Lifestyle
For the lives that we love, and everything that comes with it.
Starting Over
"Wow! You started all over, didn't you?!" That's something I hear often when people ask me how old my kids are. My daughters are 15, 13, two-and-a-half, and one. I really did space them out, didn't I? I was a very young mom when I had my first two babies. It was tough but I wouldn't trade them for anything. Things didn't work out with their father and years later I found myself with the man of my dreams, the man I deserved.
By Linnea Ruzzo9 years ago in Families
Wounds and Their Treatment
Wounds, scratches, lacerations, etc. are probably the most common form of injury in horses. They are extremely lively animals, they can be inquisitive, which along with their flight or fight response and the dominance hierarchy within the herd, which can make them very accident prone. So owners and carers cannot hope to get away without some form of injury at some time.
By Clare Scanlan9 years ago in Petlife
My First Cat
I remember getting my first cat when I was about four or five years old. I don't remember where my mom got it, or if someone gave it to her, but I was happy to have a pet I could play with; we already had at least one dog, but I don't remember ever playing with them even though one would beg for food during meals in our tiny kitchen; my mom or anyone else would throw scraps of tortilla or even a whole tortilla out the kitchen for the dog(s) to go eat outside. We didn't know to treat pets the way people do in the United States.
By Martina R. Gallegos9 years ago in Petlife
I Have No Interest in Being Anyone's Mommy
I have no aspirations of being a parent. When I was a kid, it was the standard. Every girl wanted to grow up, have a career, get married, have a family, do it all. Two point five children, a dog, a white picket fence, a six-figure income. Although as kids, we probably didn’t fully understand “six-figure income.”
By D. Gabrielle Jensen9 years ago in Families
My D*d Was a Bastard
1920s Kesh must have been a great place to be a bastard. Despite its railway station, it was a small rural community that more probably resembled the 19th (or even 18th) century than it did the 20th. Village gossip (everyone knew everyone else’s business) would be exchanged at the market as well as the two watering holes (The Mayfly Inn & the village pump), and boy, there must have been some proper tittle-tattle when it was discovered that my grandmother, Margaret, had become pregnant by a local copper.
By Kevin McClintock9 years ago in Families
