Solo Parent Quotes

No. En la muerte solo hay desesperación, tristeza y vacío. En la muerte no hay nada bueno, ni para quien muere ni para quienes quedan vivas para sentirla. En la muerte lo único que hay es inevitabilidad.- Asteria.

Creo... que el dolor de vivir y morir es suficiente para cualquier persona. Después de eso solo debería existir... paz.- Asteria.

A veces solo escribimos para eso, ¿verdad? Para recordar.

Dylan's friend Linus Millberg appears out of the crowd with a cup of beer and shouts, 'Dorothy is John Lennon, the Scarecrow is Paul McCartney, the Tin Woodman is George Harrison, the Lion's Ringo.' 'Star Trek,' commands Dylan over the lousy twangy country CB's is playing between sets. 'Easy,' Linus shouts back. "Kirk's John, Spock's Paul, Bones is George, Scotty is Ringo. Or Chekov, after the first season. Doesn't matter, it's like a Scotty-Chekov-combination Ringo. Spare parts are always surplus Georges or Ringos.' 'But isn't Spock-lacks-a-heart and McCoy-lacks-a-brain like Woodman and Scarecrow? So Dorothy's Kirk?' 'You don't get it. That's just a superficial coincidence. The Beatle thing is an archetype, it's like the basic human formation. Everything naturally forms into a Beatles, people can't help it.' 'Say the types again.' 'Responsible-parent genius-parent genius-child clown-child.' 'Okay, do Star Wars.' 'Luke Paul, Han Solo John, Chewbacca George, the robots Ringo.' 'Tonight Show.' 'Uh, Johnny Carson Paul, the guest John, Ed McMahon Ringo, whatisname George.' 'Doc Severinson.' 'Yeah, right. See, everything revolves around John, even Paul. That's why John's the guest.' 'And Severinson's quiet but talented, like a Wookie.' 'You begin to understand.

Esta es la cosa con las mariposas: pueden parecer bonitas, pero son solo gusanos que han evolucionado y están destinadas a morir pronto. (…) Y, sin embargo, aquí estoy, intentando revivir a las mariposas.

A veces la única cualidad que una persona necesita es la resistencia. A veces, lo único que hace falta es aguantar un poco más, solo un poco más.

La peor consecuencia de la vejez es que los demás invaden tu intimidad. Ya nadie respeta las manías, las costumbres, tu forma particular de hacer las cosas, desde la higiene a la organización del día. Alguien, con la intención de ayudar, se ocupa de ti. Pero ocuparse de ti es ocupar tu territorio íntimo. La independencia perdida de mi padre le transformó en un señor malhumorado. La incapacidad para valerse solo le enfrentó con los demás.

The Wookiee tilts his head back and ululates a loud, joyful growl, then wraps his impossible arms around the smuggler. Solo looks like a child snatched up by an eager parent—for a moment his whole body lifts up off the ground, his legs kicking as the Wookiee purrs and barks.

Me gustaría pensar que… no los dejan atrás. No los buenos, al menos. Que los recuerdos solo duermen dentro de sus cabezas, esperando a la primavera para volver a brotar.

El poder hacer algo solo depende de con cuanta fuerza lo desees y cuanto estas dispuesta a arriesgar por conseguirlo.

La teta no es solo alimento, es contención, es seguridad, es la certeza de que ese ser del que venimos nos está protegiendo.

Nacemos solos, crecemos solos, brillamos solos.

El cuerpo es solo una cáscara que nadie elige. Que no nos define si no queremos que lo haga, aunque el mundo prentenda lo contrario. Lo que importa es quiénes somos bajo él. Nada más.

Like a relay race with a long overlap in which the baton is passed—lasting at least eighteen years and often longer—our job as parents is to position our children to run their solo laps effectively.

We kiss good-bye. It's our typical morning good-bye kiss. A quick peck. A well-intentioned habit. I look down and notice Lucy's round, blue eyes paying close attention. I flash to studying my own parents kissing when I was little... I promised myself that when I got married someday, I would have kisses that meant something. Kisses that would make me weak in the knees. Kisses that would embarrass the kids. Kisses like Han Solo kissing Princess Leia... Now I get it. we aren't living in some George Lucas blockbuster adventure. Our morning kiss good-bye isn't romantic, and it certainly isn't sexual. It's a routine kiss, but I'm glad we do it. It does mean something. It's enough. And it's all we have time for.

Y sí, habrá días en los que me dirás que me odias, habrá días en los que no querrás verme ni en pintura y lo acepto, lo entiendo. Solo quiero que sepan que así, sin tapujos me entrego a la maternidad, sin negar la mochila que llevo en la espalda, sino sacado de ella lo que ya no sirve para hacer la carga cada vez más liviana y para hacer espacio para lo que nutre.

Fue una obra extraña en la que algunos actores personificaban diversos símbolos, una de esas representaciones sesudas en las que te aburres como una ostra pero no te atreves a decirlo porque no quieres que un grupo de seudointelectuales te trate como una estúpida. Solo te diré que había muchas frases del estilo ‘La Madre Tierra está sobre nosotros’.

I believe God offers abundant grace and restoration to divorcees, but divorce is not part of God's design for family living. In God's mercy single parents who have gone through a separation and divorce often discover increased strength and support to raise their children solo.

Lo aceptabas todo como solo se pueden aceptar las cosas que no terminas de creerte.

What no one prepares you for as a woman is for everything to go right. When you are a woman alone, this is never even suggested as a possibility. I will know fellow women who travel solo by their rapt attention when I recount what follows with a level of detail that would exhaust a person accustomed to, for better or worse, traveling with a companion. It’s the solo lady version of parents telling one another they’ve successfully sleep-trained their child or managed to introduce a vegetable into their diet. Similarly, I will watch these women’s faces light up in a combination of recognition, voyeurism, and relief at seeing an ideal version of their life out in the world.

But it’s more than an absence of spouses that complicates caregiving and companionship later in life. People are having fewer children, if they have children at all. This, in combination with marriage trends, has increased the number of older adults with no close family ties—a group of people whom sociologists call “elder orphans,” “solo agers,” or “kinless.” Researchers estimate that one in five older adults is an “elder orphan” or at risk of becoming one, a figure that is likely to grow in coming years. Like marriage, having children isn’t a surefire insurance policy for caregiving. Adult children might not live close to their parents, or their kids might not have the capacity to help. Daughters, historically the country’s default caregivers of aging parents, can’t be taken for granted as a source of uncompensated caregiving these days. Far more women are in the paid labor force and would jeopardize their economic security or their family’s if they quit their jobs to take care of their parents. (Nevertheless, on average, daughters spend far more time caring for their aging parents than sons do.) Because Americans are having kids later in life, it’s common for children with aging parents to be raising children of their own at the same time; these are members of the so-called sandwich generation. Unable to manage both forms of care, these adults may focus on their kids and outsource care for their parents.

La pena más profunda, la que encoge el alma y te hace creer que nunca podrás recuperarte. La que te ancla a la realidad y a la oscuridad al mismo tiempo, como cadenas invisibles que cortan tu capacidad de volar tan lejos como quieras. Es la tristeza de la desesperanza, del futuro arrebatado, de la seguridad de que solo queda pesar.

[...] los hombres sois orgullosos y estúpidos, y si una mujer os dice que solo le gustan las mujeres, sois tan pretenciosos que pensáis que lo que ocurre es que no ha probado a un hombre a la altura. Os creéis salvadores y pensáis que podéis iluminarle el camino y llevárosla a la cama. En fin: hay quienes consideran algo así un reto a superar, [...]

Cuando tienes tan claro el camino que debes recorrer, pensar en otros paisajes solo sirve para hacerte daño y para echar de menos todas las cosas que nunca vas a poder ver.

Es mentira, pero en las creencias de los celestiales solo es pecado mentir al resto del mundo, no a ti mismo.

The significance of living longer is the caregiving never ends.

Jugar solo es positivo, siempre que el niño tenga amigos a quien unirse cuando se canse de su propia compañía.

Cuando alguien llora lo hace con la esperanza de que cuando el llanto se detenga solo quede paz. Cuando nunca mas vas a volver a tener paz, ya de nada vale llorar.

Si vas a besarme hazlo bien, parece decir con su voz de maestra. Eso no ayuda a que quiera apartarme.De echo, solo enciende mas mis sentidos, porque hasta su beso es vida.Hasta su beso es pura energía ,palpitante, como toda ella

Los padres de Tom son docentes e intelectuales. Su padre dio clases de Literatura en el Connecticut College durante treinta años. Su madre trabajaba en la secretaría de exalumnos. Vivían y respiraban universidad, y se ufanaban de ser cultos, cosa que se reflejaba en todo lo que hacían y eran. En gran parte era inofensivo, y hasta beneficioso, para Tom y su hermana pequeña, Kathy. Las vacaciones eran siempre de acampada familiar. No les dejaban ver la tele sin supervisión, y solo los fines de semana. Imaginaos lo insulso que era el contenido autorizado. Tenían que leer diez libros por verano, y a colonias nunca iban. Nada de quedarse a dormir en casa de un amigo. Toque de queda estricto, y cada domingo a la iglesia, aunque de religión se hablaba más en términos de teoría y sociología que de pasión y fe. Lo evaluaban y lo analizaban todo, despojándolo de las influencias emocionales que pudieran llevar a creer en una mentira o a actuar de modo erróneo. Seguro que conocéis a gente de este tipo. A los no tan disciplinados les despiertan ganas de zarandearlos hasta que se desprenda alguna emoción, aunque se queden inconscientes. No parecen humanos, a pesar de su tan buen comportamiento. ¿En qué se traducía todo esto para Tom? Si llegaba a casa con sobresalientes, no había euforia, abrazos, besos ni llamadas por teléfono a los abuelos. Nada de monedas para la hucha, ni de postre especial, ni de saltarse una práctica de piano. No pegaban las notas a la nevera, no; las evaluaban y las comentaban, y a Tom le recordaban que sus notas eran un reflejo de lo mucho que había trabajado, y que no se pensara que era mejor o más listo que los otros. Y cuando cantaba en la obra de fin de curso, o anotaba una carrera en el partido de béisbol, o traía un animal de barro pintado de la asignatura de arte, con un vago parecido a una jirafa… Todo lo que hacía Tom era objeto de valoración sincera y desapasionada. En el segundo estribillo has desafinado un poco, Tom. A la primera base has llegado más que nada por suerte, Tom. No te creas que te volverá a pasar. Tienes que practicar más. Hombre, se nota que te has divertido haciéndolo. Sí, ¿verdad? Exacto. Un poco adelantados a su tiempo, precursores de los consejos educativos que nos han endosado durante la pasada década. No hay que estar orgulloso de los hijos. Son ellos los que tienen que enorgullecerse. Tampoco hay que hacer falsos elogios, porque entonces dejan de fiarse de nuestras opiniones. No hay que dejarlos por el mundo creyéndose mejores de lo que son, porque solo servirá para que se lleven una decepción. La verdadera autoestima es la que viene de tener unos padres sinceros. Yo estos disparates los rechazo desde siempre. En eso soy un caso aparte. Somos seres pequeños e insignificantes. Lo único que nos llena, lo que nos da un horizonte, orgullo, sentido del yo, es el lugar que ocupamos en los corazones de la gente. Necesitamos que nos quieran nuestros padres sin condicionantes, sin lógica ni racionalidad. Necesitamos que nos vean a través de un cristal distorsionado por su amor y que nos digan de todas las maneras posibles que los llena de felicidad el mero hecho de que estemos en el mundo. De acuerdo, algún día nos daremos cuenta de que nuestras jirafas de barro no eran magistrales, pero es necesario que nos hagan llorar siempre que las bajemos de nuestros desvanes, sabiendo que cuando nuestros padres veían estos trozos de yeso tan feos sentían un orgullo absurdo y ganas de abrazarnos hasta que nos dolieran los huesos. Es lo que necesitamos de los padres, más que la verdad sobre lo pequeños que somos. Ya habrá gente de sobra que nos lo recuerde y nos ofrezca evaluaciones desapasionadas de nuestra mediocridad.

Over the next weeks and months, my daughters had to learn to live without their father, and me without my husband. In addition to the overwhelming, everyday tasks like buying groceries, making meals, and getting the girls to their activities, I suddenly had to navigate the legal system and file for divorce. I had to figure out the nearly impossible feat of owning a small business and solo parenting two active, preteen girls. I learned the hard way that you have to remove the leaves from the gutter if you don’t want your basement to flood. I had to muster the courage to pull the hair out of the shower drain. I had to somehow find the time and energy to decontaminate the entire house when the dreaded scourge that is lice made its unwanted appearance. And I had to do it all with the added anger, sadness, and sheer frustration that these were all things John used to take care of. As tempting as it was to collapse, I had two girls who needed me now more than ever. I needed my business to survive. I had a mountain of legal bills—tens of thousands of dollars and increasing daily. As a business owner, if I didn’t work, I didn’t get paid. Stepping away to take care of my mental and emotional state was a luxury I couldn’t afford. I had to balance what was best for my business in the long term with what the girls and I needed in the short term. I had to get through each day and keep moving forward. This meant I toggled back and forth between dealing with this trauma and running a business. I lived in a constant state of holding it all together, while simultaneously watching it all fall apart.

Bob and Lyn set Steve on the path he traveled in life. What was incredible about Steve was how much he made it his own. He took the example of his parents and ran with it. In 1980 Bob and Lyn decided to change the Beerwah Reptile Park to the Queensland Reptile and Fauna Park, the name under which I would first encounter it. Angry at the senseless slaughter of crocodilians, Bob began to expand the zoo to create habitats for rescued crocs. I can pinpoint the exact period when Steve grew into the man who would become so well known to people around the world as the Crocodile Hunter. It was the time he spent alone, with his first dog, Chilli, in the bush for months at a time, trapping and relocating crocs for the government. At the start of the 1980s, Steve was eighteen, a recent graduate of Caloundra State High School, and still under his father’s tutelage. Ten years later he had been transformed. He proved himself capable of doing some of the most dangerous wildlife work in the world, solo and with spectacular results. Years in the wilderness lent him a deep understanding of the natural world. More than that, he had reinforced a unique connection with wildlife that would stay with him throughout his whole life.

Si minimizamos, negamos sentimientos, reprimimos, etiquetamos, amenazamos, castigamos o ignoramos, le estamos enseñando al niño que sus necesidades no cuentan, no importan y que, si quiere atención, deberá ir al extremo para obtenerla. Le enseñamos que solo tendrá amor y atención si hace lo que le decimos que haga y que no vale por lo que es sino por como actúa.

Para ser un héroe solo se necesita un corazón valiente. O eso dicen.

They are loud and boisterous, skylarking in the way that so many men in their twenties do – only just making the train, with the plumped-up platform guard blowing his whistle in furious disapproval. After messing about with the automatic door – open, shut, open, shut – which they inevitably find hilarious beyond the facts, they settle into the seats nearest the luggage racks. But then, apparently spotting the two girls from Cornwall, they glance knowingly at each other and head further down the carriage to the seats directly behind them. I smile to myself. See, I’m no killjoy. I was young once. I watch the girls go all quiet and shy, one widening her eyes at her friend – and yes, one of the men is especially striking, like a model or a member of a boy band. And it all reminds me of that very particular feeling in your tummy. You know. So I am not at all surprised or in the least bit disapproving when the men stand up and the good-looking one then leans over the top of the dividing seats, wondering if he might fetch the girls something from the buffet, ‘. . . seeing as I’m going?’ Next there are name swaps and quite a bit of giggling, and the dance begins. Two coffees and four lagers later, the young men have joined the girls – all seated near enough for me to follow the full conversation. I know, I know. I really shouldn’t be listening, but we’ve been over this. I’m bored, remember. They’re loud. So then. The girls repeat what I have already gleaned from their earlier gossiping. This trip to London is their first solo visit to the capital – a gift from their parents to celebrate the end of GCSEs. They are booked into a budget hotel, have tickets for Les Misérables and have never been this excited. ‘You kidding me? You really never been to London on your own before?’ Karl, the boy-band lookalike, is amazed. ‘Can be a tricky place, you know, girls. London. You need to watch yourselves. Taxi not tube when you get out of the theatre. You hear me?’ I am liking Karl now. He is recommending shops and market stalls – also a club where he says they will be safe if they fancy some decent music and dancing after the show. He is writing down the name on a piece of paper for them. Knows the bouncer. ‘Mention my name, OK?’ And then Anna, the taller of the two friends from Cornwall, is wondering about the black bags and I am secretly delighted that she has asked, for I am curious also, smiling in anticipation of the teasing. Boys. So disorganised. What are you like, eh?