Lifestyle

For the lives that we love, and everything that comes with it.

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Teach Me How
How do you learn to leave someone in the past while keeping them in the future with you when you know they can't be here, no matter how much you wish they could? What happens when you lose someone? There was nothing that could be done. No way we could save him. He was so young — only a child. Now he's gone.He's not coming back. We wish he would. We wish he could but he's in a better place now. A place where he no longer hurts, his eyes work again, he can speak and be understood. But what happens when a mother never stops grieving and you wish you could be there for her in a way that you don't know how? What happens when she breaks down, the dam breaks loose, and your heart shatters because you feel the same way, yet you could never feel it as much as she? She was his mother, and he her baby. He was a bright child. What happens when she's crying years after he's gone? How do you help her? How do you let her know you will always be there? How do you compare to the love of her child? What do you do when you know if he was here, he'd be the one to comfort her, to know exactly what she needs, to help ease the burden and heal the pain.
By Susan K8 years ago in Families
Introducing Zeke, the Reactive Border Collie
Just like most people, we had no idea what was in store for us when we went to get our first puppy. My girlfriend and I were so excited, we jumped online and found an amazing breeder not 45 minutes from us and instantly got hooked. We got into the car and went to visit Valley View Border Collies near where we live.
By Brandon Sawler8 years ago in Petlife
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
22 Hygiene Products Every Woman Needs to Own
If there's one thing that I've realized over the years, it's that most people do not want to be around a person who smells foul. I know this, because I've seen what a lack of hygiene can do to one's popularity.
By Lindsie Polhemus8 years ago in Viva
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
The 96 Hours that Changed My Life
The Day Before I nearly didn't go. I had a headache and really just wanted to lie down in a dark room. We bumped into Auntie Alison on the way in as she was just leaving. She had driven up from somewhere further down south, Manchester or Nottingham I think. She asked me and Danielle if now was a good time to be going on holiday, as we both had things booked for the upcoming week. We brushed it off as no big deal, from what we knew Mum was recovering and would be home soon.
By Chloe McClements8 years ago in Families
Beyond Five - The Realisation That She's Not A Baby Anymore
Becoming a parent is a weird and wonderful thing that is largely lived through 'stages' and 'phases'. As a new parent, you dread things like the 'teething stage', the 'terrible twos' and the 'threenager'. But nobody really talks about the stage that seems to kick in as your child heads beyond the age of five.
By Stephanie Walker8 years ago in Families
25 Incredibly Useful Things to Keep in Your Bag
When it comes to traveling, it's incredibly difficult to pack a bag that will help you maintain your sanity. In order to actually look good on the go and adhere to the classic Boy Scout motto of "Be Prepared," you need to know how to get the most utility out of your bag packing.
By Emily McCay8 years ago in Viva