By Janel Breitenstein My son—my oldest—turns twelve this week. Helping him with his piano a few days ago, I played a few notes of the “New World Symphony” for him. He didn’t remember a bit of it—though we played it night after night after night for him as an infant, willing that cranky boy to go to sleep in one different house after another during a crazy season of life. We visited 13 states in his first 13 months of life. I’m pretty confident he was grumpy in all 13. But mothering him well looked so different than what it does now. Now we’re having conversations about puberty, about ethics; he just finished reading
Crown Him with Many Crowns
Crown Him with Many Crowns
Crown Him with Many Crowns
By Janel Breitenstein My son—my oldest—turns twelve this week. Helping him with his piano a few days ago, I played a few notes of the “New World Symphony” for him. He didn’t remember a bit of it—though we played it night after night after night for him as an infant, willing that cranky boy to go to sleep in one different house after another during a crazy season of life. We visited 13 states in his first 13 months of life. I’m pretty confident he was grumpy in all 13. But mothering him well looked so different than what it does now. Now we’re having conversations about puberty, about ethics; he just finished reading