I made one choice, for example, which is I'm just going to confine work to working hours. I'm not going to work on the weekend. I'm not going to be working while I'm with my son in the morning and in the evening.
I cannot even imagine college. I'm white-knuckling it just letting my son go to kindergarten for eight hours a day.
My son's a painter. All through school his teachers tell him he's a genius. I tell him to paint me an apple that looks like an apple before he paints me one that doesn't. Go where you can go, but start from someplace recognizable.
I was missing the opportunity to see my friends' children grow up, to have my son go to his friends' homes and be involved with their parents.
The invitation is not, "Give Me thine head." The invitation is, "My Son, give Me thine heart."
If there's an award for best mother-in-law in the universe, in the future, when my son gets married, I will win that award.
Don't be a genius, my son, it isn't good for anybody.
My son, who's on the spectrum is a very rigid thinker. He needs clear-cut definitions of right and wrong. Anything hazy or gray confuses him. For instance, if I try to get him to see that a friend behaved badly, he'll often get upset with me because a friend is a 'good guy' by definition, in his book.
I wish to be put away in a western dress I designed, with my daughter's little gold cross necklace and my son's small white testament in my hands, and my wedding band on.
I pray I die before they day comes when I do not know if my sons are infants or grandfathers.
So I tell you, my son, that the secret of true happiness is for him who asks nothing in return. The perfectly unselfish man is the one who finds his glory in God. Give what you have to give, and it will come back to you. All materials to build thy home in this world or the inner cosmic worlds come from within, from the God center in thy heart.
Female Chauvinist Pigs is smart, alarming, and extremely funny. With nuance and humor, Levy has written both a convincing expos of sex and desire in contemporary America and an important cultural history. I'm giving a copy to my mother. And my sons.
My son is not a public figure to me, he is my son. I can't predict what's going to be in the headlines. Justin has always been someone who has to do things his way. And I have to be able to believe he will do the right thing and he will come out on top.
Being on the cover of a magazine with my son is the best thing ever. It took me 18 years to get my first cover, he gets one at 8 months.
My son's 8 he loves his skateboarding and his bike and his snowboard.
My son's 18, 142 pounds and hits it 40 (yards) by me. Instead of to the pin, he's lasering the distance between me and him.
On occasion I have observed parents shopping to clothe a son about to enter missionary service. The new suits are fitted, the new shoes are laced, and shirts, socks, and ties are bought in quantity. I met one father who said to me, 'Brother Monson, I want you to meet my son.' Pride popped his buttons; the cost of the clothing emptied his wallet; love filled his heart. Tears filled my eyes when I noticed that his [the father's] suit was old, his shoes well worn; but he felt no deprivation. The glow on his face was a memory to cherish.
You tell me the truth. You tell me that my son died for oil. You tell me that my son died to make your friends rich. You tell me my son died to spread the cancer of Pax Americana, imperialism in the Middle East.
Am I emotional? Yes, my first born was murdered. Am I angry? Yes, he was killed for lies and for a PNAC [Project for the New American Century] Neo-Con agenda to benefit Israel. My son joined the Army to protect America, not Israel. Am I stupid? No, I know full well that my son, my family, this nation, and this world were betrayed by George [W.] Bush who was influenced by the neo-con PNAC agenda after 9/11.
My son joined the Army to protect America, not Israel.
After I had my son, Max, I knew I wanted to get involved in causes that help children.
I will not have my son grow up in a tension-filled home.
Sure my career means a hell of a lot, but it will never come before Sandy and my son.
I am happier when I love than when I am loved. I adore my husband, my son, my grandchildren, my mother, my dog, and frankly, I don't know if they even like me. But who cares? Loving them is my joy.
My son walked up to Nicole on the beach and I was throwing the ball for the dogs in the ocean... I was like, Max you get the dogs. I’ll talk to the hot blondes.
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