relationships How to Get Through Mother’s Day Without Your Mom
Mother, daughter raise awareness of heart disease: ‘You don’t have to die of it’
Lucy Eldridge Emonina, 67, and her daughter Ovuke' Emonina McCoy, 45, want to raise awareness about cardiovascular disease in Black women.Lucy Eldridge Emonina, 67, and her daughter Ovuke' Emonina McCoy, 45, were both born with hypertrophic cardiomyopathy (HCM) and required heart transplants. The genetic illness runs in their family: Emonina lost four brothers and two sons, McCoy's siblings, to the disease.
My 7-year-old daughter Satya takes up a lot of space in the world. Literally. Her stuff is everywhere.
Every surface of the apartment is covered in the things that fill her life: notebooks, my vintage copies ofsquishies, scrunchies and parandis. Bindis share space with slime and graphic novels, side by side, all of them equal parts of what this little girl is made of.
Growing up, my closets were separated. I had one for Indian clothes, another for “regular” clothes, as I called them. As if the shimmering lehengas and embroidered kurtas somehow deemed the wearer irregular. I had two sets of friends, school friends and Sindhi friends, and the two never met. I didn’t mean for it to be that way, but I had feet planted in two worlds, albeit on awkward, uneven footing.
This mom's 100th-day-of-school hack is a game-changer
We salute her brilliant solution.Schools across the country celebrate the marker by asking families to get creative and bring in 100 items of their choice. Some simply use up spare stickers or throw candy in a bag, while others go Pinterest-wild with major craft projects.
There were the Indian bits: my parents, Sindhi classes, summer vacation, Kathak dancing, Bollywood songs, dinner, Gurdwara, Mandir, our potluck group, our names. And there was the other stuff: school, soccer, No Doubt concerts, lunch and trips to the mall. My entire existence felt like it hinged on keeping it all divided, my big Brown secret.
Satya’s experience is not mine.
In first grade, she has a joy in her skin that I still have to work for. Her Brown crayon is well worn, evidence of accurately colored family portraits. She is proud of herself, her father’s turban and her mother’s name. She tells everyone who will listen about her trip to India, her Punjabi classes and that her braids aren’t just beautiful, they reflect her faith.
Dangerous Side Effects of Eating Too Much Peanut Butter
This classic spread could deal you some serious damage.
Recently another first grade Mama told me that her daughter wanted to braid her blonde hair in “long, beautiful braids, like Satya’s.” It made me ugly cry, right there, on the park bench.
Last week, Satya’s teacher sent me photos of her, in front of the class sharing about Vaisakhi, a harvest festival celebrated in Punjab, India. She told them about how we celebrate the festival to welcome spring, but also to mark the formation of the Sikh faith. She did it in an orange kurta, matching parandi and a big red bindi. (It was unplanned; we had done a virtual family share the week prior with resources from the)
I wrote "" to share the story of my family: my husband Agan, a turban wearing Sikh, and my Satya, a little Sikh girl. It’s a celebration of the bond they share, father and daughter, and a window into our family and our tradition. (As part of their religion, Sikhism, both Agan and Satya don’t cut their hair.) Some of our favorite times together are the simple moments when we do Satya's hair, time that is just for us, to talk, to watch old Punjabi music videos or to deliberate on the perfect rubber band and scrunchie choice.
This book is a heartsong. It represents who we are as a family, our lived Brown joy, on full display for all to feel. My deepest wish for this book is that everyone who reads "Hair Twins" feels connected to the relationship between the father and daughter. And I hope, above all else, that readers of all ages see "" as an invitation to share their story, and all of who they are, with the world.
'Crying in H Mart' author on how food connects her to late mother .
Michelle Zauner's new memoir, "Crying in H Mart," explores the complicated relationship she had with her mother, the grief she felt after her mother died in 2014 and their bond over food.While digging into sweet braised black soybeans or lavender kong bap, a Korean rice and beans dish, Zauner realized that this was where she and her mother found common ground.