Reflections on life, faith, work, adoptive parenting, and everything in between
As I held her face in my hands, kissed her forehead, and told her I was proud of her, any frustrations I bore up to that point over the last several years since she came to us at the impressionable age of eight didn’t matter so much anymore.
It’s a dilemma as a parent. We want them to have friends; we all need them. But age and experience have taught us about the pitfalls associated with the wrong associations, so to speak, and there comes a time when we simply can’t control or be present for every interaction or connection they make at school or elsewhere.
Time in a Bottle 