In the natural order of things, a parent cares for children when they can’t yet care for themselves.
Feeds and dresses them. Teaches them to read and reason. Serves as taxi driver, short order cook, housekeeping staff, entertainment committee, and kisser of boo-boos.
But what happens when the roles are reversed and the ‘child’ must care for the parent?
Dallas here.
It’s time for a brief break.
Mom is up to her eyeballs — caring for Grandma, doing a new web design project, and trying to get back to her novel-in-progress — and I’m NOT pinch-hitting for her.
Not this time.
As you can see, I’m tired, too.
Time to catch our breath. Renew our enthusiasm. Take a social media holiday.
Back soon, okay?
Time for a break!
Dallas here.
Don’t look now, but Mama is mad at me, and I want to set the record straight.
Thirteen years ago today, the unthinkable happened — terrorists attacked our country, killing thousands of innocent people, destroying national landmarks, and forever challenging our feelings of safety.
Nine-eleven (9/11/01) is one of those landmark events, much like the John F. Kennedy assassination, the first moon landing, the Challenger explosion. We all remember exactly where we were, who we were with, and what we were doing.
You do, too, don’t you?
In honor of it being Throwback Thursday, here’s a photo of Little Domer.
Following in both his parents’ footsteps, he took piano lessons as a kid. For a while, he was okay with it, but as he grew older, he balked more often.
And refused to practice.
But music is a huge part of him, and now he plays often — stuff he enjoys. As Victor Hugo wrote, “Music expresses that which cannot be said and on which it is impossible to be silent.”
Little Domer after one of his piano recitals.
Musings by an ND Domer's Mom 