SOAPBOX: What You Talkin' 'Bout

BACKTALK
Moms say (and do) the darnedest things
Denim ensembles, embarrassing nicknames, and other stuff that used to drive us crazy.

NUTSHELL
The news: The great storytelling trend
Plus: Words from the (Un)Help Desk

ESSAY: Wall of Sound
By Valerie Paris
"You and me are the same, we're girls. Daddy hear. You and I, we can't hear."
"No, you and I are both girls, but you and Daddy both can hear."
"No, when I grow up, I be like you."
"No," I said. "Just Mommy can't hear.You will hear forever."
"My ears will break too," she insisted.

DEBATE: Do toy guns teach violence?
Wendy Dutton says even squirt guns.
Elizabeth Crane says curiosity doesn't kill

ESSAY: That's the Spirit!
by Susan Maushart 
I remember there was a lot of praising going on. The priest praised Jesus's life and works. He praised His birth and Apgar. But -and I think this is a really sad statement on the state of the Church today -it wasn'tuntil he praised Our Lord's "glorious erection" that anybody really got excited.

ESSAY: "I Have Two Women"
by Kathy Briccetti 
"James," I began, "You know how you have a sister and Evan has a brother?" James nodded.
 "And how you have a cat and we have a dog?"
 "My cat's name is Bella."
 "Well, some families have a mom and a dad, some have two moms, and some have two dads. And some have just one mom or one dad. All families are different."

FEATURE: You Sexy Thing, You?
by Jennifer Niesslein
For the past century, mothers have been advised to get it on for the sake of the kids. Will moms with modems change that?

ESSAY: Advice from My Grandmother
by Alice Hoffman
When crossing the street, never trust the judgment of drivers. They may not stop for you. They may roll over you, and keep on going. In fact, never trust anyone. They're not your family, their blood is not half as thick as water, why would you take their advice? Do they have your best interest at heart? Not one bit, and frankly, neitherdo most of your own relatives. It's dog eat dog, it really is, althought what can you expect? Life is hard. Life is a battle. Life is what you make of it. Be prepared with a career. Retail is good - people are always buying. Everything could be burning down around them, and they're buying. You can call this sort of behavior foolish, but it's human nature. It's hope.

ESSAY: Adopting Connor
by Susan Murphy
I fumble awkwardly, put the diaper on backwards (the designs go in the front, not the back), and much to Julie's amusement I have no wipes in my diaper bag, the single most essential supply. (Penelope, in her quaint British way, recommends warm cloths and cotton balls.) I am flustered, betrayed by Penelope Leach and her ignorance of American products. Don't worry, you'll be an expert soon enough, the social worker says. Everyone laughs. We pose for pictures, my heart growing heavier by the minute as I smile falsely. What am I doing here? I am taking another woman's baby.

ESSAY: The Worst Day of My Life
by Cynthia Eller
I told Nurse Nancy that it still really hurt, and she got Dr. Dorian back in the room. He came very quickly, obviously annoyed. He'd done his job right -what was I whining about? "I'm still in a lot of pain," I said. "Well, I can give you more epidural," he said, nodding and looking back at his resident as if to say, "This one probably cries when she clips her fingernails."

ESSAY: Confessions of a Hypocrite
By Lisen Stromberg
Despite all my great intentions to be the perfect nonsexist parent, when it comes to my daughter's fascination with beauty, the real culprit is me. I am sending her the messages and she is reading my text. And I am sending them in myriad ways. She reads it when she sees me dress in the morning, taking care to match my shoes to my outfit. She reads it when she and I take yet another trip to the mall to search for just the right ensemble for next week's party. She reads it when I paint my toenails, take the time to put on my lipstick, check my look in the mirror before I leave each day. And while I would venture to guess that my efforts at beauty pale in comparison to many women's, my daughter is learning how to be a woman from me. The message she is receiving is that beauty matters.

ESSAY: The Renaissance Cleaning Lady and Me
By Kimberly French
My ability to grapple with these questions so far has more to do with Molly than with me. I think of her more as a friend than an employee, and certainly as a peer. We both work as independent contractors, building our businesses on services people will pay for. She cleans people's houses; I clean up people's writing as an editor-for-hire. We both have other dreams and passions. Housework pays me nothing, in money or self-esteem. But by building her business on it and leading with her strength of character, Molly gets both. Part of the bargain is that she won't be doing it forever.

ESSAY: Double Vision
by Susan Moorhead
They were so beautiful. The nurse handed them, one at a time, to my husband, just as I'd imagined. The proud dad, an armful of babies. Only something was terribly wrong. His face sagged, a wordless, openmouthed grief. He placed them next to me, carefully, tenderly. I had hoped that they would be hideous. During the nineteen hours I waited for their birth, I hoped they would be monsters: giant malformed heads and twisted features, something so grotesque that it would be bearable losing them. But, no. They were so beautiful.

FICTION: Due Time
By Audrey Glassman
She was not universally regarded as a trooper, so she had surprised everyone, especially Emily, by not complaining once during this pregnancy. Not that she had no complaints.

REVIEW: No Place Like Home
by Elizabeth Holleman Hurdle 
"Where are you from?" The answer usually reveals a lot about who you are. And it leads smoothly into a discussion of that other crucible of character, family. If you arrive at adulthood with any lingering ghosts, either your family or hometown -or both -will likely be lurking in the formative mists.
Plus: Elizabeth Roca's Reading Chair

MOTHER WIT: Bad Moms=Good Kid Lit
By Tracy Mayor
This mama's kids aren't out wandering the streets. Oh, no, they're safe at home being terrorized by a maniacal seven-foot-tall Deadhead and his two hopped-up sidekicks, Thing One and Thing Two. Of course, we shouldn't condemn the missus too harshly: she did leave the kiddos in the company of a sensible fish who nearly loses his life trying to defend against the home invasion.