The phrase “The Talk” is used by many parents to refer to the birds and the bees. But as a white mother with a black son, The Talk is something entirely different. Sure, we will have The Talk about sex like most families. But The Talk I am referring to is the one about what to do when someone treats you differently because of the color of your skin.
The story of how one mom ended up living with her ex-husband again during COVID-19 quarantine… and the surprising things she learned along the way.
I’ve been a communication professor for 9 years, and one of my favorite courses to teach is Intercultural Communication. During the first week of class, I open a conversation about culture and race by asking my students to discuss their racial identity. As we make our way around the room, what tends to happen is my white students get noticeably uncomfortable when I ask, “What is your race, and what does it mean to you?” It is tough for them to say, “I am white,” and even daunting to discuss what their whiteness means to them.
When you first have kids, you read all the books (or not) on what to expect, and as you raise them, you talk to other parents and compare notes on milestones and mood swings, techniques, and terrible twos and more.
Time. It’s a thief and a healer. And we have a very complicated relationship.
Angelina Jolie wrote an emotional essay published in Time earlier this week detailing her family’s experience with cancer and the importance of being educated about your medical options.
“I had to admit that I’d had a seat at the table for 10 years, both as a parent and an executive, but I’d done nothing to change how companies were run and how decisions can be made, whether at home or at work.”
A culinary adventure even the laziest among us will enjoy!
When you lose someone prematurely, there is a persistent and nagging voice in the back of your head asking you when the next shoe is going to drop.
Sometimes, the only war I can manage to fight is the one my body wages against me.
A personal account from a mom who made it through a high-risk pregnancy to find a courage she never knew she had.
How could I ever love another kid as much as I loved the one I already had? And if I couldn’t: didn’t that make me a crappy mom?
