siblings

Siblings are the only enemy you can't live without.

What comes after birth
There is a moment in every woman’s life that changes everything. It is not just the moment she becomes a mother—it is everything that comes after it.
By Noor5 months ago in Families
The Genius Ways My Father Motivated His Children to Help Him in the Garden
Gardens and children need the same things, patience, love, and someone who will never give up on them — Nicolette Sowder My Father had the skill of making things seem like a game and have fun with us. In the Autumn, after he had finished the Autumn clearing of cutting down the dead vegetation, he would say — “alright you lot, if you build a bonfire, I’ll buy you some fireworks as a treat. There’s no need to go anywhere else, there’s plenty of branches, and stalks, around the garden. The bonfire will go really well if you rake up lots of leaves and put them on as well”.
By Pamella Richards5 months ago in Families
My Sons and Survival. Content Warning.
My Sons and Survival Even after I left, it never truly felt over. At night, I could hear him outside sometimes, walking around the yard like he was searching for a way back into our lives. There were moments when I thought he might try to break inside, so I stayed alert constantly, barely sleeping and always listening for movement. After the police became involved, the stalking slowly faded, but the fear never fully disappeared.
By Rachel Foster5 months ago in Families
Journey of Love, Healing, and Growth
Motherhood is one of life’s most beautiful and life-changing journeys. It begins with hope, grows through love, and continues with endless learning every single day. From the first thoughts of becoming a mother to holding a newborn baby for the first time, each stage carries its own emotions, challenges, and unforgettable moments.
By Noor5 months ago in Families
The Weight of Silence . Content Warning.
Author’s Note: This piece is an intimate excerpt from my upcoming trauma memoir. Through prose and poetry, it explores the enduring weight of childhood betrayal, the silence that followed, and the writing process that ultimately allowed me to reclaim my voice. *** When I was nine, my brother, two years older, contracted rheumatic fever. Well, that’s what the doctor said. The local clinic, a mile away, didn’t know what it was. Most days, he would journey through it with a weighted happiness. But as the sun slipped away and night came, a look of terror would creep across his face. The pain. His joints would ache so badly, twisting him into a screaming mess of swollen limbs and frantic shivers. We all waited in agony. Sleeping arrangements changed. He needed our mother next to him to get through the night. His eleven-year-old bravery disappeared with the dip in temperature at six o'clock. They bunked together, my sisters shared another bed, and I took my mother's spot, separate. My father had a bedroom all to himself. It was strange, yet normal; we had never seen anything different to know there was another way. Yet, it arrived one night and hasn't left. I still don't know what came first: the presence of him hovering over me, or the hand on my small chest. Cloying. Probing. Stilled, I lay there quietly, unbelief freezing me. My breath was held. A few minutes later, he lifted his hand and left the room. At some point, I know that I went back to sleep. I was the last to meet them in the kitchen the following morning. I remember entering quietly—a little more withdrawn than before. I eased down into the nearest chair, unsure of what had occurred. Did it happen? I felt unease, but I wondered if it was truly mine. Then he spoke, matter-of-factly, like he was mentioning the paper thrown on the front porch. "Atty, I thought you were Jay last night." He finished with a calm smile. I looked from him to my mother. She smiled at me, but the smile held something controlling. It said: keep the ugly out of sight. I looked back to him, and then to her. She had already turned away, back to preparing breakfast for my brother. No more words. Averted gazes shifted to more important things: his breakfast, my brother's, mine. I sat there watching it all. Silent. The plate placed before me did something to me. I looked down. Over time—I think it was about three months later—my brother healed. There were no more shattering bolts of pain, no more cries of agony. His suffering stopped. He returned to school, braver than before because he had a story to tell. He couldn’t wait for everyone to know how he had faced it and conquered the evil attacking him. Then, he moved on. Sometimes, I'd sit alone, lost in children's stories, dancing across the page. Of family vacations, playing at the seaside and with a dog called Spot. Sometimes, I still remember. So I write. *** *Excerpt: Excavation Holds Creation* I write my poetry for comfort. Only I know the weight of every word sitting on the page. It feeds me, keeps me centered— treading time, slipping through the cracks of relevance and apathy. Simple words threaded like cords raise sentiment between anecdote and evidence: Each letter rests with purpose, dedicated to the art of construction. Tales evolve— unhurried, then suddenly not— in their own time. They fill spaces, recorded for lifetimes, from lifetimes. And the cycle begins again: thumbs binding text, threaded like cords, words sitting on the page— emerging from my centre.
By Ms Jade 5 months ago in Families
The Field Guide to the Weird
THE FIELD GUIDE TO THE WEIRD (A Survival Manual for Kids) By Charles V. Sasser Jr. PART 1: THE HABITAT (Know Your Enemy)
By Charles V Sasser Jr5 months ago in Families
Michael Jackson left behind millions and years of family turmoil
Michael Jackson's Children Still Haven't Received a Cent of His Fortune — Here's Why Nearly two decades after the King of Pop's death, the question of what happened to Michael Jackson's enormous fortune remains one of the most tangled stories in entertainment history. If you assumed his children have been quietly living off a massive inheritance, the reality is far more complicated — and far more revealing about how wealth, legacy, and family dynamics collide when a legend dies.
By Shirley Oyiadom6 months ago in Families
Why Comfort Fails and Discipline Endures
Modern culture increasingly treats comfort as a moral guide. Ease is framed as wisdom. Emotional smoothness is treated as maturity. Difficulty is often interpreted as a sign that something is wrong, unfair, or unnecessary. When a task feels heavy, when a conversation feels uncomfortable, or when effort feels draining, the instinct is often to stop and reconsider rather than persist.
By Peter Thwing - Host of the FST Podcast6 months ago in Families
When Custody Should Be Removed
Any argument that emphasizes the importance of parental presence, structure, and authority becomes dangerous if it does not also specify its limits. Advocating strongly for fathers, shared custody, parental authority, or outcome-based custody standards without defining when custody should be revoked invites a fatal misunderstanding: that parental involvement is always good, regardless of behavior. No serious child-centered framework can allow that ambiguity to stand.
By Peter Thwing - Host of the FST Podcast6 months ago in Families
Mother’s Day and the Quiet Love We Often Forget
There are some people whose love becomes so constant that we stop noticing how much it carries us. A mother’s care often feels like that. It exists in small moments that slowly shape an entire life. The search for “mother’s day” is not only about gifts, flowers, or celebrations. It is about emotion, memory, and gratitude that can be difficult to express. Mother's Day reminds people to pause and think about sacrifices that were never announced loudly. A warm meal after a difficult day, late-night comfort during illness, or silent support during failure often becomes visible only with time. Mother’s Day carries emotional weight because it reminds people of love that stayed present even when life became complicated, stressful, or uncertain.
By Muqadas khan6 months ago in Families
Mother's Day 2026:
Every year, without fail, Mother's Day takes over the United States like nothing else can. Trending on every platform, filling every florist shop, and crashing restaurant reservation systems — this one single Sunday in May becomes the heartbeat of an entire nation. And honestly? It makes perfect sense.
By @HiddenHistory6 months ago in Families
Who They Once Were.
When your parent loses a parent you see them differently. You don't see them as the people who raised you. You see them as children who are missing a part of who they are.
By April Kirby.6 months ago in Families