Lifestyle
For the lives that we love, and everything that comes with it.
Mother of the Year
Have you ever met that one person that you absolutely cringe at the sound of their name..? Well to me that person is my mother.
Madeline O'NeillPublished 7 years ago in FamiliesEver Wonder What Infertility Feels Like?
As I sit here thinking, wondering, pondering about what I should write, I'll be honest I'm not sure where to start, but I want to talk about something close to my heart. Something that some people take for granted. Some look at it like a burden and some are shocked by it, but I'll begin.
Rhonda CarrPublished 7 years ago in FamiliesFeeling Unpretty
At 25-years old, I didn't think that this would be how I would live my life. A mom of 3, married, and still unhappy. How do you describe unhappiness when you have everything you had wished for, without sounding ungrateful? Without sounding like you're complaining?
Mishka UpchurchPublished 7 years ago in VivaWe Are Survivors, NOT Broken
I am insecure; this comes from many terrible relationships that over time have torn me down. I worry too much, I apologize for silly stuff, but to me those silly things are enormous. I fear that what I wear will get them to ask me, “Why are you wearing that?” even if it is meant to be sexy clothing like lingerie. I have been programmed over the years to apologize for silly things. I question if I am even pretty enough to wear specific clothing, or if I am even worthy of talking to someone. Mental abuse is just as severe as physical abuse. Both equally change who you are as a person and shape you into something different. I still smile and laugh, but deep down I am scared and worried I might say something wrong, or my actions will warrant verbal abuse. I flinch at the slightest hand movement that comes near my face. This comes from not only the verbal abuse but physical abuse as well. I don’t reach out to many people even if I feel I could have a connection with them, I don’t like rejection, and I don’t want to bug or bother someone, so I tend never to be the first to make contact.
Aindrea MccoyPublished 7 years ago in VivaTails of a Misunderstood "Fur Mama"
I should start by leveling with you dear reader. I am not maternal. Before you run for the hills, don't panic! This is not going to be some tear ridden diatribe about how hard my life is because I do not have the capacity to bear human fruit from my loins. While I understand there are women out there whose one sole reason for existing is to procreate, while I sympathize with those who have tried to reproduce and cannot, for one reason or another; it's just never been for me. I guess I'm just not programmed that way. My life, to a certain extent, is complete without a gaggle of children hanging around, covering the walls with whatever stickiness they've located in the past five minutes.
Rachel NeavePublished 7 years ago in PetlifePros and Cons of Binkies
There isn't an easy route for making the trials and tribulations of toddlers any less complicated, especially when any single misstep can have lasting repercussions on the state of your newborn into child growth.
George HermanPublished 7 years ago in FamiliesGrowing Up with 30+ Cats
First of all, this is not an Animal Hoarders Horror Story. The cats at my mom's house were well-fed, well-loved, and taken care of. We lived in the country, and they had plenty of space. They went to the vet when they were sick. They were happy, and the ones remaining at my mother's house, still are.
Tarin CampanellaPublished 7 years ago in PetlifeMom
I was crouched down over a small shoe box in the garage. It was warm, sweat began to form droplets on my temples like morning dew. It pooled together on my cupid's bow, as my lips sat pursed, before slowly reshaping into a smile. A small laugh escaped my mouth as I reached down for a picture in the box. I noticed the way my hands are veiny like yours, distinctive violets and greens protruding from our olive toned skin. In the picture we were at the beach. Your hands held mine, my arms outstretched as I desperately tried to walk on my own. It was windy, your dark wavy hair floated gently behind your shoulders, pieces danced on your prominent collar bones. They looked like mine. I reached up and felt my hair, it was coarse like yours. Your jean shorts, bikini top, and my toddler body covered most of your stomach, but just below your chest I could see the slight shadow of your ribs. I closed my eyes and I could see myself now, looking in the mirror. I looked like you. In the picture you are looking down at me smiling, our noses are different, but our faces are just alike. Your cheekbones are high, creating a vivid set of lines around your mouth. Your lips are different, but we smile the same way. There are more pictures like this in the box. In one, you are standing next to my dad with your eye brows raised and your wide smile, and in that moment I swear we are the same. But we are not.
Ciara DreeszenPublished 7 years ago in Families