for letting my son be so strong.”

“Thank you for letting my son look so much like me and be so doggone cute.” 

I don’t know what God’s plan is for Moses. I don’t know what God’s plan is for those other kids. I just have to remember to trust that He’s in control. 

Remember to trust that His plan is always right. 

Remember to tell Him “Thank you.” 

Losing “It“ and Finding Grace

I lost “it” this morning.

By “it”, I mean my patience, my mind, my cool, my sanity, my control.

Josie has been struggling for several weeks with going to to school. Part of it has to do with having separation anxiety, which she also went through last year. Part of it apparently has to do with having a fear of people dying and being sad when they are in Heaven. Part of it has to do with wanting things to be the way she wants them to be but not getting her way. Part of it has to do with the fact that she’s always been an emotionally intense child.

A lot of it has to do with her being five and having a lot of big thoughts going on that her brain just isn’t ready to make sense of yet.

As a school counselor, I’ve done my best to go through all of the techniques and strategies I can think of to figure out what would best help her.

As a mom, I have been doing my best to practice things like taking deep breaths and expressing gratitude to help her through this season of challenge.

Every day I have prayed for her to find peace and happiness. I have prayed for myself to have the patience and ability to help her.

Today I failed her. Big time.

As I was yelling and slamming doors and stomping and crying, I knew it was the absolute wrong thing to do. But her five-year-old tears and whining and ungratefulness coupled with my own personal stressors and frustrations resulted in me losing it.

By the time we got to school, I had calmed down enough to apologize to her. To try to explain that my reaction was in response to my frustration at her behavior.

When I got an email from her teacher letting me know that she had a couple of rough moments during the morning, including yelling and stomping her feet, I had to admit to my role in that. That it was my fault she acted that way, not Josie’s. Let me just tell you that admitting to a co-worker that you failed your own daughter and caused hardship for both of them is a very humbling experience.

Throughout the day, I cycled through feelings of disappointment, anger and guilt for my behavior; frustration at not knowing how to help my daughter; fear of how my words and actions may have affected her.

By the end of the school day, I was drained. Physically, mentally, emotionally.

It was when I got downstairs to pick Josie up that I found what I didn’t expect but so badly needed.

I found grace.

When she saw me and broke out in a huge smile, she gave me grace.

When she hugged me tight and told me she had a great afternoon, she gave me grace.

When I apologized to her again for the way I acted this morning and she said, “You already told me that.”, she gave me grace.

When she told me, “It’s hard for both of us.” after I apologized again and told her of my plan to do better tomorrow, she gave me grace.

I didn’t deserve this child’s forgiveness and grace today, but it’s what I got because it’s what I needed.

I pray that this reflection of my own shortcomings might serve to remind you of the importance of seeking forgiveness and accepting grace. Especially when you feel you least deserve it. In turn, be ready to give forgiveness and grace to those who may not deserve it but desperately need it.

Extra Chromosome = Extra Awesome. It’s That Simple.

Josie was a fresh-faced little two-year-old when Moses was born. With her, my focus was more on helping her adjust to having a new baby invading her space than explaining that her new baby brother had Down syndrome. At that point in her young life, telling her that would’ve meant absolutely nothing to her anyway. Still, part of me wondered when the time would come to explain it to her.

While we didn’t explicitly tell her that he had Down syndrome, we didn’t hide it from her, either. When she asked why people were coming to see him, we explained that they were there to help him get stronger and learn how to do things. That explanation was good enough for her, and she quickly began to interject herself into his physical and speech therapy sessions. In fact, there are still times that I have to remind her that the therapists are coming to see Moses, not her.

My question of when I would have to explain what Down syndrome was and that Moses had it was answered this past spring. Josie had found a medal from the Step Up for Down Syndrome Walk we did in St. Louis the previous spring. She had been wearing it around the house for a while when she came to where I was sitting on the couch and asked me to read what it said. I told her it read “Step Up for Down Syndrome”. She looked at the medal again and said, “I don’t cheer for Down syndrome.”

“Oh, yes you do, sister.” was my immediate reply. Of course, her next question was promptly, “Why?”

Taking a deep breath, I said, “Because Moses has Down syndrome. We cheer for him all the time, right?” (As a matter of fact, we cheer for him so much that when he has even the smallest of accomplishments, he looks at whoever is around to make sure they’re properly cheering for him.)

Here came the hard part. Not because I thought that it would somehow change how she looked at him or felt about him, but because explaining the science and complexity of Down syndrome is hard. Explaining it to an adult who has at least heard of a chromosome is hard enough. Explaining it to a 4-year-old is downright difficult.

I did my best to break it down so she could maybe understand part of it. I told her how we all have chromosomes in our bodies and that most people have two of each chromosome in our cells, but Moses and others with Down syndrome have an extra chromosome that changes some of the things in their bodies and makes it harder for them to do somethings. Thankfully, I could tell that she was losing interest and that she was ready to go about her business, so that extremely over-simplified explanation was all she needed.

After that, Josie didn’t ask any more questions or say anything else about Down syndrome.

Until last week.

While I was getting Moses ready for bed one evening, Josie came in his room and asked, “Why doesn’t Moses talk yet?”

“Well,” I started, “It’s because he has Down syndrome and that makes it harder for him to learn how to talk.”

“Oh. Will you tell me about Down syndrome and those chromo-somes again?”

Impressed that she had apparently really been listening to me when I had tried to explain it the first time, I reminded her that most people get two of each chromosome but Moses got extra of one of them which makes it harder for him to do some things, like learn how to talk. This time I added, “But it’s also part of what makes him awesome.”

Without missing a beat, that smart-mouth came back with, “But you don’t have an extra one so you’re not awesome.”

I swear it was all I could do not to come back with, “Well, little girl, neither do you, so what’s that say about you, too?” Instead, I returned the playful smirk she was giving me and told her to go get ready for bed.

What I love most about telling Josie and other kids about Down syndrome and what it means for Moses is their reaction. It’s almost like a healthy indifference. Having that information doesn’t make or break anything in terms of how they feel about him. There’s no looks of pity towards him or me. They don’t say, “I’m sorry.” There’s no uncomfortable pause or change in conversation. There is simply acceptance.

For Josie, beginning to understand why some things are different about and for her little brother hasn’t changed a thing around here. She still loves him because he’s her Mo Mo. It’s that simple.

Normal First Impressions

A couple of weeks ago, I got the chance to meet a family that had just welcomed a beautiful baby with Down syndrome. While the mom and I had talked on the phone and had been texting for a few months, we had never actually met in person.

When Moses was a baby, I can remember almost desperately looking to other families with kids with Down syndrome for reassurance that everything really was going to be okay. Normal even. I was so excited that now it was my turn to make a great impression about having a child with Down syndrome and show her what an amazing, normal family we really are.

When we got to their house, Moses had decided to take off his shoes, braces, and socks on the drive over. While I was putting them back on, Josie had taken the baby’s gift and gone up to the front door. After I got Moses situated and out of the van, I got the coffees I had picked up on the way and started herding him towards the door where Josie was semi-patiently waiting. When Moses and I got to the steps on the sidewalk, I put the coffees down to get him down the steps a little quicker. Of course, he wasn’t having any of that since he can do it on his own, so I picked the coffees back up and semi-patiently waited for him to get down the first step.

By this point, Josie can hardly stand that she hasn’t gotten to meet the new baby yet, so I told her she could go ahead and knock on the door. Moses was making his way towards the second step, but his progress was slowed by the leaves and sticks that needed to be examined on his path. When the door to the house opened, a sweet yellow lab came barreling out, right past the child that loves animals and straight to the one that has a healthy dislike of them. So now Moses is not moving at all, my hands are full with the drinks, and Josie’s welcoming herself into this new home.

The mom came out and got the dog, but Moses wasn’t making any effort to continue his trek down the steps. So I walked to the porch, put the coffee cups down, went back to pick him up before he could head back to the van, and got him to the front door. After I put him back down and picked up the coffees, I was ready to meet that baby and hopefully calm any reservations or fears the mom might be having about having a child with Down syndrome, if she was having any at all.

After introductions were made, Josie and I went right over to where that sweet baby was sleeping and we ooh’d and aww’d over her perfect little eyes, nose, mouth, and hands, and we giggled at how her hair stood straight up. Standing up, I said, “Moses, come see the baby!” and looked over to where I thought he was.

He wasn’t there.

“Moses?” The mom said she thought he was in the middle of the fort her other kiddos had been working on. I walked over and looked. Nope, not there. I stuck my head around the corner into the playroom.

Not there, either.

“Moses?” Nothing.

“I brought him inside right?” As I said those words, I was inwardly cringing at what this mom must be thinking of me. Pretty sure losing your kid within the first three minutes of meeting does not elicit feelings of confidence and normalcy. The mom said she was pretty sure he came inside, but as I was opening the front door to make sure, I heard him.

“Moses! Where are you?” And then he appeared at the top of the steps. While Josie and I had made a beeline for the baby, Moses made himself at home and went straight upstairs. Apologizing, I ran up the stairs and carried him back down. The mom assured me he was fine and that there was nothing up there that he could hurt.

Now, I’m the type of person that doesn’t say such things if I don’t mean them, so when others say such things to me, I go with it. So after he looked at the baby for about 7 seconds and walked away, I wasn’t worried about where he was going since I knew he was at least safely inside.

As the mom and I talked and got to know each other, Josie went off to play with the other kids for a few minutes, but then she was back to ask if she could hold the baby. Josie loves babies. She pretends like she’s pregnant at least once a week and then loves those babies after they magically get out of her stomach. Getting to hold a real baby is like holding a little piece of heaven for that girl.

While Josie sat on the couch and held the baby, the mom and I continued chatting while I made sure that Josie was supporting the baby’s head and kept an eye out for Moses. After a few minutes, it was becoming clear that the baby was hungry, so I took her from Josie to give her to her momma. As the mom got settled in to nurse her, Josie went over and sat right next to her. Like she wanted to watch to see exactly how this baby was getting fed since as there was no bottle in sight.

“Josie, go play.”

“But…”

“Josie, go check on your brother. Now.”

Reluctantly, Josie left the room and thankfully didn’t come back until after the baby had finished nursing.

In the time that we were there, I could tell that this was a mom that I could totally be friends with. She was easy to talk to, and we talked about several things in addition to some questions she had about my experiences with Moses and Down syndrome.

As we talked, it was kind of cool for me to realize how normal Down syndrome really has become for me and my family. I vividly remember being in her shoes with a newborn and learning about First Steps, therapies, health screenings, etc. I did my best to assure her that while I know it can be overwhelming at first, there really are great supports available and it doesn’t take too long to settle in to this new normal place.

And then the hour I had given us to stay was up. I called for Josie and walked over to call Moses to come downstairs only to find that he had thrown no less than 15 stuffed animals and a couple of books down the stairs.

“Moses Alexander!”

He appeared at the top of the steps with a huge smile and another stuffed animal to chuck down the steps.

Apologizing, I told Josie to help me clean up the carnage, but the mom stopped us and assured me it was no big deal and that her other kids would take them back upstairs. Praying that she meant what she said and that she wasn’t crying on the inside, I went to gather up Moses who had wandered into the playroom. Before he could make any more of a mess, I told him to come say goodbye. Carrying a toy with him, he came over and said, “Bye.”

Josie, seeing an opportunity to be helpful, grabbed the toy and when Moses tried to pull it back, he fell and hit his head pretty hard on my knee. I prayed it would play it tough, but he promptly started wailing. Doing my best to act like this was nothing, I gave the mom a quick hug, told her how amazing it was to meet her and her kiddos, and told her to call or text me if she needed anything.

Moses cried the whole walk back to the van then promptly stopped and smiled when I told him he could watch Elmo on the way home. By the time we pulled away, he was happy watching Elmo, Josie was talking about the sweet little baby, and I was thinking that I had absolutely failed at making a great first impression. I wanted to say to her, “I promise we’re totally normal!” But as I drove, I started laughing at the whole ordeal and decided that while it may not have been a great impression, it definitely wasn’t a boring one!

We may not have made the impression I had hoped to make, but I do pray that she saw that we are more or less an amazing, normal family. I think when some parents have a baby with Down syndrome, there is an apprehension that there will be a lack of normalcy – with the baby and life in general. The awesome thing is that life with a baby with Down syndrome is totally normal. If anything, the only way it’s abnormal is that it’s better than you could have ever imagined.

Finding Santa

“Mommy, why do you have to work so hard?”

“What do to mean?”

Today had started off relatively slow and relaxed. At least I thought it had. All I had done since the kids had gotten up was strip their beds and washed their sheets, make breakfast, clean up from breakfast, put the sheets in the dryer, fill up the water table and kiddie pool for them, change two poopie diapers, fix lunch, clean up after lunch, read a couple of books for Moses and then put him down for a nap.

As I was taking a shower while Josie was also “resting”, I had actually thought that it has been a nice, quiet morning before a busy afternoon of swim lessons and physical therapy and knowing that I was on my own with the kids for the evening while Tyson was at a meeting.

So when Josie asked me that question as we were laying in my bed chatting a little while later, I was genuinely confused where it was coming from and asked her what she meant.

She said to me, “Why do you always have to work so hard at home and at your job? …You need someone to help you.”

“Someone like who?”

“Someone like…Santa.”

I smiled at her and told her that I worked hard because I wanted to do a good job at home and at my work. Because I had things that I was responsible for doing, and because if I didn’t do them, then they wouldn’t get done. I also told her that I did have people that helped me, but there were some things that were just my job to do.

I don’t identify as a feminist, but I think that’s because I never saw myself as unequal to my male counterparts. There was never anything that I aspired to be that my gender would hinder my chances. However, I’m also not blind to the fact that there are political, economic, and social inequalities based on gender that do exist.

Marriage has opened my eyes to that more than anything.

The “traditional” roles of marriage are largely outdated. The idea that the man is responsible for working and the woman is in charge of all the things at home applies to fewer and fewer families today. (And God knows that the idea that “children should be seen but not heard” is dead and gone.)

Thankfully, my marriage has more or less been one in which my husband and I have our fair share of duties. At the same time, we both acknowledge that I do more on a day-to-day basis around the house, and, as I once told him, I’m okay with that because I take pride in making sure that my family has a clean house, food in the fridge and on the table, etc.

I’m also very much aware that I assumed those responsibilities because that’s what my mom did for her family, and it’s what her mom did for hers. I’m sure Tyson didn’t question it because it’s what his mom did for her family and what her mom did for hers.

The difference between our moms and me is that other than 8 weeks of maternity leave, I didn’t leave the workforce while my children were young. Yes, I am off work for a couple of months in the summer, for the other 10 months of the year, I have a pretty mentally and emotionally demanding full-time career, too. Much like many other wives and mothers of today’s society.

It’s a choice, sure. I suppose I don’t have to work. I could’ve stayed home while Josie and Moses were little. We wouldn’t be able to afford the lifestyle we enjoy now, but we could make it work. But I want to work. I don’t want to be a stay-at-home mom. I’m super thankful I don’t have to. (Seriously, you SAH moms are saints on earth.)

However, for many families, there’s no choice of whether or not one of the parents will work. The chances that my daughter will also be a working mom are fairly high, I’d say.

In a way, I’m happy to be setting an example for her to work hard. Not because I’m a woman, but because I believe in the value of working hard and doing things to the best of my ability.

However, there’s a part of me that is fearful that I’m setting her up to feel like she has to do it all. That she has to work hard at work and at home without any help. That she has to do what she saw her mom do. Or what she thought her mom did.

The thing is, I do have help at work and especially at home. However, a lot of the things her dad does at home are things she doesn’t see. She doesn’t see him scheduling payments and writing checks. She doesn’t understand how much time goes into maintaining the yard. When he’s doing the dishes, she’s usually off playing. She doesn’t understand that he does his own laundry. She doesn’t understand that his job simply keeps him away from home more than mine so he is limited in how much he can do at home.

I definitely want to set the example that as a female, she CAN do it all. But that doesn’t mean that she has to do it all by herself. I am encouraged when I read or hear about couples that share equally in managing their household. I pray that she finds a partner that will be just that – a partner. A person that she can depend on and knows work hard with her.

I hope she finds her Santa.