On Mother’s Day, my grown kids told me they had chosen the restaurant and expected me to pay for all twelve of them, just like always.

not immediate, but real.

Madison’s held a handwritten letter. Three pages. Messy, emotional, honest. She admitted she had been angry at Helen for having money after the divorce, angry that she still needed help, angry that being grown had not felt as safe as she thought it would. None of that excused her behavior, she wrote. But she wanted to do better.continue reading …