I hate it when your son’s teacher calls. It’s never to tell you how brilliant and well behaved they are.
I hate having to look into tear filled eyes and hand down a harsh punishment, when all you really want to do is let them off the hook.
I hate watching their hearts break when they’ve been stabbed in the back by a friend and realizing that there is absolutely nothing you can do to make the pain go away.
I hate that moment when you catch a glimpse of your daughter applying her makeup and you know that she isn’t playing dress up.
I hate hurts that can’t be fixed with a band-aide or “that bubbly stuff”.
I hate storms that take place in hearts instead of skies.
I hate lessons that must be learned without mom’s help.
I hate letting go.