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There is no one who loves pain itself, who seeks after it and wants to have it, simply because it is pain

My family lives in a small house. It’s simple but pretty. It has a large garden. I like to work in the garden but my sister hates to work in the garden. She prefers to read. She reads in the morning, in the afternoon and at night.

I give all of the vegetables to mom and dad. They like to cook in our small kitchen. I eat any vegetable but my sister eats only a few.

My family always eats breakfast and dinner together. We talk. We laugh. Then my sister washes the dishes.

At night dad likes to listen to music. Mom works on the computer. I watch television. And my sister reads.

Soon we go to bed. My parents go to bed late but my sister and I go to bed early. I’m ready to go to sleep but my sister wants to keep reading

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My family at home

If you're wondering why families are important to individuals, there are a number of reasons. The definition of family is one that seems to change with the times, but it usually includes a group of people related to each other and living together. Like many social relationships, strong bonds with family members can have great benefits for society and individuals.

Why Are Families Important to Individuals?
Family support is important to individuals for a variety of reasons, most of which are related to your personal well-being. Family is important to individuals because it provides benefits to your physical, emotional, and mental health that can't be found anywhere else.

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Why Is Family Important

“Well, what can you actually put in it?” my colleague asks. I shrug. “Maybe some coins… gum?” I ponder the brown and fuzzy load on my chest: smaller than a newborn baby but bigger than a hamster.

“Definitely not your phone,” my colleague quips. Tiny bags have been in menswear for some time: Dior, Jacquemus and Balenciaga are just some of the big fashion houses that have brought out versions for guys.

In pre-pandemic times, my bag (a normal human-size one from Eastpak) was a cross between a life raft and a bin bag. It had the essentials (pens that don’t work, notebooks without covers); the all-weather options (two pairs of sunglasses, a beret, a serious-looking winter hat, an umbrella); and the frankly sickening (a few chipped Strepsils, empty packets of Nurofen, a Christmas card and some tissues from 1984). At the very bottom was lots of sand from a long-forgotten beach trip. I obviously needed a new bag. But this one?

It’s about the size of a packet of Hula Hoops, with a few zippable pockets. Wearing it around my shoulders, on its black strap, I feel odd. Not like a giant, exactly, but a dafter version of myself. Because, even though the tiny bag is, well, tiny, it is conspicuous.

Priya Elan
How to wear a jazzy knit
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On the catwalk, the bags look perfectly angular and black, as if they should be worn by Bond villains carrying the antidote to some world-destroying poison. And on the pages of fashion magazines, they look enticing, offering the same semi-outlaw appeal as a chunky gold chain or a black wristband.

In real life, however, I’m left pondering their purpose – although I suppose purpose isn’t really the point. The teeny-tiny bag is, I believe, an accessory, and so not practical at all. The upshot? I’ll have to figure out somewhere else to put my house keys.

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Tiny bags: perfectly formed

Since Milo has joined our family, we live each day with so much more love, laughter, patience and appreciation for life.

Our birth photo and story has been shared around the world and as educators, we feel it is important to help inform others the importance of skin to skin for newborns, understand surrogacy, and to show the world that family is about love!

Love Deeply, Laugh Together,
Be Kind To Each Other,


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FAMILY IS ABOUT LOVE

I thought I would be prepared for this day. I remember one day when I was in high school and a fellow classmate got a call that her grandmother passed away. I remember her crying so loud that it echoed in the hallways. The class went silent. I felt horrible for her. I could never imagine what she was feeling, the pain, the heartache, nor did I ever want to. Inevitably, that day arrived yesterday for my family. 


For a while I was mentally preparing myself for the passing of my Grandma. In a way I already mourned her death. My Grandma suffered from dementia, a horrible disease that turns your loved one into a shell of a person who they once were. It robs them of their memory, takes away their ability to move, steals all the love they have to give to you. And you are left with a shell of a person who just stares at you; where you know deep down inside they recognize you, but they try so hard to remember who you are and they cannot. If you are lucky, you may get a moment of remembrance, they may say your name, or there is something that triggers a memory that they can recall, but in the blink of an eye, it is gone. 

For the past while, my Grandma’s health was declining, slowly, but declining. She went from walking without help, to being bedridden all within a few short years. She lived in a long term care facility just across the border on the US side in Lewiston, and due to Covid, we could not cross the border and see her in person anymore. Each time my Mom would call, I would think to myself, “Oh no, please no” and I would hold my breath. Then I would hear her jovial voice say “Hi there, whatcha doing?” and I could breathe again.   

My phone rang again yesterday morning. It was on silent, so I didn’t hear it. Something made me look over and I saw it light up and it read “Mom’s Cell” My heart stopped. I knew deep down inside it was that call. I answered and said “Hello?” and all I heard behind tears was, “BJ?” I immediately burst out crying. Mom could barely utter the words “Grandma passed” We are all devastated.

I knew this time would come, as it does for us all, but hearing those words makes it final, and you are never really prepared. 

All day I cry, I mourn the loss of a woman who was the strongest person that ever walked this earth. I am still crying. 


My mind is flooding with memories, like a tidal wave comes crashing in and I’m trying to relive and remember each and every single one of them vividly, but as quick as they come in, they go away, and I begin to cry again.

I want to remember all the good times we shared, all those little moments together, her mannerisms, her accent, the smell of her V05 hairspray as it filled the air, how she hummed when she cooked, how amazed I was how she could finish a 300 page romance novel in a day, our shopping trips to the BonTon at the Walden Galleria Mall, the taste of her Christmas cookies, her touch, her hugs, her sneaking me candy, or going to the store and buying me the latest Disney VHS release, taking the bus downtown to buy me for Christmas the record “Grandma Got Run Over By A Reindeer” and doing the “Chicken Dance” together. Gardening in the backyard picking tomatoes to make homemade sauce, the taste of her pierogi, walking us to the walkway at school and we’d wave back to you so you knew we got to school safely, our weekend trips to the German Deli to pick up the freshest bratwurst, wiesswurt, landjaeger sausages and picking up the latest edition of the Deutsche Press, the sleepovers at her house during Easter, walking hand in hand with her to church all dressed up to get the Easter baskets blessed, walking to the Broadway Market to buy fresh butter lambs, chocolates and meat, her “chocolate soup” as she would call it, even though it was made from duck blood! Joking together we were twins because we both had hip replacements, your stylish babuskas, you and Mom putting lemon juice in my hair when I was little, how you would sit in between Nadia and I and go back and forth shovelling food into our mouths until we were stuffed like chipmunks, how you had that little “old lady container” next to your bed that you kept your teeth in and we teased you about it! Your love of word search puzzles and the Sunday Comics from the Buffalo Times, your weekly visits to the casino with Grandpa and how he resented all your windfalls because you had a “horseshoe up your ass” as he would say, the potato placki and your homemade applesauce you made every Friday night, putting apples in the left over pancake batter on Saturdays and we’d nibble on them all day long, you would cook all the food for our Communion dinner parties we had in the backyard, making sure we ate all our food, cleaned everything up, dishes washed and put away before we could open gifts on Christmas Eve, all of us picking you up from work and giving you the tightest hug because I missed you so much and I’m afraid I will forget them.

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I thought I would be prepared for this day. I remember one day

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