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hey lovely ladies, enbies, and lads!! my dad published a book called “Gracie and the Snufflepuffs” by David Rowney. it’s a children’s book (about 28 pages) based on a story he used to tell me as a kid, so the main character is based off of child-me :D currently available via the link below in kindle and paperback form!

Hi!

A few days ago I read these headcanons about the Bakugou Family by the lovely @cutekirikitty and I felt so inspired, enough to beat for a night my writer’s block. Sooooo… this is the result. I wanted to write a ff revolving around Mitsuki, that I headcanon as a very complex and beautiful mother figure. I believe she may have had a past similar to his son, especially due to her flaming personality, and I don’t believe that just because she became a mother all her issues have magically disappeared. Parenting is hard and there’s no guide to it. That’s why I love her so much. I hope you enjoy this ff as much as me!

And thank you again Cutekirikitty for reading and betaing and helping me to improve it! You were such a great inspiration and help!

Have a nice day!

Read On AO3

Mitsuki Bakugou, Masaru Bakugou & KiriBaku

Light Angst, Parenting, Anger Issues, Motherhood, Mother-Son Relationship, Fluff, Kiri is a Sunshine, Established Relationship, Official Introduction to the Parents



“I’m home!”

Masaru’s voice echoed through the rooms of the Bakugou’s household.

As he tiredly took off his shoes, no answer was screamed back at him. He frowned, then let out a little sigh.

Looking around as he straightened, he realized that all the lights were off; he couldn’t hear anything from the kitchen nor any other room.

Oh.

So, that was it?

He silently padded down the corridor, up the stairs and then to the bedroom he shared with his wife. Finding the door closed, he decided to knock before entering. When nobody answered, he turned the knob and quietly stepped into the dark room.

His lips stretched in a bitter-sweet smile.

There she was, Mitsuki, curled in the middle of their bed, with photos scattered around her as the light of the dying sun dyed her in red. He could only see her back but knew by heart all the telltale signs of when his wife was upset.

“I’m home…” he repeated in a murmur.

A flinch.

“…welcome back.”

“Can I sit?”

A shrug.

Satisfied with the reaction, he seated on the corner of the bed. Close enough to reach out to her in case of need, but not to suffocate her.

Mitsuki was staring at a crumpled photo in her hands, chin resting on the knees.

It brought Masaru back in times, to when they were younger. When Mitsuki was fighting with herself day by day, when she would suddenly get silent and mad and flee away from him for no apparent reason. When Masaru would wait for hours under her window to know if she was alright, when he would let her cry into his arms. When life was less complicated, and they were the only ones they had to take care of.

Masaru leaned to look at which one she was looking, even though he could sort of tell by all the wrinkles. A photo she had the habit to pick when she was angry at herself.

A young Katsuki flashed a blinding smile to the camera, holding triumphantly some flowers in his hands. There were two or three bruises on his skin.

They had gone hiking for the first time ever; well, more a walk than anything. Katsuki had been so excited about the smallest things, running wild into the woods. The scars were a badge of honor for having tripped down a slide as he tried to pick some flowers for Mitsuki. His mother hadn’t had the heart to scold him, too moved by the innocent gift.

“…wasn’t he happy?” she whispered, voice scratchy.

He could see how puffy her eyes were but made no comment.

“Yes, it’s one of my favorite photos.”

She nodded in agreement.

“It was one of the last times I genuinely complimented him wasn’t it?”

Masaru didn’t reply.

They both knew the answer.


Mitsuki was an overly proud mom.

Who could blame her?

She had a caring, honest husband she loved to death and a strong, shiny son who deserved the world. She still couldn’t believe she had been blessed with them, especially thinking of all the flaws and issues she had always harbored inside.

She had managed to do something good in the end, hadn’t she?

That’s why she had always showered Katsuki with compliments, love, and affection. Well, partially it was also to compensate for when she would lose control and let her anger burn, but she was working on it; she had already improved in comparison as to how she was during high school. But, most of all, it was because she genuinely believed Katsuki was the best child ever.

Strong, beautiful, capable, smart, confident… And with a strong quirk to match! She couldn’t count how many people had complimented her, saying her Katsuki was born to be a hero.

How could have a mother not let it go to her head? She had always been bad at control herself, at doing things with measure.

She had let it blind her.

Stupid of her, right?

Then small things had started to pile up… a harsh comment, a sentence that had made her nearly snapped, bruises on his skin, stubborn replies, an annoyed click of the tongue… Small things that should have told her what was happening, that should have made her understand. But… she didn’t want to see. Katsuki was probably the best thing it had ever happened to her and she didn’t want to accept she may have… ruined it. She wasn’t ready. She was scared. She wanted to believe they were just tantrums, that they would pass soon.

Until the truth smacked her in the face and she was left with no choice.

She truly realized how things had escalated only during a quiet afternoon after she had picked up Katsuki and Midoriya from the kindergarten. Usually, all the boys would go play at the park in front of the house, but that day… ah, that day Mitsuki had asked Midoriya and Katsuki to play in the garden. Even though Katsuki had seemed annoyed by something and the other boy more nervous than usual, she had brushed it off. The house was empty, she had the laundry to do but didn’t want to feel lonely, and, most of all, she was curious about what they would play. It had passed some time since she had seen them enjoying themselves, hadn’t it? They were already growing.

At first, the afternoon had passed smoothly.

Mitsuki had finished her laundry and then moved to vacuum the bedrooms on the second floor. The kids were playing some adventures in the garden when she heard a pained gasp.

Dropping everything, she rushed down the stairs with the heart in her throat.

“Katsuki! Midoriya!” She called, stumbling out in the garden.

“What?” Bakugou replied, his tone clearly annoyed.

Mitsuki froze.

Her son was standing on the grass with a stick into his hands, while Midoriya had fallen to the ground. He was wearing some strange rags and had written on his forehead “Bad”; his knees were scratched, and tears streamed down his cheeks as he trembled like a leaf.

“W-what’s going on?” Mitsuki asked.

Bakugou rolled his eyes.

“We are playing at the hero and the monster. Deku is being weak.”

“Deku?” Her eyes grew wide, but the boy didn’t flinch.

“Yeah, I chose it. We were playing, I was defeating him when he fell and said he didn’t want to play anymore.”

Mitsuki looked at the small boy, who tried hurriedly to hide the tears.

“Are you alright, Midoriya?”

The boy nodded and stifled a smile.

“I-I am!”

“It doesn’t seem so.”

The boy threw a scared glance at Katsuki, who clicked his tongue, and nodded again.

“I am! I’m fine!”

Mitsuki frowned, stepping closer.

“Why don’t you change the game? You could be both heroes and I can play the monster!” she suggested as she helped him stand. A strange uneasiness was creeping into her heart.

Midoriya seemed to light up, but Katsuki immediately protested.

“No.”

Mitsuki glared at him.

“Why not?”

“Because he’s weak.”

His mother blinked, shocked.

“What?”

“Deku is weak. He can’t be a hero, he doesn’t even have a quirk yet!” Bakugou was clenching his fists, explosions echoing against his palms. “Tsk, I didn’t even want to play with him but you just brought him home…”

“Sure he can! What are you saying about your friend! Obviously Midoriya can be a hero! And stop calling him Deku, it’s not nice!” she snapped angrily, her tone sharper than what she intended.

Bakugou took a step back, shocked, but immediately glared back even more fiercely.

“He’s not my friend! And he can’t! You said it! Only strong kids can become heroes! He’s not!” he yelled, stomping a foot on the ground.

“He can be strong too!” Mitsuki should have remembered she was talking to a kid, but something in Bakugou’s attitude was making her brain shortcut. Was the look in his eyes? Or the conviction in his tone?

“He’s not! Everybody knows he’s weak! I am strong! I will be the hero!” She didn’t see the fear behind her son’s eyes, “I am the best! You said it, dad said it, the teachers said it!”

“This doesn’t mean that Midoriya is-”

“HE’S NOT! I’M THE ONLY HERO!” Bakugou roared, explosions going wild as he turned and pushed Midoriya to the ground once again, “HE’S NOTHING!”

Mitsuki’s heart stopped.

Her hand moved before she could think.

The slap echoed in the garden.

Bakugou stared at her with the mouth open.

Soon, his eyes filled with tears.

“W-why?” he whined, confused, angry and scared at the same time.

Mitsuki glanced at her own hand, fear strangling her from the inside.

She had never, never hit her son before. Never.

Midoriya started crying too.

She felt the panic rising, lost as what to do.

“K-Katsuki! Go to your bedroom! Now!” she ordered, trying to hide her insecurities behind a mask of anger.

“But I didn’t-”

“Now!”

The boy clenched his jaw.

“I hate you! Liar!” he seethed before running away.

Mitsuki watched him disappear inside the house, heart heavy and mind blank.

“Bakugou-san?” Midoriya was tugging at her sleeve, desperate.

She blinked at him and bent to pick him up, moving more on instinct than anything. She felt like an empty doll.

All she could think was that she had messed up.

She had messed up.

Mitsuki replayed what had just happened over and over again, in a state of horror, as she carried Midoriya home.

All those praises, the compliments, her stupid pride… she had messed up.

And only as she bowed deeply to Iinko, apologizing with all her heart for the behavior of her son, she realized what she had done to Katsuki.

It was her fault.

She had messed up. Once again.

Now she had to fix it.


From that day, Mitsuki gradually stopped complimenting Bakugou. She now saw how much they had inflated his pride and blinded his sight, and wanted to do something to fix, but didn’t know what. She hid her fear and regrets behind her short temper; she started making harsh remarks as soon as he misbehaved, faking not to see how good he was at everything he did and how much he put his efforts into it, finding flaws to mine his growing ego. No matter how much it hurt, how quickly the arguments between them increased, how similar their explosive personalities became and how bitter the resentment in Katsuki’s eyes grew, she shut her heart off.

She genuinely thought that would have been the right solution, believing the rare and awkward moments of shared affection would be enough to keep their relationship working.

Mitsuki only wanted him to realize his limits and flaws, to humbly accept that others could be great too.

She just wanted to be a great mother to a great son.

But when she realized that her attempts had only had the opposite effect, it was again too late. She had forgotten how to love Katsuki without hiding, how to show her love without shouting and being brusque, and Katsuki had grown distant and resentful, had seen through the mask all her flaws and pathetic attempts at parenting.

“What happened today?” Masaru asked gently, pulling her back to the present.

She didn’t say a word but took her phone and threw it into his lap. As soon as the screen lightened up, he realized it was already open on a message. By Katsuki.

“Tomorrow I’ll come for lunch with my boyfriend. I don’t want to, but he’s being a pain in the ass because he wants to meet you.

Don’t mess up, old hag.”

A gasp of surprise left his mouth.

Katsuki had a boyfriend?

He took the time to let it sink, then gave her back the phone.

“I doubt this is due to the fact it’s a boy and not a girl.”

“Who fucking cares!” she snapped, “It’s already a miracle he found someone with the horrible personality he-” She bit her own tongue, grimacing.

Ah, she was doing it again.

Her husband slowly rubbed circles on her back.

“Then?”

“The last sentence. It’s a fucking warning.”

“He must really care about him…” Masaru couldn’t help but smile fondly. The only thought that Katsuki had found someone special warmed him up.

“Obviously!” she scoffed, “As he could do something half-assed!”

Masaru chuckled, “You’re right.”

But that didn’t explain why Mitsuki was torturing herself again.

However, he let her be with her thoughts, just pulling her slowly closer.

After what seemed an infinite amount of time, she gently pushed him back.

“I have to prepare dinner…” She uncurled, stretching, and climbed out of the bed.

Her husband frowned a little, but his hand stopped in midair.

Should have he grabbed her? Insisted?

Ah, he had never been good at insisting, not even when it mattered the most. Not even when he should have. That’s why he had always ended up looking at the two people he loved the most in his life tearing each other apart, without being able to help. Tired and out of the loop after a day at work, too mellow and soft to contrast their anger or stop their aggressive arguments. Oh, he was good at comforting them afterward, when they were locked in their rooms berating themselves and the other at once, but it was too late. That was damage control, not a useful help.

But his wife knew him.

“It’s a threat, Masaru,” she said, stilling on the door without turning, “A warning for me. Don’t fuck up this time or it’s the end. And we all know how good I am at messing up.”


When they had told her Katsuki had been kidnapped, her world had shattered.

Katsuki? Her son? Kidnapped?

Before she could make up, before they could fix their relationship, he had been taken away. And what if that was the end?

She could remember rushing to the tv and stilling in shock as the new reported the incident, the world around becoming a buzzing blur. She had come back from the abyss of regrets and anger only as Eraserhead defended Katsuki, the only one who had seen the truth people always ignored about him, and she had never felt more grateful Katsuki had found teachers like him. The tears had streamed down her face without stopping until she had seen him being saved by his friends.

But what had she done when Katsuki had finally returned home?

Ah, just a hug. A hug was all that she had managed before her anger and issues had exploded.

She had screamed at him.

Because she had felt like dying while he was in danger. Because she was angry at Katsuki for letting them kidnap him and at herself for being angry for such a stupid reason. Because she felt so relieved, broken and frail she didn’t know how to hide it.

Because, simply, Mitsuki didn’t how to deal with the turmoil in her heart and always messed up everything, letting anger take the wheel as she tried to push back the rest.

They had ended up locked into their rooms once again, in a never-ending déjà vu, until Masaru had put her pieces back together and helped her going to Katsuki’s room without chickening back. It had taken all her courage and strength to knock and enter; she didn’t even have had the heart to switch on the light.


Since Katsuki hadn’t screamed to go away, she crawled into his bed and hugged him to the chest; feeling his arms circling her was such a relief. She let silent tears fell onto his blond hair, holding onto him as he buried the face into her chest. Outside the room, they both knew Masaru was sitting on the floor, waiting.

“…I’m- glad…” she managed to whisper.

Katsuki raised his head to meet her gaze.

“…me too…” he replied all too softly.

But she saw the disappointment in his eyes, the question screaming.

Why? Why couldn’t they be better than this? Why they always had to hurt each other? Why?


The next day, Mitsuki had let his son into the hands of the U.A teachers.

She had felt so disgusted by herself: for a second, she had felt glad they were taking him. She had been glad he would go and live at the dorm because she didn’t know how to answer that “Why?”; because she knew that those teachers were helping him grow and mature far better than she had ever done. Because every time she looked at him she remembered what a shitty mother she was, and it hurt.

And the worst was that Katsuki knew, she was sure he knew, and what could he ever feel for her, a mother messed up and scared to raise her own son, more than disappointment?


As the fated hour approached, Mitsuki grew nervous and nervous.

She was helping her husband in the kitchen with the lunch, but her hands trembled so badly she was murdering that poor potato.

“Why don’t you set the table?” Masaru gently took the knife away from her hands.

She sighed.

“I already did. Three times.”

“Three?”

“The second because I was agitated. The third because I snapped and hit a glass by accident. It shattered,” she grumbled begrudgingly.

“Are you okay?” Masaru took a look at her hand.

She rolled her eyes.

“Except for the fact that I’m a 38 years old grown ass woman but I’m panicking like a middle schooler because I have the short temper of a ticking bomb and I’m on the verge of ruining my son’s happiness once again? Fucking peachy.”

Masaru couldn’t help but burst into an amused laughter.

“You’ll be fine, Mitsuki. Katsuki wouldn’t have accepted to bring him home if he really thought you could mess up, would have he?”

She scoffed, crossing her arms.

Mitsuki knew as well as she knew that she was the adult there and had to pull herself together instead of going crazy. But she just… cared so much. It was scary. She was tired of making mistakes.

Sixteen years and she still didn’t know how to be a good mother.

Pathetic.

Masaru flicked her forehead, before returning to the curry.

“Stop it.”

“What?”

“Overthinking. And berating yourself.”

“I wasn’t!”

“You were!”

“I wasn’t!”

A ring cut their banter.

The potato fell from Mitsuki’s hands.

“You go, I’ll finish here.” Masaru gave her a small push, and she slowly made her way to the door.

She turned the knob holding her breath.

Red eyes.

Spiky blond hair, sharp jaws, always present pout and smell of nitroglycerin.

“And here I thought I would die before seeing you again,” she couldn’t help but smirk. Ah, Katsuki was dressed well today.

“Shut up, old hag!” he growled back, averting his eyes.

“Dude!” the gasp reminded them they weren’t alone.

Mitsuki’s eyes immediately ran to the boy who was waiting a step behind Katsuki and narrowed as she scrutinized him.

There was something familiar in him… Red spiky hair, scarlet eyes, well-built physique, nervous smile and…the joined hands.

“Ah!” she exclaimed, startling him, “You’re the boy who saved my dumb son!”

He seemed to be surprised about being recognized, but quickly brushed it off as a “Bakugou’s smart thing.”

“Yes, ma’am! Well, not exactly, I just helped out saving him- I just- well-”

“Yes, he fucking saved me! Stop mumbling idiot!”

Both the boy and Mitsuki almost gaped at Bakugou’s admission of having been saved, but if the first just smiled and squeezed his hand, the woman had to restrain herself from cursing.

“A-anyway… I’m Kirishima Eijirou, Ka-Bakugou’s best friend. I’m glad to finally meet you!” The boy bowed respectfully, with an adorable smile.

Oh, Katsuki had found a nice boy?

“Boyfriend!” the blond growled, “He’s my stupid boyfriend!” he repeated making Kirishima blush, but his glare was trained on her. As to dare her to say anything.

Mitsuki carefully smiled to Kirishima. He had never seen her son warier and more protective at the same time, she didn’t want to let him misunderstand not even for a second. Not this time.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Kirishima-kun. I don’t know how this brute won you over, but I’m glad you’re here. Come, Masaru had just finished preparing lunch. Do you like curry?”

She led the way as Kirishima chirped how he loved it, but she glanced at the way Bakugou seemed to relax a little and sighed in relief.

They entered in the kitchen as Masaru was washing his hands. He quickly dried them with the apron and smiled gently to Kirishima, who looked almost surprised at the man’s appearance; Mitsuki had to hide a smirk: she loved how people thought Bakugou had taken his horrible personality from his father and then remained shocked to discover it was quite the opposite.

“I’m Masaru, Bakugou’s father. It’s nice to meet you, Kirishima-kun.”

“The pleasure is mine!”

The boy bowed once again, but now his smile was even more relaxed. Poor thing, he must have been so anxious. Mitsuki could remember how nerve-wracking she’d felt when meeting Masaru’s family, and she was nowhere near as nice as Kirishima.

“Let’s seat! It’s still warm!”

“Thank you!”

Bakugou quickly sat by Kirishima’ side and his parents in front of them; Mitsuki caught sight of his hand giving a last squeeze before letting Kirishima go.


The lunch went on smoothly.

The usual banter between Bakugou and Mitsuki never escalated, Kirishima was more than happy to talk for everyone and keep the mood light, and Masaru was ready to fill the awkward silences or cut the occasional tensions.

“…and so, as soon as I suggested Momo would be better than him at tutoring me, Ka-Bakugou immediately offered. Well, more threatened me than anything.” Kirishima finished his story, making the couple laugh wholeheartedly as Bakugou muttered curses against the palm of the hand.

“You fucking asked for it, Shitty-hair!” Bakugou bit back, with a smirk.

Even though she could say there was not an ounce of malice in his tone, her heart almost stopped at the nickname. Memory from the past flashed in front of her eyes. Her shoulders tensed.

“Brat!” she almost growled, slamming the hand down, “What are you calling your boyfriend? Haven’t you learned how to respect other people? It’s already a miracle he’s bearing you and you call him like-”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Katsuki yelled back, explosions crackling from his palms; the red eyes were already burning with flames, “Shut your mouth, old hag! You don’t fucking know anything about me and Ei-”

“Katsuki!” Kirishima interrupted them even quicker than Masaru. He elbowed gently his boyfriend’ side, “She’s still your mother. Not cool.”

Bakugou snapped his head towards him, ready to chew him up too, but as soon as he met Kirishima’s stern and clear eyes he stilled. Under the couple’s flabbergasted stare, his rage slowly…dimmed. His features softened, the coldness melted.

“She-”

“Still not cool,” Kirishima rebutted with a grin, stretching a hand to catch Bakugou’s, “And I’m fine. Don’t worry!”

They held the gaze for few more heartbeats before Bakugou sagged into the chair.

“Whatever…” he grunted in the end, turning his head to the wall.

Whatever.

To anyone else that could have seemed nothing, if not annoying, but Mitsuki knew what it means: Katsuki was surrendering, he was willingly letting an argument go in favor of someone’s else. And he wasn’t even pissed about it, just as if Kirishima had been right about he said… Mitsuki had always counted every “whatever” said in that sighing tone as a personal victory.

She couldn’t believe someone else knew that too, but there he was that red-head boy, barely hiding a soft smile as he gazed at the blond.

Kirishima turned to Mitsuki.

“Ah, please don’t worry Bakugou-san. I can tell when Bakugou’s words have no bite, nor real mean intentions. It’s just his way of addressing people, me and the whole class are used to it. We don’t care, nor we are hurt. He has also improved a lot since our first year.”

Bakugou rolled his eyes but said nothing.

“Besides,” Kirishima’s tone was now teasing, and he winked at the woman, “He’s using those names because he’s too embarrassed to call me anything else. When we are alone he calls me Sun-”

“EIJIROU!” Bakugou slapped a hand over Kirishima’s mouth, horrified, “Don’t you dare, asshole!”

The other laughed amused, not even remotely scared of having an explosive hand pressed to the face.

“Sorry, sorry…” But he didn’t sound sorry at all.

Mitsuki started giggling without realizing, and it almost startled the boys.

Kirishima seemed content to hear her chuckle, while Bakugou simply stared at her with an unreadable expression.

“Kirishima-kun, you’re an incredible boy. I’m really happy to have you here.” Her heart hadn’t felt so light in days. Masaru squeezed her hand as she smiled earnestly at Kirishima.

He gaped.

“…you have the same smile,” he blurted, turning to Bakugou.

He frowned, annoyed.

“We don’t.”

“You do. But it’s okay, I find yours cuter.”

“Do you want to die, Shitty-hair?”


The rest of the lunch ended peacefully.

When Mitsuki stood to clear the table, Kirishima hurried up and stopped her.

“P-please let me do it! I already intruded you and with such a short notice!”

She flicked his forehead.

“It’s fine, my husband cooked, not me. I can-”

“I insist!” Kirishima repeated, biting his bottom lip. He seemed to be debating if it would have been ruder to let it go or insist more.

Katsuki decided for everyone.

“Let him do, old hag. He won’t stop feeling bad for it, otherwise.”

“Hey!”

“And you?” Mitsuki couldn’t help but ask.

Bakugou rolled his eyes, “I’ll avoid he destroys our kitchen,” he mumbled, before nudging the other boy, “Come on, I don’t want to spend the afternoon washing the dishes.”

“I’m not that bad!”

“Please don’t get me started, Hair-for-Brain!”


Without anything to do, Mitsuki walked to the living room almost in a daze. Masaru was seated on the couch, reading one of his favorite books, and she plopped down next to him.

He glanced at her, amused.

“What?”

“He…” Mitsuki said quietly, “…is different.”

Instead of prodding, Masaru realized his wife was lost in thinking and let her be with her mind until she was ready to elaborate. However, after ten minutes, she stood up again and silently walked to the door kitchen.

She had left it ajar and couldn’t stop herself from peeking it.

Mitsuki felt so… curious.

She didn’t exactly know that Katsuki. A protective, wary Katsuki who also wore a soft expression. A Katsuki whose lips were always pulled in a faint, almost invisible grin when nobody looked. A Katsuki who wasn’t watching only at himself anymore.

She wanted to see him more. It was fascinating. It filled her heart with… joy? And pride?


Inside, Kirishima and Bakugou were standing near the sink.

The red-head was vigorously washing the dishes that then passed to the blond, who dried and put them away; they seemed to be talking animatedly, or at least Kirishima was, Bakugou mostly nodded and listened, making small comments from time to time. But Mitsuki could tell he was attentively listening.

At some point, Kirishima must have said something funny or stupid, because Bakugou scoffed and tried to hide his laughter behind the hand, but it didn’t work well. His usual stern or scowling expression was nowhere to be seen as he clutched his stomach and let his voice booming freely, cheeks slightly red and eyes tingling with amusement.

Whatever he may have said, Kirishima seemed deeply embarrassed and his face was completely red. He tried to make Bakugou stop by smacking weakly his shoulder, but the other boy was laughing too much, so he decided to sport a cute pout.

When the blonde realized, a lazy, teasing grin replaced the laughter as he leaned against the counter. Kirishima made an attempt at averting his eyes, but it was clear how pulled by his boyfriend he felt. Bakugou grabbed his t-shirt and made him stumble closer, before placing his hand behind Kirishima’s neck and bringing him down for a heated kiss.

Ah, too much.

Mitsuki retread few steps, guilty as if she had just pried into a secret, private moment. Her back collided with something and she jumped, caught by surprise.

“They make a good couple,” Masaru murmured, gently wrapping an arm around her waist. She relaxed against his chest.

“Uhm,” she agreed with a small nod, “He’s changed.”

“For better?”

“For better. Don’t you see it?” she scrunched her nose, making him chuckle.

“I do see it, I just wanted to hear you say it.”

Mitsuki glance at him, confused.

“Do you know why he has changed?”

“…because he has met great kids and teachers who have been able to help him mature.”

“Exactly, so it has been a good idea, hasn’t it? Sending him to the dorms, no matter how much it hurt and made you feel like you were running away from your problems. You took the right choice. Nothing to regret or torture yourself with anymore.”

Oh.

Mitsuki blinked.

Oh.

“I… took the right choice.”

“Yes, I’m glad you did.”

“I-I’m glad too.”

Something in her heart was melting, she felt as if a weight was falling from her shoulders.

She had taken the right choice for her child, she had done something good. Even though she wasn’t the main reason for his changes, even if she hadn’t done anything more than saying “yes”, even if all she had managed had been recognizing she couldn’t do nothing for him and trust someone else, it was something. A small step.

“You can be proud of it,” Masaru said, reading her thoughts.

“Oh, shut it!” She wiped away the small tears who had escaped her control.

He chuckled and left a kiss on her forehead.

“We can be proud of him.”

“…’ve always been,” she muffled begrudgingly, much to his amusement.

“Yeah, but you had never let yourself say it aloud. Don’t you feel better?”

She just shrugged and turned to hug him as she hadn’t done in a long time. Those stupid teenagers in love were making feel her young and in love once again, how annoying.


Her romantic moment was interrupted by Katsuki’s outraged scream.

“ARE YOU A FUCKING IDIOT?!”

Instinctively, Mitsuki slammed the door open. Mom’s instinct.

“What happened?”

Bakugou didn’t even notice her, focused on examining the hand of his boyfriend between his, while the red-head seemed so embarrassed he could die.

“You can fucking harden! How the hell did you manage to cut yourself?”

“You were distracting me!”

“Than fucking put the knife down!”

“Katsuki!” Kirishima whined, but Bakugou smacked lightly his head, “I’m fine!”

“You’re bleeding!” he growled, before turning to Mitsuki, “Old hag, help him wash the cut while I go to search for the band-aids! Dad, are they still in the same place?”

The blond stomped out of the kitchen like a hurricane.

“Ah, no…” Masaru stuttered, “We moved them…” he added, tailing his son.

Mitsuki, still perplexed, reached Kirishima and stretched a hand.

“Can I?”

The boy groaned but let her look.

Mitsuki snorted, “It’s such a small cut.”

“I know!” Kirishima sighed, a palm over his eyes, “But he says I’m irresponsible because of my quirk and always gets stressed when I’m hurt. I’m sorry for the fuss.” He seemed genuinely troubled.

“You have nothing to apologize for,” she waved it off. Mitsuki still couldn’t believe it was her son had just got so worried for someone else.

“I should have paid attention, but we were joking around…” he explained with a faint blush. And even though he seemed embarrassed, his eyes shined with fondness at the thought.

“…you really love him.”

“What?”

Ah. The words had slipped from Mitsuki’s mouth.

“I… said you really love him.”

Now, Kirishima’s face was the same color as his hair. But his gaze didn’t waver.

“Y-yes, ma’am. I-I really love Katsuki.”

“Why?” That was what worried Mitsuki, the real question.

Kirishima seemed taken aback and frowned.

“Why?”

“My son is… difficult. He has issues. And treats most people like dirt,” she explained, crossing her arms as to defend herself from those red eyes that seemed to bare her.

Mitsuki didn’t miss the flash of anger in his eyes, nor the way his jaw clenched, so similar to how protective Katsuki had seemed during the introductions, but he soon softened again.

“Katsuki is… complex, I know that. He’s foul-mouthed, has one of the biggest egos ever and doesn’t know how to interact with people other than competing,” he agreed with a bitter-sweet smile, “But there’s much more to him, isn’t it? The strength and passion that drive him, his pride as a man, all his vulnerable fear and insecurities that he tries to face alone, his will to become a hero…ah!” he chuckled, “That’s what made me fall in love. I’ve never met anyone who wanted to become a hero more than him, no matter how flawed he knows he is, no matter how hard it feels or what the world says. He’s willing to face all his demons if it means he can improve, and he’s ready to change. Katsuki is burning with passion, he just needs to find his way to convey it… properly. This hit me so hard. Only by being next to him I feel braver and stronger as if nothing could defeat us. Being worthy of his respect and love for me is… amazing. Even if I know he’s not perfect and even if I’ve seen all his ugly sides… I just love him. He makes me a better person.”

Mitsuki didn’t have words to reply, she stared silently at Kirishima, who grew more and more fidgety as the seconds dragged by.

“…glad.”

“What?” he stuttered, panicking.

“I’m glad you are the one he loves. And I’m glad you love him back. You see the best in him… thank you.” Mitsuki’s voice was so quiet as she spoke, looking at the ground.

Kirishima felt the urge to hug her but had already learned how to deal with a Bakugou and stopped himself.

“You don’t have to worry, ma’am. A lot people are beginning to see it too. Bakugou is not alone anymore, you know? We’ve made a lot of friends! I’ll bring them to you if you want to know them! But don’t worry, he’ll be fine!” Kirishima reassured her with a toothy-smiled

She had to force herself not to cry.

What a special boy her son had found. He had completely seen right through her, hadn’t he? Better than what she had ever admitted to herself.

“I’d love to, Kirishima-kun.”


Bakugou chose that moment to barge back in the kitchen, armed with a first-aid kit, Masaru behind him.

“I found it! Uh? What’s this?” he asked suspiciously as he moved the gaze between the two of them.

Mitsuki and Kirishima exchanged a glance, before chuckling.

“Gossiping,” the woman replied with a teasing smirk.

Bakugou narrowed his eyes.

“She had promised to show me your childhood photos!” Kirishima added with a bright smile.

“What? No fucking way!” Bakugou protested marching to him with the disinfectant already in hand.

“Please, Katsuki!” Kirishima begged with his best puppy-eyes.

“I’ll go searching for the albums!” Mitsuki left the kitchen with a laughter.

“I think I have some videos…” Masaru mumbled quietly.

“Dad don’t you dare!”


When the time to go came, Kirishima had nearly been adopted by Masaru and Mitsuki. Not that Bakugou would have ever doubted his boyfriend’ scary ability to befriend even inanimate objects, but it was still a relief.

And… his mother seemed happy. Genuinely happy. He hadn’t seen her like that in a long time, right?

“Thank you again for the hospitality!” Kirishima bowed for the umpteenth time before Mitsuki pulled him into a crushing hug.

“I’m the one who’s happy, Kirishima-kun! You’re really a wonderful boy, feel free to hang here whenever you want.”

“Alright, alright!” Bakugou was losing his patience and roughly dragged his boyfriend away from his mother’s arms, “You have said it already ten times! We’re going to UA, not the fucking north pole! Stop being so dramatic!”

Kirishima laughed, letting the blond manhandle him.

“Goodbye again! I look forward to the next lunch together!” He yelled cheerfully as the other pushed him out of the door.

“Fucking move, Shitty-Hair!”

Once he had finally sent him away, Bakugou turned to his parents.

“I’ll be going…” he said awkwardly.

“Stay safe, and call more often,” Masaru patted his head with a sigh. He really would have liked to stay with them a little longer.

Bakugou shrugged but didn’t protest.

He moved as to open the door and leave but stilled.

He turned to his mother instead.

“Thank you,” he murmured so quietly Mitsuki almost feared to have imagined it, “Eijirou really cared about this, but I too am happy you met him. I’m glad you like him.”

Katsuki was meeting her eyes, and there was no hidden disappointment. No anger. No fear.

He was there honestly revealing his thoughts to her.

Almost vulnerable.

For a heartbeat, it almost sent her mind in a frenzy. She wasn’t ready, she wasn’t used to it.

Her brain was already pushing out an automatic, snarky reply as always when she felt vulnerable or lost, but she bit her tongue.

Katsuki had improved. He had done his best to grow.

Mitsuki had to be worthy of all his efforts.

“You really don’t deserve someone as good as him, try not to scare him off.”

“Of course we like him. He’s the best boy you could have ever met,” Mitsuki replied with the same quiet honesty.

Katsuki showed a small smile, biting the inside of his cheek.

“I know,” he scoffed, “That’s why I chose him.”

“Maybe I could adopt him instead of you, brat.”

“I would have never expected less. Look at you, Katsuki, all proud of your boyfriend! I can’t wait to call him my son-in-law,” she teased, making him blush.

“MOM!” he burst.

She laughed hard, happy and so relieved at hearing him calling her mom.

“I hope to see you soon! Kick some ass and show the world your resolve, brat!” She threw an arm around his shoulders and pulled him into a hug, ruffling his head.

“That’s what I always do, old hag! And we’ll come back, stop nagging and let go!” But he made no real attempt at shoving her away, letting her enjoy the moment.

When she finally stepped back, he simply nodded and walked out of the door. Kirishima was waiting on the walkway and started waving enthusiastically as soon as he saw them.

“Goodbye!” he yelled to them as the couple waved back.

Bakugou muttered something under his breath and grabbed him by the hand, quickly pulling him away. Soon, Masaru and Mitsuki remained alone, looking at the sunset.

“See? You didn’t mess up.”

She turned to him with burning eyes.

“I didn’t mess up!” Mitsuki cheered, and, seeing her shining, proud smile, Masaru remembered why he had fallen in love with her in the first place.





“You two are really similar,” Kirishima mused as he and Bakugou walked toward the dorms, hand in hand.

The blond scoffed yet didn’t deny it.

“Horrible personality. Messed up.”

Kirishima rolled his eyes. Those two were really similar.

“Complex. Fierce. Scared to love and yet so full of passion. You have your issues, but both of you are fighting, right? I really admire that. You make me want to give my best too!”

Bakugou halted and turned to stare at him, eyes wide open.

“Are you fucking serious?”

“Sure!”

“…How can you say things like this without getting embarrassed?” he growled, blush creeping to his cheeks.

Kirishima chuckled sheepishly, scratching his nape.

“I just say what I see…”

Bakugou gazed his face, almost tempted to search for a lie even though he knew there wasn’t one, before sighing.

“’Guess you really see it.”

“One day you’ll see yourself like that too, I’m here for this.”

“Fucking annoying.”

“But you love me!”

Bakugou chuckled, but leaned closer, “Yeah, I fucking love you.”

And shut his boyfriend with a kiss before he could blurt more embarrassing truths

esmethesciencewitch:

esmethesciencewitch:

Revolutionary parenting hack:

If your child is in the middle of some activity and clearly enjoying it (and wasn’t supposed to be doing something else instead), DO NOT interrupt them and have them do chores that will “only take 5 minutes or so!”

You haven’t asked them to do anything before they got out the Legos, started reading a chapter of their book or painting the complicated picture, or began playing their video game.

As a result of being repeatedly interrupted, they will learn that their presence in public space of the household=availability to do chores, so they will make themselves scarce so you can’t find them and order them around. They will also become suspicious of your efforts to engage with them as they play, as they’ve learned that these pleasantries are a prelude to “Take out the trash”, or “move your boots and vacuum the entryway, there’s dirt everywhere ”.

“But I need my children to help me around the house!”, I hear you cry. I understand. Children should not be treated like royalty and left to their own devices 24/7.

An alternative is to give the kids a clearly delineated chore chart and stick to it, resisting the urge to add anything to it. There are some chores that are easier and quicker with two people, though. A (in my opinion) even better option is to divide the child’s day into “on-duty” and “off-duty ” time. When they’re on-duty, you can interrupt them as before, but you have *consulted with your child beforehand * and they understand that during this time they can relax, but they must be ready to jump in and lend a hand.

That way they won’t start trying to level up in their video game or break out the clay and make stuff. When they are off-duty, you leave them alone and their only responsibilities are to clean up whatever mess they make at the end of this time.

Also, if they are tearing around the house or whining about being bored, don’t make them do chores so they will “have something to do”; this could make the child conflate extra chores with punishment for whining and make them reluctant to help out when you randomly tell them to at other times because they might think they’re being punished but they have NO IDEA WHAT THEY DID. And IMO children should see chores as things everyone has to do no matter what, not punishments.

I may seem unqualified to offer parenting advice as I have no kids, but I was talking with my dad today and he said: “I wish you didn’t hide from us in your room so much, but every time your mom walked by she’d give you a chore to do, so I can’t blame you for that.” A kid who hides in their room to play has an entirely different relationship to the family than the child who sprawls on the livingroom floor and excitedly describes the city they are building out of Legos.

And today, in times of Covid I play a complicated game of hide-and-seek with my mother as I try to do my online coding homework and apply for jobs. I am now attempting to turn my bedroom into my own tiny office because if I work in our home office, she’ll find me and go “I can’t attach this file to my email,” and so on.

Children *have* to obey their parents when they are young. But true respect and honoring collective responsibilities is stronger than forced obedience. If you demonstrate to your children that you respect them and their time, they will reciprocate.

Tl;dr if your child is “always hiding in their room”, there is a reason for it and setting a regular routine and boundaries will benefit both of you in the long run.

teaboot:

twinkling–vixen:

candidlyautistic:

teaboot:

This may just be my experience as an autistic person, but the kids I’ve nannied whose parent’s complain of ‘bad awful in cooperative selfish autistic behavior’ are… Not like that? At all?

Like, for example, I cared for a kid for a while who was nonverbal and didn’t like being touched. Around six years old? Their parent said that they were fussy and had a strict schedule, and that they had problems getting them to eat. Their last few nannies had quit out of frustration.

So, I showed up. And for the first little while, it was awkward. The kid didn’t know me, I didn’t know them, you know how it is. And for the first… Day and a half, maybe? I fucked up a few times.

I changed their diaper and they screamed at me. I put the TV off and they threw things. Not fun, but regular upset kid stuff.

Next time, I figured, hell, I wouldn’t like being manhandled and ordered around either. Who likes being physically lifted out of whatever it is they’re doing and having their pants yanked off? Fucking few, that’s who.

Next time, I go, ‘hey, kiddo. You need a new diaper?’ and check. ‘I’m gonna go grab a new one and get you clean, okay?’ ‘Wanna find a spot to lay down?’ ‘Alright, almost done. Awesome job, thanks buddy’.

I learned stuff about them. They liked a heads up before I did anything disruptive. They didn’t mind that I rattled of about nothing all day. They didn’t like grass or plastic touching their back. They were okay with carpets and towels. They liked pictionary, and the color yellow, and fish crackers, and painting. They didn’t look me in the face (which was never an issue- I hate that too, it fucking sucks) but I never had reason to believe that they were ignoring me.

Once I learned what I was doing wrong, everything was fine. Did they magically “”“become normal”“” and start talking and laughing and hugging? No, but we had fun and had a good time and found a compromise between what I was comfortable with and what they were comfortable with. (For the record, I didn’t magically sailor-moon transform into a socially adept individual, either. In case anyone was wondering.)

I don’t like eye contact. It’s distracting and painful and stresses me out.

They didn’t like eye contact either.

Is eye contact necessary to communication? No. So we just didn’t do it.

Was there ever a situation where I HAD to force them to drop everything and lay down on the lawn? No. So the thirty second warning came into play, and nobody died.

“But they never talked!”

No, they didn’t. And they didn’t know ASL, and they didn’t like being touched.

So you know what happened?

My third day in, they tugged on my shirt. ‘Hey monkey, what’s up?’ I asked. And they tugged me towards the kitchen. ‘oh, cool. You hungry?’. They raised their hands in an ‘up’ gesture. ‘you want up? Cool.’ and I lifted them up. They pointed to the fridge. I opened it. They grabbed a juice box out of the top shelf, and pushed the door closed again. ‘oh sweet, grape is the best. You are an individual of refined taste.’ I put them down and they went back to their room to play Legos.

“But they didn’t say please or thank you!” “But you should be teaching them communication skills!” “But!” Lalalalala.

1. The entire interaction was entirely considerate and polite. I was never made uncomfortable. I was made aware of the problem so that I could help them solve it. There was no mess, no tears, no bruises, no shouting.

2. Did my brain collapse into a thousand million fragments of shattered diamond dust out of sheer incomprehension? No? Then their communication skills were fine. Goal realized, solution found, objective complete. They found the most simple and painless way to communicate the situation and then did it.

Kids are not stupid. AUTISTIC kids are not stupid.

I’m willing to bet real cash money that the real reason the last few nannies had quit had a million times more to do with their own ability to cope, not the kid’s.

To this day, that was the most relaxed and enjoyable job I’ve ever had.

And I know I don’t speak for everyone. All kids are different. All adults are different. But in my time and experience, pretty much 95% of all my difficulties with children come from ME not being understanding enough. Every single “problem child” I’ve worked with turned out to be a pretty cool person once I started figuring out how to put my ego aside and let them set the pace.

Again, not speaking universally, here. I’m just saying. Sometimes social rules are bullshit, you know? People are people

Have you ever read an article about the study that found that teaching the parents to cope with autistic kids yields better results than other therapies? Because this is exactly what they were talking about.

this is a fantastic short term solution. but what happens when that child goes out into the real world as an adult and has no verbal communication skills and still doesn’t know how to properly transition between activities? by not teaching them coping mechanisms you put them at a distinct disadvantage compared to the rest of their peers and I don’t think that’s fair.

Okay, first off, I don’t want you to feel that I skimmed your argument and chose to disagree on principal. I feel that I have read and understood your point of view, and am actively putting thought into composing a thoughtful response that conveys my perspective on the subject.

You have asked me what happens when an autistic child “goes out into the real world as an adult and has no verbal communication skills”.

The thing is, there are many adults who live perfectly well without verbal communication.

There are adults with hearing impairments who can’t verbalize their intentions.

There are adults with anxiety disorders who can’t verbalize their intentions.

There do, in fact, exist autistic adults who can’t verbalize their intentions.

I would not personally agree that forcing a child or adult to talk out loud -when it very obviously causes them stress, or when they are unable to do so- is a coping mechanism.

I would argue that a coping mechanism is something that one does to alleviate their own stress, not the stress of others.

 Just as well there are, right now, at this very second, any number or real-life adult autistic people who actually do, at this minute, have a hard time transitioning between activities. I’m sure you could ask them what that’s like and you’d get a great number of autistic adults who do exist in the real world willing to tell you.

I’d like you to ask yourself, and I sincerely don’t mean to be condescending, a really quick question:

Is the problem Them, or is the problem You?

Furthermore, is there even a problem at all?

What I mean for you to ask, is: Is there a problem, or did you create one by being unwilling to compromise what makes you, personally, comfortable? 

Are they doing something wrong, or are you valuing tradition over someone’s health and wellbeing? 

Which is more valuable to you, in a society?

No child is ready to walk out and live life as an adult in the ‘real world’. That’s why they’re children. Raise them, whoever they are and whatever that means, into an adult who’s confident and kind. Let them speak to people who understand them, not just people who’ve studied them, because there is a difference, and children need more than anything to not feel alone. Everything else is secondary.

I was a picky eater as a kid. Like really, really picky; ARFID wasn’t a thing back then, but if it had been I might’ve been diagnosed with it.

My parents never forced me to eat anything. They encouraged me to try new foods, and when I got a bit older we had a system where I would get cheesy popcorn (one of my favorite snacks) in exchange for trying a bite of a new food, but they never forced me. They fed me foods that I would eat to make sure I got enough calories.

Eventually, I did broaden my diet. It is still pretty restrictive, due to anxiety and food sensitivities in addition to the sensory issues, but it’s a complete diet. All of the people who said I would end up surviving on pizza and goldfish crackers forever if they didn’t make me eat other stuff were wrong.

You know what did leave a lasting impact, though? The people who would say that. To me, or to my parents right in front of my face. Extended family, concerned lunch supervisors, and kids at school who would tease me for not having a “real” lunch, eating at the wrong speed, whatever it was. To this day, I get anxious eating in front of people outside of my immediate family and friends group, even if I’m pretty sure they’re not going to judge me.

Would my parents forcing me to eat the same things as everyone else have avoided this judgment from other people? Maybe. However, the impact of that almost definitely would have caused even more harm, and possibly even malnutrition (the logic of “they’ll eat it if it’s the only option” doesn’t work so well when eating said food is physically terrorizing for the kid).

We live in a world that is often deeply cruel to disabled people, and this should absolutely be a consideration when raising autistic kids, but the solution is not to “teach them to be normal.” Approaching kids with understanding and empathy, meeting them where they’re at, and treating them as human beings will ultimately create the healthiest foundation for helping them navigate the world.

the-real-seebs:

agrownupgeekgirl:

To be honest.. if more children were shown from birth that they are loved, cared for, and listened no matter their gender we might not have some of the problems we have now.  

Parents: Aloof disdain! Shun! Distance!

Also Parents: Why doesn’t my child talk to me?

A 60 second video of our children over the years. We have always given them space to do a dangerous things carefully. Voice over by Jordan Peterson.

eroticcannibal:

The thing that really let me think in the right way about parenting was realising that raising a good person and raising a “good child” are incompatible.

How can a child develop the ability to challenge and question authority if they cannot challenge and question adults? How can a child learn to value and defend their autonomy if they cannot refuse the demands placed upon them? How can a child learn to fight bigger injustices if they cannot fight over something they feel isn’t fair? How can a child learn to be at peace with their emotions and the emotions of others if they are not allowed the freedom to express their emotions without consequence? How can a child learn to listen to and care for their bodies if they are not allowed to sleep when their body asks or eat what their body demands?

Unquestioning obedience is not a good trait. Fear of authority is not a good trait. Always being sweet with a smile on your face is not a good trait. Being unable to create conflict is not a good trait. Being unwilling to fight is not a good trait. Compromising your boundaries is not a good trait. Prioritising pleasing others over your own needs and autonomy is not a good trait.

Good parenting means intentionally making your life harder. A difficult child is a good person. Your job is to guide your child into becoming the best adult they can be. It is not to make your own life easy. It is not to have the approval of others. It is not to make their teacher and grandparents lives easy. Your priority is your child and nothing else.

telanana:

tachyon-at-rest:

No really: the child DOES NOT know why they did that. Fine neuro-muscular control still developing, impulse control “burped”, a pet tripped them and you didn’t notice. There are lots of reasons that a child is at the center of a mess that needs to be cleaned up but that is NEVER because they want to hurt you as a person.

I’m currently staring at my 20 month old toddler and she is plenty old enough to have the type of tantrum that involves taking whatever she is holding and throwing in on the floor. Sure it makes a mess. And maybe she stared me dead in eyes for an angry second before dropping a glass of milk on the floor but was not an attack on me or my property. She would have no idea why I was angry at her for something that may have already left her underdeveloped attention span.

Children need positive feedback on dealing with their negative emotions and impulse control; hell - lots of adults do too because they never learned from prior generations of hitting parents.

We children of the hitting generation learned Terror. Fear of your parents doesn’t teach you not to behave a certain way, it only teaches you not to get caught.

xenosagaepisodeone:

me as a teen watching a parent storm across a room to scream at a child for accidentally spilling paint: hm. This is not good.

me as an adult watching another adult storm across a room to scream at a vulnerable and still developing child for accidentally spilling paint: This is my villain origin story

xenosagaepisodeone:

the longer I’m parenting-aged the more I realize how disciplinary oriented parenting styles are significantly more deranged than initially assumed

Fear of your parents doesn’t teach you not to behave a certain way, it only teaches you not to get caught.

You know how scary it is when you’re an adult and someone crosses that line into physical violence?

My one-year-old just made his toy ducks kiss, then promptly drowned them in the bath water, so at least I know he’ll know how to play the sims

rotationalsymmetry:

This is also relevant to abortion access. You’re simultaneously not supposed to get an abortion and not supposed to be pregnant and have a child at an inconvenient time. What I want is for people to be able to do whatever the hell they want: become a mom at 16 if they want, be child-free for life while having all the sex if they want, anything. If you’re willing to do the work of being a parent, go for it, and if you don’t wanna, don’t.

And the pro-choice debate doesn’t come close to touching that. It’s effectively either youcan’t get an abortion or you have to, because you can’t afford a child. Sometimes you both can’t and also have to, which is the worst. I want people to be able to do whatever they want. (I mean, with the caveat that once you have a child the child’s needs matter, obviously.)

There’s this idea that moms who need government assistance to take care of their kids are lazy or parasitic or whatever. Bullshit. Parenting is a full time job. And raising kids contributes something of great value to society, perhaps the thing of most value. Andespecially people who are struggling to earn money but figure they would be good parents should focus on parenting, why wouldn’t you focus on your strengths? Attempting to reserve parenthood for people who are able to succeed in the making money project (or succeed in the marrying someone who makes money project) is ass backwards, doing well career-wise and being a good parent are very, very different skillsets. If we do tests for people’s qualifications for parenthood, they sure as heck shouldn’t be “are you not poor?” tests.

I think pro-choice could easily go in this direction it’s just limited by trying to use arguments that can convince conservatives

On that note, a high-quality baby car seat is one of the most significant acquisitions. All parents

On that note, a high-quality baby car seat is one of the most significant acquisitions. All parents put their child’s safety in the first place. That’s why we go out of our way to do whatever it takes to ensure that they are safe and sound. From the moment you take your little one home from the hospital, you need to depend on a reliable car seat.

Unfortunately, due to lack of information, many parents undermine the importance of selecting the best baby infant car seat. What is more, others are not installed properly. That could pose the child to unwanted dangers during each drive.

In this view, we have compiled key details on the subject. We will cover the basics. However, we will also address the most common questions. So, this guide includes everything you should know about choosing the best for your child’s safety.


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When did helping children develop their emotional intelligence and teaching healthy coping mechanismWhen did helping children develop their emotional intelligence and teaching healthy coping mechanismWhen did helping children develop their emotional intelligence and teaching healthy coping mechanism

When did helping children develop their emotional intelligence and teaching healthy coping mechanisms become a bad thing?


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markingatlightspeed:

raincloudsandsunbeams:

maxanaxam:

tinyqueenusagi-chan:

glumshoe:

The other day I watched a little boy get knocked to the ground by an older kid who was running by. He burst into tears as his mother hurried over.

“Here’s a bandaid for ya,” I said, producing one from my vest pocket.

“Oh, he’s not bleeding, thank you though!”

I lowered my voice and leaned in. “Kids think bandaids are health magic,” I said. “Ask him where it hurts and exploit that placebo effect.”

She did just that, and instantly the kid stopped crying and thanked her. “I’ll have to remember that,” she said.

Children: #HACKED

Also if you have a crying kid give them a cup of water. You can’t cry and drink at the same time and it gives them a chance to calm down.

Tell them their going to run out of tears so they drink the water.

My mom does this at her preschool after awhile the other children start offering the crying child little cups of water.

Stuff like this is also a great test to see if the kid is actually seriously injured! Because with how much some kids cry over tiny bumps and scrapes, it can be hard to tell. But if you slap a Band-Aid on it or give them a cup of water or a piece of candy and they stop crying, they’re fine. If they keep crying despite whatever little placebo or distraction you’ve given them, you might wanna look a little closer at that injury or seek medical attention.

With my two’s class we ask them “more hurt or more scary?” It takes a bit of practice but after a few times they can answer without more prompting. More scary gets a hug and more hurt gets a look over.

That last one is so important because it validates the child’s feelings and tells them it’s okay to have these feelings and lets them learn how to deal with them, rather than just distracting them from them. I also helps teach the child to both communicate their feelings more readily and communicate when they’re hurt more clearly. All really important skills for a child to develop young.

El síndrome de las envolturas

La fisionomía es el forro precario, que si bien goza de sublimidad estará desprovista de prejuicios, si es lo opuesto, será sometida a una retahíla de perspectivas execrables.

Las entretelas de un temple solo se ahondan cuando se desintegra el encanto augurado en el momento en que somos persuadidos por la exquisita y aterciopelada textura mortal.

Cada rostro es un resquicio en el que se vislumbra gradualmente la forma de un averno, o, un paraíso.

Magnanimidad y hostilidad ¿Qué es lo que tenemos a cambio de una atracción desmedida?

“Los monstruos son ahuyentados y los agraciados mimados”. Esto conlleva a una lábil concepción de lo que vemos. Insoslayablemente existe una propensión a depositar convicción a todo lo que represente belleza, y comúnmente las imágenes que simbolizan a las divinidades adoradas no son tan hórridas.

No podemos obviar el hecho de que la primera impresión siempre bosqueja qué sensaciones tendremos respecto a la apariencia humana. Casualmente, en la mayoría de estos casos no es subjetiva, pero es coherente dado que solo hacemos un balance de aquello que percibimos.

Al parecer es más fácil enamorarse de alguien sin conocerlo que descubriendo todo lo que abarca su personalidad.

Hay que tener en cuenta que esto sucede porque al enamorarnos concebimos a un ser que encaje perfectamente con nuestra expectación y ponderación, y todos estos atributos inciertos van dirigidos para quien estamos predilectos. Y ¿Acaso este sea el gran temor a enamorarse? No, por supuesto que no, porque los que ahora temen al amor han sido resquebrajados en el futuro sin poder colmar alguna de sus expectativas.

Livianamente esto figuraría ser un bucle en el que la suspicacia o credulidad solo se accionan con el contacto visual. Es decir, se abrirán de par en par las puertas de la afinidad si es bien parecido y se bloquean con desdén frente a una desapacible sensación.

Constantemente somos embelasados por una piel templada, por unos labios carnosos y una mirada deslumbrante en cuestión de instantes. Cuando una mente imponente se atraviesa, fluctúan los sentidos, quedamos anonadados y la respuesta que tenemos solo parece alquimizarse en una hosca atmósfera.

Todos aspiran alcanzar el nirvana con el ser que adoran. La envoltura es un imperativo, qué importa lo que contenga.

AI extender el deseo colisionamos con la monotonía sexual y corpórea. Aborrecemos lo primero que nos cautivó y nos domina la búsqueda por un formidable temperamento, sonsacando hasta el más ínfimo rasgo para una propicia sincronía.

Nos deshacernos de lo superfluo porque después del placer despunta el vacío natural que se siente al no haber correlación entre un cuerpo y el alma.

Adrihán Cárdenas

“Hey, kids… I know what we should do today!”

“Hey, kids… I know what we should do today!”


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fmlcomic:

afronerdism:

afronerdism:

Excellent.

There are people having fits underneath this post on IG because he said “non birthing parent.” Like whole ass meltdowns

This guy is being a good partner and a good parent and trying to help other folks be good partners and parents… And folks are losing their shit because the man uses inclusive language? In the year of Our Lady, 2022? Madness.

life-advocate-feminist:

Maybe this is an unpopular opinion but truly one of the reasons abortion is so common is because of our individualistic culture and the expectation that parents raise their kids (especially new babies) with little to no help.

Humans were never meant to parent that way. We evolved with large families in multi generational environments. We never were meant to live alone and raise a baby by ourselves. The quote “it takes a village to raise a child” has evolutionary truth.

I’ve noticed even married couples have a massive struggle with raising a newborn because they either refuse help or aren’t offered it.

Moral of the story is: helping the parents around you is a great way to be pro life.

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