Most recently published stories in Families.
Helping Your Child to Sleep
This image has an empty alt attribute; its file name is pexels-photo-4586654.jpeg Photo by Anna Shvets on Pexels.com “Mom, I need you to lie with me.”
Brown I Own
Wednesday, October 31, 1931 - He was born hard and feisty. Screamed so loud the nurse nearly dropped him. Good morning, Clay. Babe who fussed in his mom’s arms. He was a dark nut brown. Darker than the babe before. Grandpa Roy, a common law husband, waved his hand. “Not mine.” Grandma held him closer. “What does it matter? Color of skin. He’s yours. He’s mine.” She was a migrant farm worker. Anxious to leave the California hospital so she could make money in the fields. She placed him next to Uncle Smile. Ismael. They would always be united by her heart, womb, blood thicker than old viscous glass dripping like windows in some distant English manor.
Tell Me A Story
I remember being in the kitchen or in the living room or outside on the porch when my grandmother would call. My mom would be on the phone for what felt like hours, but was probably 20 minutes. They’d talk while my mom made dinner or cleaned or sat on our outdoor deck furniture. I’d hear one side but I’d know the other.
Are You My Mother?
Aiti. It means mother in my mother tounge. A language from the far north, the language of Finland, the language of my mother.
Swim Away From the Sails
"Do the right thing and learn. You are eager and exceptionally bright (Pop's side), but most importantly, you have the attributes of Nan and Grandma - you are sensitive to others but don't take sh.."
Gymnastics Teachers Powerful Life Lessons
Introduction As I placed my one-year-old daughter on the examination table during her well-visit, as she remained unaware that the sting of injections were about to electrify her tiny body, her pediatrician made a statement that jolted my capacity to hear what he said.
Parties in Wonderland
My mom likes to tell the story of me as a toddler, proudly explaining my art. I had apparently used the entirety of a purple crayon, just filling the page. I named it “Real Purple” which was my favorite color through much of my childhood. She would display my artwork on the refrigerator, like most moms do. But she also framed a lot of it. I can recall vividly, the finger painting that hung high above the cabinets in the kitchen with the vaulted ceilings. It was matted, behind glass and hung with loving pride for all to see. My great uncle Seymour painted incredibly, using oil pastels. His art was also displayed around our home. In seeing my own artwork displayed, similar to his, I couldn’t help but feel like this meant I was also an artist. My mother always encouraged my creativity which is probably why an adult, I still enjoy drawing, painting, scrapbooking, bedazzling, singing, dancing and writing. Of course, I still enjoy purple. Now as a mother, I also love sharing my appreciation for arts and crafts. It is rewarding to show my children how you can make something incredible using just your mind and a few simple supplies. It is also quite beneficial to be able to make something rather than to buy it.
I want to tell you the story about my Mom— Mommila. What did she teach me? Simple. Love. Mommila is the epitome of Love.
The Other Side of the NICU
When most people think of the NICU, they think of the miracles that spend days, weeks, or even months growing and fighting, eventually getting those words every NICU parent waits for, "You can take your baby home today."
Get Grit Girl
Childhood memories of time spent side by side with my mother, or Mam as she’s affectionately known to me, are warm, tender, exclusive. I was an only child until I was almost 10 years old; so I feel I had privileged time with both of my parents to that end, where particularly Mam and I could bond and share special times together. I adored nothing more in the evenings, than lying with my head on her lap, where she’d faithfully stroke my hair, rub my ears and scratch my back. There was nowhere else I ever wanted to be.
Raising a Child with Autism
Hello my loving readers. With Mothers day just going by, I want to share a story that occurred yesterday while I was seeing Cain (not his real name. For protecting purposes). First I would like to start off by saying happy late mothers day to all the mothers and guardians that are reading this. I hope you had a wonderful day on Sunday.
Love, Loss, and Purpose in the NICU
When I speak of my NICU experience, sometimes I am brushed off. Why? Because my NICU experience wasn’t a long one. It can make others uncomfortable.