Fingernails

In the high dependency room, the room before graduating to the special care baby unit, I would cut your fingernails for the first time.

My mom took a bus to Hackney Central in East London, to buy the tiny, baby-doll sized fingernail clippers.

Grandma had traveled from Michigan, where I grew up, and was not used to big city living. For her, a bus ride to a very busy place, by herself, was a brave step for her. She then walked from the bus to the Woolworths on the corner.

She did it for me, because I couldn’t leave you.

True StoriesKristina BuschJanuary 22, 2025family, motherhood, reflectionComment

Pressing Play

It’s my first Christmas Day with my family in two years and Scott’s first Christmas with us ever. After packing up our lives in Austin and moving to Brooklyn to fulfill a mid-twenties obligation to ourselves, we spend our vacation time not on vacation and instead doing the work of family visits. Now that I’ve dragged him for the four hour flight and the five hour car ride to the southernmost tip in Texas, he can enjoy December in shorts and a tee in what locals call the Valley.

True StoriesKristina BuschJanuary 15, 2025family, divorce, relationshipsComment

I Earned My Stripes

I grew up listening to my mom criticize her stomach. Having children had done this, she would say as she ran her hand over her loose stomach. Being pregnant and giving birth had changed her body forever, leaving behind stretch marks and large breasts and a stomach that jiggled and bulged. She didn’t like how her stomach looked, but she didn’t starve herself or excessively exercise. In every fitting room we shared, she commented. If only I could get rid of this, she’d say as she patted her stomach. Look at this, she said, as she shook her head and looked at her side profile in the dressing room mirror. If I didn’t have all this, these would fit better, she would say, while pulling down the pair of pants that didn’t fit. She saw, and continues to see, her stomach as a negative, a defect.

True StoriesJulia NusbaumDecember 18, 2024self love, family, body imageComment

Polar Solstice

The evening before you came into this world we endured the longest blackest night.

Winter. The hibernal solstice. Our slice of Earth turning her back to the sun, head bowed, submitting to the dark.

That night imprinted its suffocating length onto my birthing body. Within the week, wrapped in tendrils of dread

postnatally deeply depressed.

True StoriesJulia NusbaumDecember 4, 2024motherhood, family, reflectionComment

Wedding Song

It was time for our one rehearsal, the day of my daughter’s wedding. A group of family and friends who had been practicing alone now gathered, anticipating the thrill of voices blending and harmonizing, woven together by the glistening thread that is my daughter’s life force. In the run-up to this event, all said, “Yes, we will sing…We are honored to sing…We are thrilled to be part of this special surprise,” a touching tribute to a father long dead. All coming together from different places, different times, different experiences, to fuse in song.

True StoriesJulia NusbaumNovember 13, 2024grief, love, family Comments

The Cost of Leaving

I stare out at the sky. The man next to me is snoring, mouth wide open. His head drops forward, jolting back upright. It’s February. If the year had gone as planned, I would not have been on this airplane. I would have been finishing breakfast with my roommates and walking to class. Tonight, they will make dinner without me. We won’t dress up together this weekend, sifting through each other’s closets, to attend a party where we drink too much and laugh too hard. I am leaving home.

True StoriesJulia NusbaumOctober 23, 2024Religion, father daughter, Change, Change of life, family, teacherComment

Seeking, Listening, Echoing

I grew up in the north of México in a city called Tecate, B.C. I used to think that I could, just as well, have grown anywhere else. I used to ignore, as I grew up, the situations of Mexican migrants. My family was not and that is why they always made sure that I didn’t know what, thanks to them, “I didn’t need to know.” My father and my uncles crossed the border as if getting into the neighbor’s yard to retrieve something they had lost. Only they hadn’t lost anything and were looking for what they never had, and without permission but with confidence. The confidence of someone who has crossed a territory that is not theirs many times knowing they shouldn’t.

True StoriesKristina BuschSeptember 11, 2024family, immigration, relationships, languageComment

Why We Came

When they ask me, I tell them we came for the rain.

It’s easy that way. It makes them laugh. It’s the dog walkers who always want to know. A passing conversation in the park. They usually talk about Mochi’s long legs first. Like a mom with a new baby, I let them gush over him. No, he’s not a puppy, just small. Yes, he’s enthusiastic. I tell them he’s a rescue and an immigrant too. He was my carry-on luggage, stored safely below the seat in front of me from San Francisco to Dublin. We linger for a few minutes, as our dogs take the time to sniff. Then they ask, they always ask, why did we come?

True StoriesKristina BuschJune 12, 2024relationships, reflection, family, moving forward Comments

If Walls Could Talk

You and I became acquainted nearly thirteen years ago. It wasn’t love at first sight. In fact, I was initially after another one just down the street. But that one had too many problems and I didn’t want such a big project. I noticed you on the same day that I said no to the other one, and so I came to see you. You were cute, in solid condition. Very old-school but nothing that a little modern touch couldn’t fix. I had been casually looking for a home for several months. I and my now ex-husband, that is. This felt a little different and we really needed something positive to look forward to. Something of a distraction, maybe.

True StoriesKristina BuschMay 8, 2024reflection, home, relationships, family Comments

Nice Stuff

The basement is filled with junk and gems. I promised myself no space of mine would ever get this packed, but even in her delirium, Mom has conquered. Her gaze was voracious, her taste, sweeping. She was a champion of designers. She was a one-woman environmental disaster, with a carbon footprint as big as a mall.

True StoriesKristina BuschMarch 13, 2024family, mother daughter, fashion, shop Comments

Panda and Tiger

Maybe the woman holding the child was way too close to the edge of the pier. Way too close for way too long. Maybe that is what the shopkeeper told the Vancouver police when she phoned in her response to the Amber Alert. Maybe the ginger-haired artist who owned the Rare Button Shoppe—herself the mother of a curly-headed toddler—feared for the safety of the child on the pier.

True StoriesKristina BuschMarch 6, 2024family, motherhood, trauma Comments

Champagne Problem

I nominated my mother to share the news of my pregnancy with the rest of our family. I was confident my father and brother wouldn’t kill the messenger, but I knew for certain they would want to kill the message.

True StoriesJulia NusbaumSeptember 13, 2023family, Family, pregnancy, motherhoodComment

Last Dance

It’s our last night on Kauai together, yet not together. For the past seven days, we’ve been staying at different places due to the separation, Ian and I in a condo, and you at a hotel. We have a late morning flight back to the Bay Area tomorrow, and when we reach San Mateo, you’ll drop me off at my apartment, a tiny one bedroom I’m renting several blocks away from the house we raised Ian in–the house where you and Ian now live.

True StoriesJulia NusbaumJuly 12, 2023family history, family Comments

The Middle House

At the age of thirteen, I attended a boarding school a continent away from my family, an experience that triggered a wrenching homesickness. As a teenager, I navigated international airports and transitioned between cultures with fluidity, yet a floodgate of tears would open at the echo of my parents’ voices over a long-distance call. They were a seven-hour flight away, too far to dash home for a weekend of hugs and home-cooked meals, distant enough for the cookies in care packages to grow stale before arrival.

True StoriesGuest UserApril 5, 2023family, Friends, friendship, father daughterComment

I Knew You Would Understand

My mother slips her hand into mine as we walk toward the elevator in silence. Tears slide down my face, hidden under my mask. My ten-year-old son and I are flying back home, only I don’t want to leave. At eighty-four, my mother has had her first stroke. It’s hard to figure her out again. While the stroke was not physically debilitating, it scrambled far too many files on her hard drive and erased that many more. Words she once knew disappear at random.

True StoriesKristina BuschNovember 23, 2022motherhood, illness, family Comments

The Impermanence of Happiness

Thirty minutes from home, raindrops splattered on the windshield of my car and increased in intensity as I drove seventy-six miles per hour along the interstate. I knew the weather was supposed to turn severe later in the evening, but I thought I’d have time to make it back from my dentist appointment hours before any precipitation fell from the sky. The semi-truck ahead of me in the left lane kicked up additional water, so I flicked my wipers to high and focused my eyes on the road.

True StoriesKristina BuschNovember 16, 2022happiness, family, life lessonsComment

Idlis for Examinations

Pencils, three, sharpened. Done. Pens, three, filled with blue ink. Done. Writing board with clamp set ready. Done. Water bottle filled. Done. Hair oiled and tightly plaited. Done. Dressed into a comfortable salwar-kurta. Done. Eat? If, and only if, there were idlis. Soft, piping hot idlis with coconut chutney.

True StoriesKristina BuschOctober 12, 2022family, food, school, memoriesComment

Wounds Unseen

Words may not have the ability to slough through flesh like a knife or a sharp shard of glass, but they can be used as weapons of emotional destruction. For me, a married woman's worst nightmare came to fruition when my mother-in-law stated her feelings about me with painful clarity.

True StoriesKristina BuschAugust 10, 2022marriage, abuse, love, family Comment

One Potato, Two Potato

In my cupboard I have eighteen cans of jalapeno peppers that cost 11 cents each. There were twenty, but I have eaten two in the last year. I bought them because they were 11 cents each, you see. You never know when you might need jalapenos. I bought the twenty cans of mushrooms at the same time for the same price, but those I ate. Most of them, anyway.

True StoriesSelena RaygozaJune 8, 2022family, history, poverty Comments

I Don't Look Like My Mom

Recently, scrolling through my news feed on Facebook, I came across a post by a girl from work. It was a picture of her and her mother side-by-side, same cute smile, same long, blonde hair, same eyes crinkled by their grins. She tagged it "#TWINS.” “Vote for me and my mom!" the caption said, with a link to a local radio station hosting a mother-daughter lookalike contest for Mother's Day.

True StoriesGuest UserOctober 13, 2021mother daughter, identity, biracial, familyComment

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