My 14-year-old daughter, DQ, is moving out. It’s weird, I never thought I’d type these words before she turned 18. But here I am, standing by as she packs up her bags and prepares to leave the nest. My nest. The one I have padded with protection and comfort since the day she was born, through a messy divorce, during financially tight times, and in her tumultuous teen years. She is flying the coop with my assistance when I drive her a full three hours away to live with her father. And this might just be the hardest thing I have ever done in my life.
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About this blog
There’s an old African proverb that states “It takes a village to raise a child”, and these days that proverb has never been more true. Whether we’re related by blood or by intention, families come in all forms, and are only defined by the bonds of love.
This blog, which was started by author Crissi Langwell, continues forward with new voices including Stephanie Ansley (a new mom facing the joys of first-time parenthood), as well as Paul Gullixson (a parent and coach of a team of 12-year-olds) and Meg McConahey (a mom with enough experience to have some good laughs about the whole thing).
We welcome all kinds of voices, and you may see some additional viewpoints from other Press Democrat writers and local contributors. Because it truly does take a village.