Mary Black Bonnet writes about her connection to Bethanny Frankel of Real Houswives fame, her deep love for her daughter, Turtle,
12 Things I’ve Learned from Sending My Kid to School for 12 Years
A mom whose child will graduate this year offers up 12 hard-earned tips learned from sending a kid to school for 12 years. With back to school in the air, this article offers some food for thought from a “perfectly imperfect parent”.
Consoling the Inconsolable: My Life with a Purple Baby
If you’ve ever had an inconsolable crying baby you know the frustrations of having a “purple baby.” At it’s extreme, these frustrations can lead to Shaken Baby Syndrome. Now, an awareness campaign asking people to knit or crochet little purple hats for newborns to raise awareness of PURPLE Crying and shaken baby syndrome.
The Little Gift
Finding the right use for “that little gift” is best left to procrastinators.
The House Call
A doctor philosophizes a little on his way to a house call to Mrs. Cambden’s trailer which he’s been visiting for almost 19 years, ever since he was a fledgling doc, just starting practice in rural Nova Scotia.
The Family Tree
Donna Leskosek sums up her brother Garry in his reaction to various experiences with Christmas trees the family has had over the years. Not once does she mention the line, “He ain’t heavy; he’s my brother.”
Coincidences
Thriving On the Other Side continues with therapy to gain insight into the childhood abuse she suffered and begins to ask why her mother turned away from the truth.
Letting My Children Pick Their Own Favourite Colours
I am not worried about the lack of sleep I will be receiving for the first few months (or years). To me it is all a part of the process of starting a new family and I look forward to the months and years ahead of watching my child grow. What I am worried about is putting expectations on my children. Let me explain…
Arrival
What I really want is for him to play on his own for a bit so that I can focus on acclimatizing. But he is a child and continues to poke me. He orders me around in that oh-so-charming-and-irritating way that only a three year old can do until find myself at wit’s end and I tell him that I’m not going to play trains anymore.
The Long, Slow Summers of Youth
The children of summer, the children we once were, don’t read or watch or worry about the weather, they wear it in their skin. Skin wet with a recent shower, or glowing red from a little too much lazing in the sun, it matters not to them. For what these kids have is not only time, as in available hours, but the time of their lives.
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