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Warts & All
By Sharon K. Trumpy I was relaxing in the cool water when Leo swam up. “Mama, how come we don’t look the same?” “What?” I croaked nervously. “Why don’t we look the same?” he repeated. I’d known this...
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Transitional Objects
By Lauren Apfel This is the story of two blankies, Rough and Purple. Blankies that came into a house, impossibly soft, like the fur on the back of the softest animal you can imagine. Blankies whose...
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Postcards From the Sandwiched
By Amy Yelin March 28, 2015: I’m standing in the Durham, North Carolina airport, I-Phone in hand. I’m about to call my 87-year-old father to tell him that I’ve landed safely. It’s been more than a...
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A Work In Progress
By Lynn Adams My six-year-old daughter Margot has a problem with what she calls “boy-yee girls.” This chafes me, because my favorite aunt was such a girl. When I was a child, my parents talked about...
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A Tale of Two Births
A Tale of Two Births: How the U.S. Fails to Deliver Adequate Postpartum Healthcare By Mary Widdicks My daughter was born on a snowy Saturday morning. We were released from the hospital Monday, and as...
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Top 10 Books for Parent-Child Book Clubs with Tweens and Teens
By Lori Day As the author of a book about mother-daughter book clubs, and as a parent who often read books with my daughter at home, I cannot speak highly enough about the transformative power of...
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Mountains to Climb
by Julie Polhemus I. “I want to work mountaineering courses,” I told my husband. He smiled. I had just summited Eldorado Peak, heavy with spring snow, in Washington’s North Cascades. I had even led the...
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Ten Picture Books that Will Always Stay on my Shelf
By Marcelle Soviero I began collecting picture books well before I had children, not board books, but the odd-sized hardcover books with beautiful illustrations...
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Finding the Center
By Dawn Erickson “Let’s go to the swamp,” my son says. It’s not really in today’s plans but we go. We walk the railroad grade from our house to where it crosses a small seasonal creek. Here we slip...
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In the ER
By James M. Chesbro Over my four year-old son’s shoulders the wounded adults gazed across the room in our direction. Between their absent stares, maybe they replayed their accident and the ways they...
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