Quotes About Family

God had been merciful. He wanted to be merciful, too. He was the only one who could open the channel between his children and their grandmother. If he could do this with his head, maybe later it would move to his heart.

The house rule was no Christmas tree 'til after Name Day. These were two separate life events, to be celebrated on their own merits.

He wanted to hold his boy and tease him and make him laugh, he wanted the chunk of him close;

While most people understandably took family for granted, he took it for grace.

If his wife was happy and his boy was happy, he was happy.

Come sit on my lap,' she said. Soon, very soon, he would think himself too big for lap-sitting. He got down from his chair and she picked him up; he was solid as anything. She held him close and swayed her body a little, like a cradle rocking, and soon he looked at her with the lovely solemnity that seemed to be a hallmark of their Jack Tyler, and said, ' I could prob'ly have a deviled egg now.

at his mother's grave and his father's urn.

Being Southern isn't talking with an accent...or rocking on a porch while drinking sweet tea, or knowing how to tell a good story. It's how you're brought up -- with Southerners, family (blood kin or not) is sacred; you respect others and are polite nearly to a fault; you always know your place but are fierce about your beliefs. And food along with college football -- is darn near a religion.

Aunt Flo's love is not a soft thing, I think, but something hard and unyielding, which can be good or bad.

Little tape recorders, that's what kids are, Cat thought. If you want to find out what your husband is saying behind your back, play Barbie with your daughter.

In de oorlog had ik daar wankel op de hoge hakken gelopen, met een jurk aan en een hoofddoek om. Om mijn broer te bewijzen dat ook ik geschikt was om illegaal werk te doen. Maar voor de garage kwam ik een jongen tegen die ik in jaren niet gezien had en die zei: 'Dag Jan!' Ik ging terug, trok de kleren van mijn zuster uit en bemoeide me verder niet meer met de oorlog.

Are you sure you weren't adopted?" "Mom would like to think so, but it was a natural birth, so her memory's real clear.

My mom always said we can't pick our family," he said, "but we can make our own. I've got some relatives I prefer at a distance and some friends I'd give the shirt off my back.

Ida Belle nodded. "All sorts of things rose out of the ground during Edgar. Why, my mother's coffin popped straight up out of the grave and cruised down Main Street. I always said you couldn't keep Moter down

relationships you choose to make are far more important than the ones that are forced on you. She's always saying 'you have to love your family, but you don't have to like them, or want to spend time with them.

I still can't believe she's gone," Maryse Robicheaux murmured as she stared down at the woman in the coffin. Of course, the pink suit was a dead giveaway—so to speak—that the wearer was no longer with them. For the miserable two years and thirty-two days she'd had to deal with her mother-in-law, Maryse had never once seen her wear a color other than black. Now she sorta resembled the Stay-Puft Marshmallow Man dressed in Pepto-Bismol.

Not that having multiple children diminished the loss of another, but when there was only one and they were lost, there was nothing left at all.

Mildred was old-fashioned in a lot of ways, but family wasn't one of them. Blood didn't make someone love you. It didn't make someone treat you right.

Let's go home," he said. Home. That word meant something completely different now than it had before. It meant everything.

They found that the day after a parental skirmish, most moms were able to compartmentalize and reported a quick recovery, and even an improved relationship with their child. But fathers had a much greater tendency to let the negative marital tension spill over into the rest of the family. Insidiously, the conflict from these parental fights would resurface on the first or even second day after the fight, in the form of friction between father and child.

I grabbed Sylvie's hand and raced downstairs, passing Tom on the couch. His blank eyes were bathed in the soft glow of his smartphone. He quickly knotted his forehead in a feigned look of earnest importance, as if he was attending to some pressing work matter. But I knew exactly what he was doing. He was playing SocialChess with some guy in the Philippines. I was just playing for a minute, he tells me later. During our fight.

The cruel paradox of weekends with kids can be boiled down to this: Parents want to relax. Kids do not.

mothers drove the fathers' cortisol changes, while, in a dismaying trickle-down effect, fathers drove changes in their kids' cortisol.

My husband works all week, so on weekends, he tells me he doesn't want to "deal with" our sons. I'm amazed that he doesn't notice that I'm basically radiating hatred all the time.