Late this summer, my father died. I'm still grieving the loss. I will be grieving the loss for the rest of my life. But the rest of life is a very long time, and there are many days to get through, and so I work very hard on coping and I think that I'm doing pretty well. But some days are harder than others. Some days are much harder than others. Holidays are the hardest.

CNN and bloggers report that the body of 5-year-old Shaniya Davis of Fayetteville, NC, has been found. Earlier today 200 people searched for the child's body after police received a tip that she was dead, say news sources.

First they called her "that girl". Then, "madam". Eventually, they referred to her as "sir."

Of course there is always turkey; its skin golden and and slightly crisp, its meat moist, juicy, and cooked to perfection. The chestnut colored gravy is never lumpy and has a hint of red wine. She doesn’t like what is the best part of the meal for the rest of us, the unparalleled apple, cranberry stuffing. It took years but we finally convinced her to make double the recipe so we wouldn’t fight over the minuscule portions. Side dishes are always the same: rice and sausage casserole, brussel sprouts with bacon and brown sugar  whipped sweet potatoes.

I first became aware of the buzz about Sapphire's debut novel Push in 1995 or 1996. The novel gained attention for its distressing storyline but possibly more because the novelist received a $500,000 advance, a sum unheard of in those days for a first novel. Well, unheard of except that another writer that year had received even more, Jacquelyn Mitchard.

Today is the last day of October and of Domestic Violence Awareness month. Obviously in what I would believe to be a better world such an observance would be completely unnecessary.

My family is blessed with lots of extended family. We are extremely blessed because not only do my kids have both sets of grandparents, they also have their beloved great-grandmother, too. My parents and my grandmother live nearby and we have dinner with them every Sunday. Until last year, my husband’s mother and grandmother lived with us. We just lost his grandmother last year. She was 101. Before she left us, she was thrilled to have been present at the college graduations of all of her grandchildren and many of her great-grand-children. I have been increasingly dismayed with a gradual shift that is happening in our family. The chasm between the kids and the elders is widening.

What should they call me? I’m not the grandmother by blood but the grandmother by love. When I was growing up in St. Louis, we used to have play-cousins, play-auntees (pronounced “ain-tees”), and play mamas. This was the designation for someone who was like family but not actually a relation. My granddaughter’s father also has a son, who lives with them half-time. I love him. Initially, I loved him as I love any child who comes within my orb – a general, all-encompassing love. To me, children are ‘sposed to be loved.

Some parents never fight in front of their kids, and their kids grow up fine. Some parents scream at each other day, and their kids grow up fine. And some in each camp end up with kids who either think a fight means the end of the world or that love is best expressed by yelling and cursing.What's the right thing to do?

My mother tells me I used to wake up in the middle of the night and clean my room. This? Does not bode well for motherhood. Hi, my name is Rita, and I'm a Type A mother when it comes to housekeeping.

Balance can be extremely difficult to achieve especially if you are a control-freak perfectionist.  Unless of course, you choose balance itself to master.  Over the years, I have strived to "have it all", from work, to personal life, and finally family.  Once the kids came however, everything was thrown out the window.  Now that my oldest child is nearly nine years old, I have finally found a sense of balance in most areas of my life, although it sometimes comes crashing down like a house of cards.  Here are some of my tips to help achieve balance.

This week we couldn't help but notice a theme in some of your recommendations for BlogHer of the Week. As I started to read your posts a familiar, but long tucked away, feeling of grief arose, and I was grateful I wasn't in the office at that moment, because the tears came, then again, and again. I remembered how it felt to touch bottom, experience emptiness, and then see life slowly leak back into the picture, sometimes slowly, and other times with overwhelming, ersatz saturation like Technicolor.