by Valerie Turner
I have a boy who takes me to the moon. And while I am there, I feel like one of those students from The Dead Poet Society, stepping up on the very highest of all desks and finding a perspective on life so novel and incomprehensible that I become utterly groundless. Up on this desk, which is the moon, I can see that life does not take place in your brain, it takes place in your heart, mostly with your breath swept away.
by Sally Haldorson
A tan froth floats along the surface as I stir the yeast and sugar into warm water. According to the Food Network Channel, the yeast is alive and ready to do the heavy lifting on this bread if it bubbles when added. But I don’t see much life in this measuring cup full of scum. No bubbles. Just foam the color of the organic strained pears I shoveled endlessly into Noah’s mouth when he was a baby. That brown goop that collected in the corners of his mouth and ran down his chin as he refused the sweet mush, pushed it back out with his tongue, no matter what automotive or aeronautical sounds I made. I read the recipe again: dissolve yeast and sugar in water between 100˚ and 120˚ degrees. Hmm. Maybe the water was not warm enough to activate the yeast. The success of the bread all depends on the yeast. For levity. Without yeast, there is no bread.
by Mya-Lisa King
[Written originally for a Vinyasa Yoga website]
Staying present isn’t easy for me.
Sure, I’ve read all the books, I understand the philosophy and, make no mistake, I’m on board. I’ve embraced the concept with no less than Howard-Dean-after-the-Iowa-caucus level zeal. But I’m a daydreamer of such epic proportions that trying to keep me present would give a Zen master an ulcer.
by Heather Covington
Dusting my dresser, I pick up all the pictures like my mother taught me, and swipe at the dust underneath. I give a quick glance at each picture as I lift and then replace it. At the end of the dresser, I pick up one that gets a longer look and, more often than not, a wistful smile.
It is a picture of my oldest son when he was 6 months old. I can still clearly remember when it was taken. We were visiting my parents on a gorgeous spring day, playing in the backyard with the dogs. I had just purchased a fancy, new camera so I sat my little guy on the grass and then proceeded to make all those crazy, embarrassing noises parents make in the quest for a smile. Always a sucker for mom making a fool of herself, my little guy quickly gave in and flashed a beautiful open-mouthed grin while I clicked the shutter. This is the picture on my dresser. This is my “before” picture.
TO VIEW MORE ESSAYS, PLEASE CLICK THIS CATEGORY LOCATED UNDER "ENTER THE SALON" IN THE RIGHT SIDEBAR...
Hello, all! I wanted to post a message to let everyone know what's currently going on at Our Kids.
First, the home page has some older (and newer) selections up to give examples of the broad cross-section of work on the site. (For those who accessed this via an email subscription, go to http://ourkids.typepad.com to view it.)
The other wonderful pieces should also be easy to find in the individual categories of the Salon, since I put up notes in every area of the home page directing visitors on how to find their way.
I also added an addendum to "About This Site" to explain the current function of Our Kids. The new information is as follows:
**Update:
due to time constraints this site is no longer open to contributions.
Right now it is a static exhibition of diverse artistic works already
submitted. Thank you to the many courageous and talented parents (and
children) who shared their words and images here.
I will have another showing of all new pieces sometime in the future. If you'd like to submit a piece of your own at that time, simply send me an email indicating you'd like to be contacted in the event of a new showing."
Thank you again to those who contributed to this incredible body of work and thank you to the many dedicated visitors. I am so fortunate to have been a part of this experience.
All my best, Mya-Lisa
