“I wanted to tell the secret stories that my great-grandmother Blanche whispered to me on summer nights in a featherbed in Iowa. I was eight and she was eighty . . .” At the age of four, a little girl stands on a cold, windy railroad platform in Wichita, Kansas, watching a train take her mother away. For the rest of her life, her mother will be an only occasional—and always troubled—visitor who denies her the love she longs for. Linda Joy Myers’s compassionate, gripping, and soul-searching memoir tells the story of three generations of daughters who, though determined to be different from their absent mothers, ultimately follow in their footsteps, recreating a pattern that they yearn to break. Accompany Linda as she uncovers family secrets, seeks solace in music, and begins her healing journey—ultimately transcending the prison of her childhood and finding forgiveness for her family and herself. This edition includes a new afterword in which Myers confronts her family’s legacy and comes full circle with her daughter and grandchildren, seeding a new path for them.

Great-grandmother Nell eats fish for breakfast, she doesn't hug or kiss, and she does NOT want to be called grandma. Her great-granddaughter isn't sure what to think about her. As she slowly learns more about Nell's life and experiences, the girl finds ways to connect with her prickly great-grandmother.

Don't Call Me Jupiter is a true-story memoir about an All-American family that becomes all hippied out. It's about the pros and cons that kids growing up in hippie environments encountered and how their early experiences continue to shape them later in life. This "First Family" story begins in 1961 in Cincinnati, Ohio with Dr. Sabin as they're selected to demonstrate the oral vaccine for polio. They are the paragon of midwestern, conservative, white-bread, Catholic idealism. And yet, led by an eccentric mother, the Martha Stewart of hippies, the family transforms into a clan of liberal, pot-smoking, psychedelic-bus-tripping, nature-loving California free spirits. Told through the wide-eyes of a middle child; a reluctant hippie kid who loves his family as much as he is embarrassed by them, this is a hilarious book about abandonment. Climb aboard their magic yellow bus for an unforgettable ride with colorful characters caught in situations that will make you laugh, cry, and cringe. Don't Call me Jupiter is a page-turning ride down memory lane when many parents went in search of themselves and lost their children along the way. "Growing up in this era was groovy and far out. We believed in the power of the people. We felt we could save the whales and make the world a better place. But there was bad craziness too."The '60s were a pivotal time. It revolutionized the way people looked at the world and their place in it. People challenged tradition, experimented with new lifestyles - and drugs. The very definition of family was stretched. Many people share unforgettable memories connected to the hippie movement and want to know how it's affecting them today. What was gained? What was lost? Are any of our adult disorders and anxiety tied to our unusual childhoods? This book presents a strong case in favor of the "fuck yea - of course it does!"In this first book of three in the series, you'll get an intimate understanding of the main characters, the changes they embrace, and how it affects their decisions and behaviors. Years later, this disbanded group is forced back together to deal with a family crisis. Similar memories about surviving dysfunctional families include: Running with Scissors, The Glass Castle, Let's Pretend this Never Happened, The Liar's Club, This Boy's Life, and A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius. It's like a 70's version of Shameless but with less booze, more weed, and way more hallucinogenics. This book needs to be read because it expands our understanding of the hippie movement and its continuing impact on society. Don't Call Me Jupiter provides an accurate, visceral, entertaining, real-life perspective into the ups and downs of surviving a hippie childhood.

Perfect for fans of Jennifer E. Smith and Huntley Fitzpatrick, Don't Call Me Baby is a sharply observed and charming story about mothers and daughters, best friends and first crushes, and our online selves and the truth you can only see in real life. All her life, Imogene has been known as the girl on that blog. Imogene's mother has been writing an incredibly embarrassing, and incredibly popular, blog about her since before she was born. The thing is, Imogene is fifteen now, and her mother is still blogging about her. In gruesome detail. When a mandatory school project compels Imogene to start her own blog, Imogene is reluctant to expose even more of her life online . . . until she realizes that the project is the opportunity she's been waiting for to define herself for the first time.

In the early twentieth century, Americans often waxed lyrical about “Mother Love,” signaling a conception of motherhood as an all-encompassing identity, rooted in self-sacrifice and infused with social and political meaning. By the 1940s, the idealization of motherhood had waned, and the nation’s mothers found themselves blamed for a host of societal and psychological ills. In Mom, Rebecca Jo Plant traces this important shift by exploring the evolution of maternalist politics, changing perceptions of the mother-child bond, and the rise of new approaches to childbirth pain and suffering. Plant argues that the assault on sentimental motherhood came from numerous quarters. Male critics who railed against female moral authority, psychological experts who hoped to expand their influence, and women who strove to be more than wives and mothers—all for their own distinct reasons—sought to discredit the longstanding maternal ideal. By showing how motherhood ultimately came to be redefined as a more private and partial component of female identity, Plant illuminates a major reorientation in American civic, social, and familial life that still reverberates today.

New York Times best seller Ever since Gabrielle Stanley Blair became a parent, she’s believed that a thoughtfully designed home is one of the greatest gifts we can give our families, and that the objects and decor we choose to surround ourselves with tell our family’s story. In this, her first book, Blair offers a room-by-room guide to keeping things sane, organized, creative, and stylish. She provides advice on getting the most out of even the smallest spaces; simple fixes that make it easy for little ones to help out around the house; ingenious storage solutions for the never-ending stream of kid stuff; rainy-day DIY projects; and much, much more.

The New York Times bestselling author of Girls & Sex and Cinderella Ate My Daughter delivers her first ever collection of essays—funny, poignant, deeply personal and sharply observed pieces, drawn from three decades of writing, which trace girls’ and women’s progress (or lack thereof) in what Orenstein once called a “half-changed world.” Named one of the “40 women who changed the media business in the last 40 years” by Columbia Journalism Review, Peggy Orenstein is one of the most prominent, unflinching feminist voices of our time. Her writing has broken ground and broken silences on topics as wide-ranging as miscarriage, motherhood, breast cancer, princess culture and the importance of girls’ sexual pleasure. Her unique blend of investigative reporting, personal revelation and unexpected humor has made her books bestselling classics. In Don’t Call Me Princess, Orenstein’s most resonant and important essays are available for the first time in collected form, updated with both an original introduction and personal reflections on each piece. Her takes on reproductive justice, the infertility industry, tensions between working and stay-at-home moms, pink ribbon fear-mongering and the complications of girl culture are not merely timeless—they have, like Margaret Atwood’s The Handmaid’s Tale, become more urgent in our contemporary political climate. Don’t Call Me Princess offers a crucial evaluation of where we stand today as women—in our work lives, sex lives, as mothers, as partners—illuminating both how far we’ve come and how far we still have to go.