Riding Without Training Wheels

something I read today that held meaning ๐Ÿ™‚

I am jealous of those families that manage to work thru all the “steps” “haves” “have nots” and all the other day-to-day minutae of shared parenting. Unfortunately I didn’t get that option from my eldest’s father and while things all worked out for me, someone out there is missing out and I wasn’t able to protect my eldest from as much as I would have liked.

Existitchialism

Disclaimer: This isnโ€™t a post about stitching, although I suppose I could weave a stitchy metaphor into it, if I tried. ๐Ÿ˜‰ I decided to post this here anyway, as it gives a glimpse of the person who holds these hoops in her hands and pulls these threads through. Read on, if you like. If not, here is a picture of my couch as it looks right now. Stitching carnage:

Image

Background: My immediate family consists of me, my partner Pritts, and my son Eliot. Eliotโ€™s immediate family consists of Pritts and I, and his dad, his stepmom, and his half-brother. Eliot is the link between our two little families. He lives with me and Pritts half the time, and his dadโ€™s family the other half the time. Yesterday, with his dadโ€™s family, he rode his bike without the training wheels for the first time ever.

Story: Iโ€ฆ

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