Latest news with #sons
Washington Post
16-07-2025
- General
- Washington Post
My ex destroyed his relationship with our kids. Should I help fix it?
Dear Meghan: I have two teen sons, 16 and 14. Two years ago, their father moved out after deciding to pursue a relationship with another woman; the boys stayed with me by mutual agreement between all four of us. The kids were devastated by their dad's decision, and the months following his departure were awful. When they had planned time with their dad, he often changed plans, arrived late to see them, left early, spent the whole time on his phone and just generally made them feel like they were not a priority. My older son, then the younger one, eventually cut their dad out of their lives except for occasional text messages. Right now, both kids aren't interested in a relationship with their dad, and he doesn't seem very interested in a relationship with them, either. Although he professes to want a relationship, he has not done anything to try to repair things between them, instead insisting the boys need to 'grow up,' 'accept the way things are' and 'stop being so angry.' For now, things between them are at an impasse. I am struggling with my role. I am trying to balance their growing autonomy and their right (I believe) to set boundaries with their dad with the worry that eventually they will be sad they missed this time together. I have suggested to their dad that he make the overtures necessary to fix things between them, but he is not interested in my perspective. Fair enough. In my opinion, it would be best if their dad would apologize, make an effort to reconnect with the kids and work on showing them how much he loves them. I encourage the kids to keep an open mind toward their dad, and I require that they keep the lines of communication open. I think he has to be able to contact them, in case he does wake up one day and decide to try to repair things. I'm unsure of what my job is here. Am I more in a role of listening and supporting them through their complicated feelings or of actively encouraging/pushing them to reconnect with their dad despite his recent shortcomings? He was a really great dad to the boys while they were growing up, and I think his abrupt 'about face' in this regard is part of what has made the kids so hurt and angry. — What Next? What Next?: Thanks for writing in. I sighed deeply reading this; I hate to see the unnecessary pain parents cause their children when they disappear from their lives. The boys' father first hurt them by leaving (rightly or wrongly), but the continuous pain of not showing up is where the real damage lies. Many children can move forward — even through something hard like a parent leaving for another adult — if both parents are committed to staying connected to the children. But when one parent checks out, it re-wounds the children and places extra pressure on the connected parent. Your children's father has taken absolutely no responsibility for his choices, decisions or the pain caused. And worst of all? He is doubling down on his immaturity by blaming his sons for the rift! He has given his sons absolutely no reason to trust him, so my question to you is: Why would you push your sons to discard the evidence and not trust their intuition? Of course, it is awful that your ex was once a present and loving father, and we hope that he can see the light one day. That day is not today. By encouraging your sons to 'keep the lines of communication open,' you are essentially saying: 'Hey guys, don't trust your instincts, push aside your feelings and stay vulnerable to someone who has hurt you. Badly.' Oof. You are confused about what your 'role' is here, but it's pretty clear. Your sons are now old enough to know their own minds. What they think and feel and experience is valid; your role is never to talk them out of that. Here's the good news and the bad news: You don't need to do a lot to fulfill your role. You actually put it perfectly: 'I am trying to balance their growing autonomy and their right (I believe) to set boundaries with their dad … .' Boom, that's it. You are worried about them missing time with their dad, but the bad news is that it isn't your problem to solve. The worse news is that you will have to watch your sons be hurt and disappointed by their father, and there may not be anything you can do about it. But by subtly or overtly pressuring your sons to stay open to their father, you are encouraging them to mistrust themselves. That's not fair. Children (even teens) are not meant to 'be better' than their parents; it is always the parents responsibility to show up for their children. If their father wants to be in connection with them, he knows how to find them. When you ask if you should just be listening and supportive, the answer is yes. If your sons ask, 'Should we talk to Dad if he reaches out?' your only responsibility is to use curiosity and thoughtfulness. 'I don't know buddy, what would need to happen for you to want to talk to him?' By asking thoughtful questions, you promote reflection and responsiveness rather than anger and reactivity in your sons. Is this frustrating for you? You bet it is! There are no easy answers or solutions here, so follow your children's lead. Good luck.
Yahoo
13-07-2025
- General
- Yahoo
I moved to a big city at 51 to be closer to my 2 sons. I almost instantly regretted it and left a year later.
I missed being a part of my sons' daily lives, so when they were 23 and 24, I moved to be nearby. Starting over at 51 in a big city was difficult, and I became more needy than I was back home. I wasn't myself, and it wasn't working out for anyone. I moved back after one year. It hit me on the seven-hour drive. The punch to the gut, the weight of the wrongness of it all. I was on my way to a new apartment in a new city to be closer to two of my four sons, where I'd be just a 10-minute drive away from both. The new place had everything I thought I wanted: a dishwasher, garbage chute, high ceilings, fast wifi, a little balcony and dining nook, and an app where I could press a button and summon a person if the washer or dryer broke. I wasn't moving for the apartment, though. The lease in my hometown was coming to an end, so the time felt right for a move. However, the only reason I chose to leave my small town of 20,000 for Ottawa, Ontario, with 1 million people, was to be closer to my sons, who were 23 and 24 at the time. My kids have always been my choice over dating, a career, and a marriage that left our little family hobbled but closer in the end. Why would they not be my choice now? My friends back home were fine, I told myself, but they weren't my sons, whom I raised to be my best friends. I also thought they might need me since they were still at a young enough age where having a mom close by could help. Really, though, I just wanted to be the kind of mom who could have a pot roast dinner with them on a Sunday and be part of their daily lives. I missed being part of their daily lives. I told myself this move was the smart thing to do, the right thing. Scary? Sure. Trying to make a new life at 51 — when you're too old to make the young parent friends, but too young to make retirement-age friends — is intimidating. I knew in my bones that it wouldn't work, but I tried anyway. I went to swing dancing classes in a church basement on Friday nights. I joined a gym, a women's dinner club, a regular yoga class. I played pickleball in the park. I taught writing classes at the local university. I shopped, and shopped, and shopped, an old thumb-sucker habit of mine when I'm feeling stuck. I spoke to people all the time, and I listened to their stories, but I felt like none of us were ever having a conversation. We just volleyed questions back and forth. It was the same with my two sons, who were grown men now. They made time for me and helped around the house, like hanging pictures and putting my bed together. However, then they'd go back to their own homes to their own lives, and I would be alone again. Sometimes, I'd drop by unexpectedly for a visit, for a chat, for company, because I wasn't finding my own life here. I knew, though, that I was just adding myself onto their lives, not integrating seamlessly. I wasn't myself here — I knew that, and so did they. Back home, I was the mom who had friends, went for hikes, and knew everyone at the farmer's market. I felt like this new mom was too needy for us all, especially me. We all agreed that I had tried my best, but it just wasn't the right fit. This time, driving back in my Nissan Versa, everything felt exactly right. Later, we planned a trip for that summer. We got the entire family together for a week at the beach, where everything felt natural and balanced. We could all just be adults together, swimming and eating, and playing cards. I felt glad for our time together, grateful for who we've become. Read the original article on Business Insider
Yahoo
10-07-2025
- General
- Yahoo
My family of 4 moved to Germany for my husband's job. We've become closer, but miss our relatives back home.
My family has always lived within driving distance of our extended family. We moved abroad when my husband's job offered him a multi-year assignment in Germany. The move allowed our family to get closer, but it's hard to be so far away from our US relatives. I was lucky to grow up in Maryland, within 45 minutes of grandparents, aunts, uncles, and cousins. This guaranteed near-monthly family birthday parties and plenty of 'just because' events to gather. After I married my husband, we moved to nearby Virginia and added two sons, now 10 and 6, to the family fun. Four years ago, we announced that we would be accepting a three-and-a-half year assignment to Germany for my husband's job. We received mixed reactions. Loved ones trusted our decision making, but were sad to see us go. I, too, was torn. Of course, I worried about missing time with my extended family. But I knew that I would gain the opportunity to take a leave of absence from my job allowing me to be more present with my kids without a commute, office drama, or other paid job stresses. I knew I had a privileged childhood and was grateful for it; therefore I had always wanted to replicate that by not working a paid job when I became a mom someday. The overseas assignment finally gave me that luxury. My mom worked part time during my school years. That flexibility allowed her to chaperone school field trips, volunteer in our classrooms, and just be there. All of my classmates knew her by name, and now my kids' classmates say "Hi, S' mom!" or "Hi, L's mom!" anytime they see me. I can easily do fun things (like attend the fourth grade class party in the middle of the day) and less fun things (like responding quickly to summonses from the school nurse). On a recent trip to Norway, my kindergartner colored in his blank comic book while my fourth grader, husband, and I tasted reindeer and whale. We debated which dishes we liked and which ones we would say "no thank you" to, also discussing after dinner plans and what activities to prioritize later in our trip. A week before Christmas, this was simultaneously cozy, ordinary, and memorable. These are things that we might not experience in America, and I am grateful to expose my children to different cultures, people, and, values. During parent-teacher conferences a few months ago, my older son's German teacher said he is so open-minded and a testament to us at home. What better compliment is there for a parent? Despite enjoying such a moment of utter content that night in Norway, I felt guilty, as I have so often since moving. That guilt was more pronounced many times: when my grandmother's health declined and I wasn't there, when my second nephew was born, and when I missed myriad family functions (including said nephew's first birthday party). I treasure the current bubble with my immediate family. But I miss my extended family, who gave me the security and confidence to try new things, like travel the world. Friends have envied the close relationship between my mom and me, and when she probably needs me the most, I'm 4,000 miles away, trying to be the mom she was in my childhood. The irony isn't lost on me. I feel guilty that we've temporarily separated my immediate family from my extended family. My parents have been able to come visit a few times, but it's not the same as being able to visit for a last minute weekend or celebrate birthdays and holidays together. When they visit, we do have a longer continuous stretch than in the U.S. (when we live a 1.5 hour drive apart). But it also means that when the inevitable "See you later" comes, we know the distance won't be just a car ride. My family has always been a safety net, and it's hard having them a nine-hour plane ride away. Despite texted pictures, phone calls, and periodic video chats, my immediate family is not enmeshed with my extended family like I experienced in childhood. The love and desire for connection remain. I know that when this overseas experience is over, my family will embrace us with open arms. Read the original article on Business Insider
The Guardian
07-07-2025
- Entertainment
- The Guardian
‘I'm scared and my work reflects that': the artist painting heavy questions onto the lightness of silk
It might seem shocking, at first, for an artist to use her own children as models in a work based on Medea, a mother from Greek myth who kills her sons. 'They noticed the likeness in my work,' says Emma Talbot. 'And I had to say, 'Yes, it's you.'' Talbot, whose first large-scale UK show has just opened at Compton Verney in Warwickshire, adds: 'But when I think of 'sons', they're the sons that come to mind. It was inevitable the images would be of them.' There's another reason. The installation in which they appear – The Tragedies – is a tent-like, silk structure painted with intricate, swirling images interspersed with short texts: 'Why should there be war?'; 'Why fill the future with grief and regret?'; 'What does war resolve?' These are the questions Talbot believes we should all be asking ourselves, at a time when the UK has been mooting the possibility of conscription. 'It is a tragedy,' she says. 'When they said that, I immediately thought of my sons, both in their mid 20s. It feels personal. These are my sons they'd be sending off to war.' This is the point Talbot wants to make with her Medea piece. 'Her crime was totally unthinkable – and yet is what Medea did worse than us sending our children off to die in war? I can't see that any kind of war resolves anything.' Talbot, a descendant of Jews who fled 1930s Germany, adds: 'People say, 'What would you have done in the time of Hitler, or over Ukraine?' And I say, 'If we had a system that didn't legitimate aggression, everything would be different.' We can't even imagine how that world would be.' War isn't the only issue this show of fairly recent work tackles: Talbot uses paintings, sculpture and animation to examine other concerns, from our relationship with nature, to how grief affects our lives. Her paintings, all on silk, are colourful, closely packed with flowing imagery. They include a series called Magical Thinking, which explores the ways humans use imagination to make sense of the world. Sculptures include Gathering, which uses fabric, beads and wood to look at the symbolic properties of various animals. Her animation All That Is Buried shows a drawn figure navigating a soulless urban landscape in search of truth. At the root of her work are questions about power. Who has it? What do they do with it? How might they use it differently? The Tragedies has long arms reaching out: they're warning figures, says Talbot, like the chorus of a Greek tragedy. 'They're calling on us to notice what's happening – because humans have the capacity to explore complex ideas. That gives me hope: there is scope to find another way.' All the same, she finds the news now unsettling. 'I'm scared and my work reflects that.' Talbot was born in the Midlands in 1969: her mum was a nurse, her father, seriously injured in a car accident, was her patient. The marriage didn't last long: Talbot's dad moved to Japan, where he still lives, to raise another family. Her mum remarried, but it didn't make for a happy childhood. 'She came from this intellectual German family and my stepfather worked in factories in the East End. It was complicated.' Talbot and her elder brother, three and five when their parents divorced, found their escape in drawing and acting. 'The world was much more parent-centric then. Children had to carve out their own space.' She did an arts course in Canterbury, then studied fine art at Birmingham Institute of Art and Design and did an MA in painting at the Royal College of Art. In the mid-1990s, while teaching art at Northumbria University, she met the sculptor Paul Mason, who she married. Their two sons, Zachary and Daniel, were seven and six when he died of non-Hodgkin lymphoma in 2006. It was an unthinkable turn – but for Talbot, it brought a new direction. 'Paul was the person I shared my stories with,' she says. 'Then he wasn't there any more. And that's what life's about, isn't it? Sharing our stories. Suddenly there was this big void and I started to fill it with drawings – to get out the things I would have said to him.' But still, she had overwhelming doubts. 'I'd pay the babysitter and go to the studio and think, 'I can't do this any more. Maybe I'm not an artist after all.' But slowly, I realised I had this incredible freedom again – just as I did when I was a kid.' Her art – previously paintings created using found photographs – changed. 'I started to paint on silk. I like the contrast between the lightness of the silk and the weight of the stories. I like that silk is so light, so fluid.' Sign up to Art Weekly Your weekly art world round-up, sketching out all the biggest stories, scandals and exhibitions after newsletter promotion Another work at Compton Verney is The Human Experience, two 11-metre long swathes of silk, wrapped around the gallery, taking the visitor on a journey through life, from conception to death. 'It's about how you move through a world that's dangerous and uncertain. Because life experience comes from walking through volatility and uncertainty.' In the midst of her grief, and while coping with life as a single parent, she realised she had nothing to lose, and everything to gain, by burrowing deeply into herself and making work that had little need of outside validation. 'I realised I was finding a core version of myself. I could show myself honestly. I wasn't concerned with what anyone would think. I thought, 'This is about doing the work that matters.' For me, art and life are indivisible.' Following a residency in Italy, after she won the 2019 Max Mara prize, Talbot now divides her time between Reggio Emilia, in the country's north, and the UK. Recognition on the continent has come easier than acknowledgment in Britain: she's shown widely across Europe, with solo exhibitions ongoing in Copenhagen, Athens and Utrecht. Compton Verney ushers in a new chapter – but you get the sense it won't change how she works. 'Art is the glue between everything,' she says. 'It's there to help us make sense of the world. And making art is what I'll carry on doing.' Emma Talbot: How We Learn to Love is at Compton Verney, Warwickshire, until 5 October
Washington Post
05-07-2025
- General
- Washington Post
D.C. banned ‘redshirting' years ago. Here's why people are talking about it.
When it was time for Avra Siegel's oldest son to start kindergarten, she didn't think he was ready. She had him repeat preschool, and he began kindergarten a year later, at age 6. There was 'no problem, no questions asked,' she said about his school, Lafayette Elementary. So she did the same thing with her second son, whose birthday is Sept. 30.
