Latest Stories
Most recently published stories in Families.
Pros and Cons of Cloth Diapers for Newborns
Every little thing that parents get to choose for their kiddos now has more options than ever — formula or breastfeeding, parenting styles, schooling, or even diapers. Among parenting experts, one of the biggest debates in the newborn age group is the use of cloth diapers.
By Rowan Marley8 years ago in Families
In Which I Address the Passing of My Mother
When I was little and the world was quiet, I would lie in bed and think about the earth and how big it was. Then my mind would shift to the solar system, and how we are constantly floating around amongst other planets and countless stars. Then I would think about how there was even more beyond that, perhaps beyond anything a single person could imagine. I would begin to feel dizzy, and would have to roll over and consider something on a smaller scale. That’s how I would describe losing my mother. It’s something that I know happened, but it’s not something I take time to regularly consider. And when I do, it’s weird as f@#k. And despite how big the world is, with all its winding roads and hidden places I haven’t visited, and how many launches we are making into space, my mom isn’t there. I wont find her anywhere. Not around the corner of a noisy street market like in some art film, and not on another planet that we’ll eventually colonize like some sci-fi twist. She’s gone.
By Aspen Drake8 years ago in Families
Summer Time In Maine!
This is my son when he was 3 years old. This is very first time my son and I have seen the ocean. My husband has seen it many times on account that he has traveled the world. Anyway, back to our summer in Maine. My kids thought it would be cute to be buried in the sand. My husband and son dug a hole and buried my daughter up to her neck. My son wanted to do the same thing so my husband and daughter dug and hole and started to bury my son but he wasn't having it anymore, and I have the picture of his face saying yuck. I was laughing so hard, I wasn't sure if I was able to take the picture.
By Crystal Greer8 years ago in Families
Matters of Life and Death
There have been a number of high-profile cases involving end-of-life care, and the “right-to-die” (or to live). Medical professionals are bound in their duty by their training and the law, and must do what is in the patient’s best interests. Unfortunately the relatives of the patient are not always willing to accept the medical verdict, and we run into conflict. When this is discussed in the media, the conversation tends to focus on science vs. religion, emotion vs. reason; portraying distressed relatives as selfish and delusional. Taking a detached and dispassionate stance, we look upon the situation “rationally” and side with the facts, but we’re not reviewing all of the evidence.
By Katy Preen8 years ago in Families
When I Found Out I Was Pregnant
My New Mom Experience The Moment Our Lives Changed Hi there! My name is Taylor. I'm 24 years old, I'm engaged to the most amazing man in the world (we'll get into that story later) and together we have a beautiful son named Sterling. We love our little one more than anything, but I'd be lying to you if I said we weren't terrified when we found out we were having a baby.
By Taylor Mitchell8 years ago in Families
Adopted Struggle. Top Story - August 2017.
At twenty-nine years-old, I don't know how I feel about adoption. You would think that I would be all for it being adopted myself, but I cannot say whether I support it or am against it. Sure, if I was never adopted, I would have never met my beautiful wife nor had my beautiful son.
By Nathan Stotts8 years ago in Families
Learning to Walk
Developing the ability to walk and talk were two of the biggest milestones of my life. As I mentioned in a recent blog I recall practicing vocal sounds almost from the moment I left the womb. Yet the trickiest part was developing the cognitive ability to group vocal sounds together to form words.
By Rebecca Sharrock8 years ago in Families
My Raging Father
I grew up with an abusive father. You could tell time by his rage, coming home and yelling at us the moment the door opened. I was the baby, and the daughter, so was mostly left alone. He saved his anger, his fists and berating language for my mother and brother. You see, my father was raised by a mother who hated boys, and she had only one. So, he was abused and treated like nothing. He, in turn, did the same to his first wife and son, and then to my mother and brother. I can remember waking up to my father dragging my mom up the stairs by her hair, and then beating her in front of my bedroom door while I screamed at him to stop. The voice of a five year old screaming is mostly filled with gulps of fear and sobbing, so it was easy to ignore, I suppose. I ran out that night and grabbed him, pulling on his shirt with my small hands and yelling at him to stop, which he did - long enough to kick me with his size 12 cowboy boots on. The kick sent me flying back into my room, and he lost his grip on my mother long enough for her to run to me, to cradle me, and everything went quiet for a moment. All I cold hear from my father's breathing, and my mother's heartbeat. When he walked into my room, I ran to him to try and block him from attacking her again and he did stop, but not from my force. Who knows why. He turned an stormed out and I told my mother, "any time he is mad I am going to run and hug him and it will stop him from getting you." She hugged me and I flinched. We peeled back the elastic waistband of my pajama pants to find a perfect heel mark on my hip, now missing skin, from where he kicked me. That was the only time my father hit me, but I remember it like it was yesterday... when he kicked me I lifted into the air and flew backwards, like some slow motion scene from a movie. I felt the air leave my body, and the moment I hit the ground I was gasping for it, trying to will it back into my body like some fleeing soul. Before I could breathe again, my mother was there, gently coaxing it back in for me, with her arms and her tears and her love. She is the air I breathe. She is my savior and the hero of my, my brother, and her own life. My memories of my father, now dead 12 years, are filled with pain and hurt and lies. Of being left in cars while he went into pubs to drink with strange women, of me going into the bar and dragging him out, t drive me back home, stonking of beer and cigarettes and cheap perfume. Of hiding under my bed when he would rage at me for wanting the light on in the hallway so I would be safe from the other monsters, even though he was he scariest of them all. Of being his alibi, when he would take me out of school to "spend the day with me", only to lock me in the car so he could go up to some woman's apartment in the city to cheat on my mom. I remember all those moments with crystal clarity.. the rain falling on the roof of the car while I scrunched down on the floorboard to make myself small so no one would try to steal me. Fearing every footstep outside, and of anyone noticing me in there all alone. It was the 70's so it was okay to leave a small child in the car for hours, apparently. And that moment when he returned, barking at me to get in the seat and off the floor. My ex-husband, so like my father in every way, once asked me about a good memory of my Dad and I could not find one. Every okay moment was tainted with his rage, or lies, or abuse. The only good memories of childhood are swirled in the comfort and love of my mother. Her warmth, her lover, and the smell of Jovan Musk, the only perfume she has even worn. She is why I am able to love and have trust. My life with my father lasted nine years, before we escaped, and ran from him. Before we were safe and I suddenly knew what life was like in a house with no noise, no screaming, no tears, no abuse. But, nine years is a long time, when it's all you know. It makes a dent in your soul that you can never buff out. So, I am going to talk about it, write about it, and tell the tale of my mother and me, and how we both survived these men, and how I am still now fighting mine, seven years after leaving him. ...to be continued...
By Michelle Craig8 years ago in Families
