We had a picture-perfect start to 1999. It was the year I would turn 18, a major milestone. This was the age when I thought I would be free from parental control. I should have known better, because Mom was having none of it. Once you lived under her roof, you will always be a child to her no matter your age. She consistently repeat, “Two woman cah live een a one house.” These were the bounda-ries she created. Everyone knew their role and how to play them.

Artists often record pieces without appraising listeners of what a song may mean to them. This oversight usually occurs because of production demands that preclude verbal descriptions of what a given song may mean to an artist. Producing a polished CD or video is considerable, and producers are reluctant to spend their precious dollars on verbal tributes that can be made by recording artists during a concert. Once in the studio, artists are expected to record their music as quickly and efficiently. Reminiscing about the composition of a particular song is discouraged. Fortunately, the recording of this specific song did require the use of an expensive recording studio. When I recorded the piece, I had no neurotic producer hanging over my shoulder. I am therefore free to reflect on what the relatively unknown aria "kennst du das land." Those unfamiliar with opera are unlikely to recognize the piece. I first became familiar with the Aria after attending a performance of "Little Woman." An original operatic work, the production allowed me to hear a breath-taking musical score and the Aria Kennst du das Land. I became determined to master the Aria in question. My years of training had provided me with the technical tools needed to sing a variety of styles, but I had always reframed from singing pieces written in German. The sheer beauty of the piece overwhelmed my reservation and set to work on it with passion and zeal. The experience has been transformative, allowing me to connect with a part of my German heritage that had always felt peripheral. Having to master German required that I steep myself in a language that members of the Hurst family line had practiced for generations. Learning "Kennst du das land" became a transformative experience, allowing me to reintegrate a disowned aspect of my family heritage. I am not the first, or only, singer to have had such an experience. Singing is an inherently personal process. Few performers become successful by relying solely upon their technical prowess. Acclaim rarely occurs unless a performer has found a way to merge technique and emotional resonance. For this singer at least, mastering the complexities of the Aria Kennst du das land became an example of such a process. It is why this previously unfamiliar piece now feels profoundly connected to my body and soul.

As Brently Mallard walked down the path to his home, he couldn't help but gaze at the "tops of trees that were all aquiver with the new spring life. The delicious breath of rain was in the air. In the street a peddler was crying his wares." Brently began to sing. His voice was rich and melodic, wafting through the streets. The "countless sparrows were twittering in the eaves," harmonizing with his sweet song. He had been away from home for so long, too long... and it felt strange going down the pathway home. The freedom of being away was refreshing, and the space he had gotten had been desperately needed. However, Brently did miss Mrs. Mallard, somewhat anyway. He hoped that she was in satisfactory health and that all was well. Inhaling the fresh spring air, he couldn't avoid the cloudy thought of the symbolic drought that he knew he was walking towards.

I cried my eyes out at the thought of losing J, my partner. God that sounds like I’m in a same-sex relationship but honestly boyfriend at the age of 34 sounds awful. It is the first time in months my children have been tender and caring towards me that I can remember. I mean we cuddle and kiss before bed and before school but these are obligatory hugs and expected cwtches (look it up its Welsh).

I have five kids. Ages twenty, nineteen, seventeen, fourteen, and nine years old. My nine- year old was three months premature. The due date was April 13th, 2011 born January 15th, 2011. He was born in Albuquerque, NM. We live in Roswell, NM...3 hours away. While I and the baby were living the NICU life, my older four kiddos stayed with their dad in Roswell. Every Saturday night my brother rode up to Albuquerque to pick me up. I missed my other kiddos of course. So Sundays were established and dedicated to them. Give or take 12 Sundays all together until I could bring my baby home and be home with all of my babies.

We arrived at the hospital in Atlanta at 6:00 am on December 20, 1995. The Labor and Delivery Team was prepped and ready for action. My husband and I had the standard "Go Bag" with us, that we'd carefully prepared during the previous month. It had all of the crucial items meant to make our delivery room experience as rel axing as possible. You know, creature comforts. Soothing music for the delivery room, a camera for catching the highlights (waist up only, cause nobody needs to see that). Snacks to sustain the expectant father while he's trying to play coach and avoid fainting. The hand-picked, "going home" outfit for baby and mama. They were Santa inspired, because Christmas was less than a week away.

One minute past midnight and 'Fathers Day' will be officially all over as another day starts; Monday. The cards might stop up a bit longer to remind us of day that we've celebrated and depending on the gift you've received, a lot longer. But one thing that will always remain; ' You' being a father. Being a dad never goes away like the day does, the card or the gift does, fatherhood is, or supposed to be a life long title and commitment. It's great that "Fathers Day" is celebrated and fathers are shown love and appreciation.

Remember when you discovered you were going to be a parent? The moment you learned that inside you, was another life? Remember the incredible fear and excitement you felt all at the same time? All you worried about was whether or not you would be a good mother. Do you remember when?

Black Bloomers are Future Guide Reference’s for Black Woman

A triathlon, like fatherhood, is a multiple-stage event. It involves the completion of three continuous and sequential endurance disciplines of which swimming is just one of them. It's one of my favourite examples that draw parallels to becoming a father, because, like triathletes, us fathers will have to go through multiple-stage events throughout our children’s life (New babies, toddlers, adolescent teens and then adulthood). What are the 3 stages I hear you pondering! Well! The stages (or the Legs) of a Triathlon start with the "hardest" event first; Swimming then it goes on to the cycling event and then finally the running stage.

From the moment we pee on a stick and find out the reason we are so moody and bloated, is because a tiny little human has started to form in our womb, we begin to think about the kind of parent we want to be. There is nothing more personal than parenting…

For many women, and I know for me, finding out you are pregnant comes with an onslaught of thoughts shortly after seeing that little red line. Many questions come to mind. How will my life change when this baby is born? Am I ready to become a parent? Will I have a boy or a girl? Is labor really as painful as it is made out to be on TV? Among all of these questions, one that lingers and continues to become more and more of a question an expectant mother wants to figure out an answer to is: Should I continue working or become a stay at home mom?

Mom Lessons That Come From Odd and Unexpected Places

Mom to Mom: This Is An Emotional Shit Show

Are you running out of ideas for getting your little one to eat healthier foods? You're not alone. In 2017, researchers from NTNU found that 26% of 4 year olds can be categorized as "picky eaters". With more than 1 in 4 children (or should I say parents) suffering from this designation, it's fair to say children struggle to naturally understand the importance of a balanced diet. It's imperative that we as adults find effective ways to use good-willed tactics in order to promote a healthy diet for our young.

I have five kids. Ages twenty, nineteen, seventeen, fourteen, and nine years old. My nine- year old was three months premature. The due date was April 13th, 2011 born January 15th, 2011. He was born in Albuquerque, NM. We live in Roswell, NM...3 hours away. While I and the baby were living the NICU life, my older four kiddos stayed with their dad in Roswell. Every Saturday night my brother rode up to Albuquerque to pick me up. I missed my other kiddos of course. So Sundays were established and dedicated to them. Give or take 12 Sundays all together until I could bring my baby home and be home with all of my babies.

It's been three years since I started working in nurseries and private houses. My profession, as i said in my previous story, changed a lot. I actually never imagine myself working with kids, also, kids from 6 month to 5 years old (in nurseries).

I am a liar. How did this come about, you ask? Lying can be fun. My kids still lift their legs when we cross a railroad track. It can also be benevolent deception really. Where did our puppy go, Mom?  He is at our friends farm, honey. The day I became a Mom is the day I became a liar. Embellished truths and little white lies became my normal day to day while trying to convince my kids to brush their teeth, and wash their hands. Now it is becoming more challenging. “I will not ask you again.” That’s not true. I will probably ask another 50 times. “They don’t sell replacement batteries for that toy”.  “The TV doesn’t work when it rains.”  “The animals on the side of the road are just taking a nap.”  The jig is up! I am a liar. And my kids have figured it out.

The reason I decided to add a trigger warning is because I am a straight male and we live in an age where so much can be assumed about me just because I am male . I am a sociologist in North America, and I think at this point it’s important to understand that just because I say no to something it’s not because I have any biases towards anybody and yes I have been aggravated by a female, but the difference between being bitter and being me is that I have not given up on myself , humanity or the goodness of other men and women. Sorry , but I had to make a disclaimer to cover all the slanderous comments internet trolls like to leave below content that could threaten their narrative.

Beaches, parks, malls, stores, restaurants, golf courses...all within

A cousin is diagnosed with stage four breast cancer and wants to go back to Cuba. She wants to bring the dog she left at her mother-in-law’s house, to the beach for the first time. The phone rings at 6:00 am that morning. I answer my cell to a frantic voice on the other end. She says “I had a dream last night and haven’t been able to go back to sleep since. I have been trying to figure out how to make it happen and I need your help.”. Still a little dazed I answered “Sure, What’s up?”. She replies “In my dream I was able to bring Thor to the beach. I have not had a chance to do that yet. I know he will just love it. Sorry for calling so early but this has been on my bucket list since my diagnosis. Will you come to Cuba with me so I can do this?”. A little more awake now, I say “of course! But have you talked to your doctors and when do we leave?”. Fast forward to a beach in Cuba with a sick cousin who has lost all her hair and her oh so happy dog. Thor is frolicking in the water and running through the sand. My cousin is enjoying every minute of it from her towel on the beach. She can’t move much without hurting but watching her dog have the kind of fun she knew he would brings the biggest smile to her face. She forgets her pain for just that one perfect moment. She looks down at the sand and sees a sea shell. The sea shell in this picture. She holds it up for me so I can take a picture of it. The years that pass aren't so easy. I try to be there for my cousin who is going through so much. Fast forward now to 2019. I get to hold my cousin’s hand in the hospital before her last dying breaths. The hand that held that small shell those few years before. That picture reminds me that I was a small part of getting her to Cuba to cross that item off her bucket list and the happiness that trip to rustic Cuba brought her. I did not edit that photo and left it as raw as she was at the time. I hope one day to get that image tattooed near my breast as a symbol of love and respect for the woman that battled a disease that robs so many of a normal life. Some survive and some do not, but my cousin will live on in my heart forever and so will the moments that brought us together. I feel fortunate to have been a part of a life that was cut so short. Fortunate to have had my camera with me to capture that moment in time that I can never get back. Someone once asked me why I take so many pictures when I’m out in nature and why can’t I just put my camera down and enjoy the moment. First off, for me, viewing the world through my camera is me living in the moment. Secondly, I can call up those images anytime I want, to relive those moments over and over again. Something that will be more precious to me as my actual memories fade. There are photos that make me smile, some that make me cry and some that invoke emotions that only a certain photo can provide like the one I have shared with you here today. So let’s capture many more of those photos in life! Photos full of colour, meaning and love, now and always!

Fish was aware of blue water shimmering and dancing: it seemed all around her as she began her approach. One-two-three-and-hurdle. The springboard gave way beneath her and then she was airborne. At the top of her lift, she hung in the air for just a moment before beginning her downward flight – for just long enough to see them sitting in the stands, side by side, looking up at her.

“Why?”

3 unbelievable stories.

Artists often record pieces without appraising listeners of what a song may mean to them. This oversight usually occurs because of production demands that preclude verbal descriptions of what a given song may mean to an artist. Producing a polished CD or video is considerable, and producers are reluctant to spend their precious dollars on verbal tributes that can be made by recording artists during a concert. Once in the studio, artists are expected to record their music as quickly and efficiently. Reminiscing about the composition of a particular song is discouraged. Fortunately, the recording of this specific song did require the use of an expensive recording studio. When I recorded the piece, I had no neurotic producer hanging over my shoulder. I am therefore free to reflect on what the relatively unknown aria "kennst du das land." Those unfamiliar with opera are unlikely to recognize the piece. I first became familiar with the Aria after attending a performance of "Little Woman." An original operatic work, the production allowed me to hear a breath-taking musical score and the Aria Kennst du das Land. I became determined to master the Aria in question. My years of training had provided me with the technical tools needed to sing a variety of styles, but I had always reframed from singing pieces written in German. The sheer beauty of the piece overwhelmed my reservation and set to work on it with passion and zeal. The experience has been transformative, allowing me to connect with a part of my German heritage that had always felt peripheral. Having to master German required that I steep myself in a language that members of the Hurst family line had practiced for generations. Learning "Kennst du das land" became a transformative experience, allowing me to reintegrate a disowned aspect of my family heritage. I am not the first, or only, singer to have had such an experience. Singing is an inherently personal process. Few performers become successful by relying solely upon their technical prowess. Acclaim rarely occurs unless a performer has found a way to merge technique and emotional resonance. For this singer at least, mastering the complexities of the Aria Kennst du das land became an example of such a process. It is why this previously unfamiliar piece now feels profoundly connected to my body and soul.

With Pride Month have just ended, I’ve found myself reflecting on my coming out story. It was nothing spectacular. The first time I said out loud that I was a bisexual woman, it was in my high school’s LGBTQ+ club. My close friend was in the room and gave me one of the best hugs I’ve ever received in my life at the end of the meeting. It was a proud moment for me, one that set me out to be more loud about who I am. Fast forward to today, about eight years later, and I can’t help but smile at the progress I’ve made. I’ve since realized in the past two years that it’s more accurate for me to say I’m pansexual. This actually marks the first time I’m “officially” saying I prefer pansexual to bisexual, so maybe this is another small coming out I’ve finally done.

Growing up, I was fortunate enough to know my great grandparents and most of their siblings. My Great Grandmother, Nana, was definitely someone you wouldn't forget

Moms Know Best, And You Will Too

All of the following events are inspired by true events, reader discretion is advised...

It’s good I got to this contest in time. I was scrolling through Facebook or Insta and saw this contest and I thought about what to enter. I love using my brain. I don’t really need the money particularly, however, it’ll surely help my family with times being so hard right now. They’ll have more faith in what I do. I’ll explain. We’re an African-American family. We’re going through the same bullshit other blacks go through in this country. I’m blessed I haven’t had a cop pull a gun or me, been called a n****r in public, or have to use a COLOREDS ONLY restroom. I reside in Atlanta where racial tensions are less futile. The white people are way more friendly over there. That’s a joke. I’m not racist. Can’t be. But that’s another article. I recently moved back to Missouri City, TX to help my mom because she has a rare disease called PLS. That’s 20 minutes from Houston. Racism here is more likely. But I digress from that. PLS is a motor neuron deficiency disease my dear mom has. She can’t talk, walk straight, and has problems eating. She’s so frail. She’s at home all the time. Not bed ridden and I pray it doesn’t come to that. When she has to express herself it’s hard on me because I can hardly tell if she’s laughing or crying when she needs something. It gets scary. She has a communicator on her phone that reads her texts. I miss her voice, though... My dad is stronger than me. He helps her shower, in therapy, and use the bathroom. He’s a good man for it, but it’s hard on me because I will always remember my mom in a much more different and fun way. Athletic, getting up to work early, jumping around to Frankie Beverly and Maze, cooking the best fried fish you’ve ever had on the weekends. I know Christmases won’t be the same... My mom was really vocal and active. Actually, I don’t know how my dad does it when he takes care of her. My mom always said she didn’t want no nursing home if she ever got old and sick. My father obides. She’s only 66. He, 67. I know he took those ‘vows’ seriously. He’s a good man, but it’s just hard on me being her son. I think about girls I date seeing my mom and maybe they’ll get scared I’ll end up like her and dump me. Sometimes I get scared and think I’ll end up with PLS. I pray I don’t. I don’t want PLS!! Please understand that I’m not selfish and I do love my mom. I’m not writing this for money. You can count how many times I’ve said it. I guess a result of this is that the persons reading live every day like it’s their last. Carpe Diem. That’s the phrase. Don’t take walking for granted. Don’t take bathing for granted. Don’t even take eating for granted. Live, live, live. But live right. One day you’re here and the next you could be gone. At least try to live by that in this sad world. Life is so bittersweet. That’s what I’m seeing at my age. I’m 34. I pray my mom makes a FULL RECOVERY. She’s in rough shape, however, I still pray. I know there’s a God. He’s always good. Uhhhh, it’s hard. I guess you can tell from this entry I write professionally and you would be correct as shit. Like I said, I don’t ‘need’ the prize but it would help my family out and help them to believe in me to be a great writer. Be blessed.

Dads play such a special role in our lives and they deserve to have the best celebration that shows them exactly how much the whole family loves and cherishes them. With Father’s Day quickly approaching, you may be stuck in your search to find the perfect way to celebrate. Whether you are celebrating your dad, stepdad, grandfather or a father figure, it can feel like there is a lot of pressure to find the right way to express your love. As you narrow down your celebratory options, consider these options that could be used for any fantastic father.

When you have children, you are constantly looking for fun activities to do with them. However, traditional kid activities can get expensive, and you may be trying to do things on a budget. You do not have to spend a lot of money to have fun with your children. There are plenty of frugal ideas that still allow you to make valuable memories. If you are looking for a group activity that will not break the bank, consider these five options.

If you are the parent/guardian of a child (birth to three years) currently receiving special education/therapy through The Early Intervention program, please ensure that you begin the Turning Three process with The New York City Department of Education Committee on Preschool Education (CPSE) at least four months prior to your baby's third birth. The day after your child's third birthday, they are no longer eligible to receive services through Early Intervention.

We arrived at the hospital in Atlanta at 6:00 am on December 20, 1995. The Labor and Delivery Team was prepped and ready for action. My husband and I had the standard "Go Bag" with us, that we'd carefully prepared during the previous month. It had all of the crucial items meant to make our delivery room experience as rel axing as possible. You know, creature comforts. Soothing music for the delivery room, a camera for catching the highlights (waist up only, cause nobody needs to see that). Snacks to sustain the expectant father while he's trying to play coach and avoid fainting. The hand-picked, "going home" outfit for baby and mama. They were Santa inspired, because Christmas was less than a week away.

When I found out that schools were going to be closed, I was shocked, excited, and concerned. I was shocked because I would never in a million years believed something like this would be happening to me in my lifetime. Excited because I really needed a break from work, trying to juggle the kids to get up in the morning by a certain time and Grad school. I was just exhausted and ready to finally be able to get some sleep. The main thing was feeling like I did not have to be rushed. I can finally take a breather at my own pace. Lastly, I was concerned because I did not know what to expect. Was it deadly? Should I be concerned for my kids? Where did it come from? So, much.

I will not make the same mistakes that you did because I will not let myself as my heart has had so much misery before you came along; now that I’m tough enough to stand my ground no matter how much you try to split me, my soul and my man up. I will not break to satisfy you nor anyone else to get what I want; you fell so hard, scream, shout and everything when you get told “no”. I learned the hard way of working towards something I want in life; if I never let it get this far screaming, demanding and everything else just because everyone would give it to you straight away.

We had a picture-perfect start to 1999. It was the year I would turn 18, a major milestone. This was the age when I thought I would be free from parental control. I should have known better, because Mom was having none of it. Once you lived under her roof, you will always be a child to her no matter your age. She consistently repeat, “Two woman cah live een a one house.” These were the bounda-ries she created. Everyone knew their role and how to play them.

I cried my eyes out at the thought of losing J, my partner. God that sounds like I’m in a same-sex relationship but honestly boyfriend at the age of 34 sounds awful. It is the first time in months my children have been tender and caring towards me that I can remember. I mean we cuddle and kiss before bed and before school but these are obligatory hugs and expected cwtches (look it up its Welsh).

I don't like ceremonies, I would even go as far to say that I dislike them. I was not the kind of kid who'd get ashamed by the mere presence of my parents in public settings, but nor would I enjoy it that much. When I was younger I enjoyed spending time with my mother, and perhaps with my father too, but I always felt like my mom was more emphatic to my life.

Whether you are a stay-at-home mom or a mom who works both inside and outside the home, you are no doubt busy for about 18 hours of the day (if not longer). It is no surprise that you are exhausted at the end of the day, but what can you do about it? Well, short of hiring a nanny (a luxury most of us can’t afford), the next best thing you can do is to make sure that you take care of yourself.

Hear me out.

It's a pity that I've been holding on to my chest for so long and I didn't even dare to write about it or talk to anyone. I want to talk about it today.

Daisies always were Mama’s favorite flower.

My sister died last year on the 20th January 2019. She was in a home at the time of her death, and had not been well for some time.

Dear Sis,