I’m going to be brutally honest with you…I’m not sure I have always been the most compassionate mother of all time, or even of any time. When my kids were little – and I have three – I mastered a course in How Not to Hear Your Children’s Voices. It was included in a much bigger educational catalog that I completed as part of the PhD I received in the Life of a Working Mother. Some of the prerequisites for my particular degree include:
Not every lesson my mother tried to teach me went the way she planned. One such time happened when I was about 15 years old. Mom called my little sister, Mary (who was 12 at the time), and I into the room and told us to sit down…she wanted to have a talk with us. I remember vividly, my mind racing back and forth, wondering what in the world she wanted to talk to us about. Had something happened? Was someone sick? What is going on? It was a bit odd to say the least.