A few days ago on The Dsh With Tsh, I shared a few insights from a recent mother-daughter date when Tate and I saw the movie Brave. From the post:

“It’s silly, I know. The girl prefers giant t-shirts and hole-y jeans over quirky skirts and matching headbands. She has to be reminded constantly to brush her hair (which she’s adamant about keeping long, funnily enough), and her nightly summer bedtime ritual involves scrubbing her blackened feet in the bathtub. She’d spend her afternoons up in a tree over playing with makeup any day.

I’ve got a tomboy.

…I felt my cheeks grow hot in that cooled, darkened theater. That crazy-curly mass of red hair on Merida could have easily been Tate’s blonde mane of tangles. The princesses’ prized bow and arrows are Tate’s chalk drawings all over the sidewalk and the forts built in the living room. And while I watch the movie unfold and feel Tate’s hand squeeze mine during the scary parts, I look over at her with wet eyes. This is my girl. My precious girl, who delights in being herself and no one else.“

Head here to read the entire post and to share your comments. Do you have a tomboy, too?

Written by contributor Megan Tietz of SortaCrunchy.

Last month, I went to Nashville for the BlissDom blogging conference. I wanted to bring home something for each of my girls, a little treat from my trip.

The first day of the conference offered me the chance to shop the delightful wares at the Handmade Marketplace. I realized as I browsed the booths that I wanted to get my daughters something handmade, something that would hopefully hold more meaning than a tacky t-shirt.

I walked up and down the aisles, sighing more than once over the precious collections for little ones. Though of course I realize that my children are growing up, it definitely drove the point home when I realized that they were too big even for the sweet little handmade skirts I found at one booth.

Both of my daughters have been very into girly, feminine accessories lately, and when I spied the lacy fluffs at the Allora Handmade booth, I knew I had found the perfect treat for each of them. I picked light pink for my older daughter and the darker pink for the  younger one, bearing in mind that her favorite color is very specifically dark pink.

After my return, my girls had fun digging through all of the treasures I brought home with me. Predictably, they were slightly more interested in the free stuff from my swag bag (squeezable applesauce and a bag of chocolate mini eggs!) than they were in the gifts I had purchased just for them, but still they happily tucked their pretty new lacy fluffs into the bucket of accessories that sits on their dresser.

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Written by fatherhood contributor Shaun Groves.

In my nineteen years at home with mom and dad I never saw them argue. If my parents fought at all it must have happened behind closed doors.

So when Becky and I had our first fight, while we were still dating, I said and did whatever would make it stop. I said I was wrong but I didn’t believe that was true. I thought if we fought she wouldn’t love me. I thought peace was a lack of conflict, not the hard won result of real resolution.

Over the years, Becky taught me how to make genuine peace. She assured me that mistakes will be made, disagreements will happen. That friction is inevitable but not fatal. That love outlasts. That she would never abandon or punish me. And, in the safety of her affirmations, in the ring of our shared commitment, she’s fought with me for the last nineteen years.

I’m quite good at it now. And I want my kids to be too.

I don’t want them to be passive aggressive. To lock themselves in the bathroom and refuse to come out. To withhold affection or conversation until they get their way. To scream or threaten, call names, roll eyes, sling sarcasm, storm out, cave in, endure abuse or strike back.

I want my kids to become adults who fight well.

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