Sentences with phrase «imagined about being a parent»

I'm sure most parents of gifted children have found the reality of gifted parenting to be quite different from what they had imagined about being a parent.

Not exact matches

It was easy for me, then, to become cynical about the faith that I was raised in, to punch the holes into the theology of the people I grew up with and spot the gaps in the preaching and methods, and point a finger of blame when «they» got it wrong, to separate myself from the culture and, like most kids raised by immigrant parents (because, in a way, my parents were like immigrants to this strange new land of Christianity), I took for granted my life in the new Kingdom, completely unable to imagine a life without freedom, without joy, without Jesus.

I think you made some great points about IF parents choose circumcision for their baby, to be present for the procedure (which I can imagine is so much more reassuring to the baby to hear mom / dad's voice rather than being alone with a doctor) and insist on the anesthesia.

One thing I really like about it in «Cybex Balios M All - Terrain Stroller review» the «basket» it is very large even I have imagined putting the baby into it but back to practical it can carry a lot of baby stuffs as well as parents shopping items.

Over the last 15 + years that we've helped hopeful adoptive parents build their families through open adoption, we've been asked just about every question you can imagine.

His advice about the parenting of before versus now is so strange — this whole «forced through instead of talked through» had me imagining teens getting forced through a sieve, left in tiny bloody shreds at the end with no desire to talk about anything ever again.

I've always skirted around talking to my parents about their loss in depth because I can't begin to imagine how much pain it caused them, but I have always wanted to ask her so much more; how did they cope, did they hold him, where are his ashes?

For some of us, this involves letting go of long - held ideals about the children we thought we would have or the parents we imagined we might be.

«It's a wonderful time for parents to really listen to their kids — to hear about their hopes, their values, their expectations for college, and to learn what kind of adults they imagine they'll be,» Weissbourd says.

College admissions is an important rite of passage in America — a time for parents to engage their kids in deep conversations about their hopes and dreams, their values, and what kind of adults they imagine they'll be.

As educators and parents in any part of the world, we are always imagining the future as we think about what is important for our children to know and understand.

I couldn't wait to read Watchman, which has been described as a first draft or «parent» of To Kill a Mockingbird, to learn more about how Harper Lee first imagined beloved characters like Atticus, Scout, and Jem, and to see how she depicts Maycomb in the 1950s.

As far as the ongoing need or demand for traditional publishers, it's tough to imagine their demise when it comes to non-commodity authors, though I do worry that if publishers have been playing at the commodity publishing game all along (which they have), and their existing corporate parents expect growing profits, should we expect their fortunes to fall if / when the genre fiction authors increasingly go - it - alone -LCB--LCB- 3 -RCB--RCB--LSB-[3]-RSB- I've also written about my concern that traditional publishers may not evolve to offer sufficient value for authors.

, you are lying on the floor of your place looking up, a small draft runs through the room, between the door and the window, and all things seem perfectly still, wind only disturbs concrete in imperceptible ways, or it may take millions of years to be noticed and, as the air runs through the space, all your plants move and all is animated and all is alive somehow, and here are the thoughts of all men in all ages and lands, they are not original with me, and that wind upon your plants is the common air that bathes the globe, and we have no ambitions of universalism, and I'm glad we don't, but the particles of air bring traces of pollen and are charged with electricity, desert sand, maybe sea water, and these particles were somewhere else before they were dragged here, and their route will not end by the door of this house, and if we tell each other stories, one can imagine that they might have been bathed by this same air, regrouped and recombined, recharged as a vehicle for sound, swirling as it moves, bringing the sound of a drum, like that Kabuki story where a fox recognizes the voice of its parents as a girl plays a drum made out of their skin, or any other event, and yet I always felt your work never tells stories, I tend to think that narrative implies a past tense, even if that past was just five seconds ago, one second ago was already the past, and human memory is irrelevant in geological time, plants and fish know not what tomorrow will bring, neither rocks nor metal do, but we all live here now, and we all need visions and we all need dreams, and as long as your metal sculptures vibrate they are always in the Present, and their past is a material truth alien to narrative, but well, maybe narrative does not imply a past tense at all and they are writing their own story while they gently move and breathe, and maybe nothing was really still before the wind came in, passing through the window as if through an irrational portal to make those plants dance, but everything was already moving and breathing in near complete silence, and if you're focused enough you can feel the pulse of a concrete wall and you can feel the tectonic movements of the earth, and you can hear the magma flowing under our feet and our bones crackling like a wild fire, and you can see the light of fireflies reflected in polished metal, and there is nothing magical about that, it is just the way things are, and sometimes we have to raise our voice because the music is too loud and let your clothes move to a powerful bass, sound waves and bright lights, powerful like the sun, blinding us if we stare for too long, but isn't it the biggest sign of love, like singing to a corn field, and all acts of kindness that are not pitiful nor utilitarian, that are truly horizontal as everything around us is impregnated with the deadliest violence, vertical and systemic, poisonous, and sometimes you just want to feel the sun burning your skin and look for life in all things declared dead, a kind of vitality that operates like corrosion, strong as the wind near the sea, transforming all things,

If you feel bad about asking for a discount for yourself, imagine that you are asking for a discount for a parent or loved one.

Philadelphia, PA About Blog This blog provides me with an outlet for the thoughts and emotions that I imagine are common for parents of epileptic kids or parents of children with any disability.

It's about control, and when one parent won't relequish control of a child, could you imagine how it feels to have it forced on you?

A comfort in knowing who their birth parent (s) are; no need to imagine or fantasize about who their birth parent (s) may be

This has me thinking about a question I usually ask parents that are divorcing: «imagine some years from now, when your son or daughter is graduating high school, or college, or getting married... how do you want them to experience their special day?»

My ex husband is so much more laid back and permissive than I have ever thought about being and although I knew that we would have different parenting styles I never could have really imagined that we could be that different.