This very day, in a second, Guillem has disappeared. What are you saying!

A former colleague told me not long ago that she was surprised when she heard I had a daughter because she'd never seen me as "a reproductive man." I laughed. It didn't seem like an insult, but rather a description. And, in fact, that possibility had always been there. The idea of ​​having children amused me, but until recently it was an abstract and distant concept.

Having children brought back unresolved wounds from our own childhood. This allowed me to reconnect with the child I once was, reclaim her, and learn to nurture her. I also had the opportunity to understand my own parents. Motherhood places us all in a vulnerable position, but at the same time, it bestows upon us a wisdom that is difficult to find elsewhere. Raising children confronts us with our own shortcomings. During my son's early years, I recovered many memories of when I was a child caring for a younger sibling.

Family is the most important thing we have. Especially our immediate family, the people you live with and are closest to. The unconditional support. Wife, parents, siblings... grandparents.

The universal child benefit has returned to the center of public debate. The discussion has focused primarily on its cost and budgetary viability. But while we look at the numbers, one fact remains constant: in Catalonia, more than one in three children and adolescents live at risk of poverty or social exclusion. Given this, perhaps the question is not only whether or not a new benefit is necessary, but also what model of public support for raising children we have, and who it serves.

Before becoming a mother, I had very firm convictions about who I was and what my path would be. I didn't imagine the extent to which motherhood transforms you completely, the extent to which I myself would become a different person. I thought it would be harder for me to stop prioritizing myself, and that I would sometimes experience it with unease or as a loss.

When my children were little and I took them to play in the park, I was always surprised to find the same scene: mothers who would get right into the sandbox with their offspring, taking up a huge amount of the little space the children had to roam in the middle of the city; mothers who would climb to the top of the slides, go down themselves to accompany that budding person who now must have serious problems managing life's normal frustrations. So many theories about parenting, so much information, and so much effort to do what we parents of today shouldn't have to do: rob our children of the ability to become resilient by gradually facing difficulties, systematically depriving them of the sense of power that comes from solving problems on their own.

Pregnancy is a very important stage in a woman's life. Many changes occur on different levels—physical, emotional, social, etc.—and, especially, self-care becomes crucial. Some aspects of this attention to personal well-being are within the control of the pregnant woman and her immediate environment, but others, in many cases, are beyond their reach. This is the case with the effects of climate change and pollution, especially relevant in urban contexts, which can affect pregnancy and early childhood, and which are of increasing concern to these groups.

We spent four years with the kids living in Brooklyn, the neighborhood of my childhood. My children went to my elementary school, and Judith even did a year of my school there. middle schoolNow I think they understand me better as a person and know more about what it means to be American, although I wouldn't say New York is entirely typical of the country in general. We've traveled the world and now we're back living in the Raval neighborhood of Barcelona.

I'm Clot's daughter, and we had a cat at home. At night I'd hear him running around the apartment, and when we got up, we'd often find a dead cockroach on the bath mat. He was the one who hunted them and left us these little "gifts." It made me very anxious.

"I always say it's the best gift I've ever received." A mother from Barcelona says this when she recalls what a friend sent her during the height of the pandemic for the birth of her third daughter: an assortment of ready-made meals, ready to eat anytime and requiring no more than two minutes to heat. "After giving birth, the body needs rest, warmth, and nourishment, and the last thing we want to think about is cooking," she concludes. Núria Arnau, cook and owner of Bendito TupperA workshop in Badalona that specializes in weekly shipments of lunchboxes with prepared food. Among its offerings, it recently created the Baby Kit, a pack of 14 servings Designed for couples who have recently welcomed a baby. "We understand that their lives have changed profoundly, but we believe their diet shouldn't change; on the contrary, it should be a time for care, enjoyment, and connection," concludes this entrepreneur originally from Bell-lloc (Pla d'Urgell).

The birth was so complicated that the doctors feared for my mother's life, and for mine as well. Having survived that ordeal without too many lasting effects, and while I was still very little, bad luck struck when I contracted a serious lung disease. That time, too, I was saved by the skin of my teeth because my mother summoned the doctor, who was at home in his dressing gown and slippers, on a Sunday night. That scare turned me into a pale, scrawny, and listless child. I would only eat if I was told a story while I ate. My mother took care of both with biblical patience. The situation dragged on for so long that she ended up recording cassette tapes with stories she told herself—many of them her own creations—so that, whenever it was time for a meal, my mother could use a cassette player we had, a big, black one with keys like a player piano, and give me the story along with the spoonfuls of food.

Driving every night Basics It's meant completely overhauling our family logistics, but now that everything is on track and well-organized, I feel like everything is flowing smoothly. Really, at home, I've gone from being the go-to person in the afternoons, the nights before, and the evenings to being the one in the mornings, the one who gets everything ready and takes them to school.

Next Monday I have the back-to-school meeting for my twin daughters, who have started 3rd year of ESO (secondary school). I couldn't possibly split myself in two to attend both classes—they have simultaneous meetings—and meet each of their teachers. But it turns out that Fiona has a scheduled appointment at the primary care center (CAP) at the same time, a visit she arranged weeks ago for her recurring dust mite allergy shot, and I've spent all afternoon trying to figure out how I'll manage to be in three places at once. All three, each important.

I read in the ARA that they have arrested "30 foreign parents to pass off their children as unaccompanied minors". They were "deliberately" stopped accompanying them so that they would enter the protection system under the tutelage of the Generalitat (Generalitat). The police called them "the Erasmus students," perhaps because they differed somewhat from those who arrived alone and in precarious conditions. Their families would abandon them near police stations, explain how to act, and hope that they would benefit from the system until their families returned. Others stayed here and were seen talking on the phone, unscrupulously, or sad, taciturn, and loving (I suppose the girls weren't handed over, only the boys). And I am moved by that story to tell, a long time ago, about one of those children. They all cried and called for their mothers. Most never returned. mother She was different until the end of her days, for them. Not for them, I know.

Giant, you have a giant heart / favorite creature / solar revolution / Giant, you have a giant heart / you make life tremble / small nuclear bomb. After six albums, Xiulaland, is a return to the origins, to the reason that made us meet, to the reasons why we do everything we do.

"This course, doing the Good morning, Barcelona It's impossible for me to take them to school every morning, but until now I've taken on a lot of the responsibility. Although it's a stressful time, trying to get there on time, it also creates an atmosphere during the drive to school, with everyone half asleep, that has very fun moments and moments of confidence," says Dani Clavera.

The boy who accidentally rubs his knees against her, sitting opposite him, suddenly touches the donkey. "Shit!" he moans. And he quickly gets up from his seat. Standing up, he puts the receiver to his ear. A woman in work uniform, who was standing—the train is moving like a clam at this time—quickly takes the empty seat. "Mom!" the boy says. "I missed my stop!" He listens to explanations, obviously, and then says: "Okay, I'll call the Pope! God, God." The girl pricks up her ear. "Dad! I missed my stop! Yes, in Pallejà. Yes, yes. Now." Silence, and again: "Well, look, what do I know... I'm a total idiot! I was looking at my phone and... Yes, until now."

I have seen, and I recommend, the documentary Goodbye, savages, which is being offered to Filmin. It's the story of a couple—she, Norwegian; he, English—who decide to live far from the city, in direct contact with wild nature, on an isolated farm. The couple has three sons and a daughter from a previous relationship. The mother, a photographer, documents family life in a diary full of images.

Not all summers are the same. Some force us to adapt to a new personal reality and leave behind the habits we've had until then. One of these situations occurs when, after a recent separation, we face the first summer without our children or the family life we've built over the past few years. These circumstances aren't always easy, and emotions often run high. Acting wisely in moments like these can be a real challenge—but it's by no means impossible.