There’s something so hopeful about first-day-of-school photos: clothes look a little brighter than usual (possibly because you’ve ripped the tags off just an hour before), backpacks seem massive enough to topple your children right over, and if you’re especially creative, chalkboards or whiteboards display a sweet…
In high school, I traveled a lot for various conferences—to New York City, Kansas City, all around Ohio, and Washington, D.C. I thought my parents allowed me to go because they saw how beneficial these trips would be for me. But a few years ago, I learned this was not the case.
When Sonia Smith-Kang moved to California in the 1980s, it was at “the height of The Valley Girl,” she says. All around her, she saw blue eyes and feathered blonde hair.
As we have said before, one of the best ways to teach empathy to children is through fiction. I don’t remember any of my grade school lectures or lessons about Black history, but I remember reading Mildred D. Taylor’s “Roll of Thunder, Hear My Cry,” with 9-year-old Cassie Logan growing up during the Great Depression,…
True story: The title of the 8,011,991st U.S. Patent is “Apparatus for Facilitating the Construction of a Snow Man/Woman,” which certainly seems to imply that there’s a right way to build a snowman, snowwoman, or snowperson.
Over the holidays, I played a game with my family. My three nieces were at the table, so I did my best to clean up my potty mouth. I was so proud of myself for producing “crap” and “frick” instead of The Bad Words.
Making New Year’s Eve extra special with your kids can take a bit of work. You’ve got your sparkling cider, a game night planned with silly gifts for the winners, maybe a movie marathon or a hot chocolate station.
You might think the best book to read to your young child is one they’ll love. One that, when you close the final page, makes them shout, “Again, again!” One that, before you even say, “Go pick out a bedtime book,” is already in their hand and waving in front of your face, an old and familiar friend.
I don’t remember the moment I stopped believing in Santa, but I remember the utterly perfect way my mom handled it when I finally asked.