My life today is a little more difficult than six years ago, but much fuller. My life partner, Pau Valls, is also an illustrator and comic book author. Both of us, freelancers. Both of us, creatives. You can imagine the pressure that often accompanies us due to economic uncertainty. But, despite this, there is not a single day that we do not feel immensely fortunate.

Motherhood is at odds with sleeping through the night. There is no Estivill method for mothers who have been left scrambled after so many nights of breastfeeding. We are exhausted from filling Dalsy syringes with half-closed eyes in the middle of the night and from sleeping like contortionists to try and fit in the child who has climbed into our bed looking for a safe place. I have spent almost twenty years sleeping little and poorly because with four children I have been through every stage: checking if they are breathing, viruses, nocturnal vomiting, slumber parties, shouts at dawn playing on the Play, and now the moment has arrived to go out partying.

Our home is a beautiful chaos. There is always something going on: a little game in the hallway...

Like penguins is an autofiction show, in which I tell the story of Helena, who is me. In it, I explain why I became a clown.

Three summers ago we traveled to Croatia and Montenegro and we drove around in a rented car. To take a shortcut, we passed through Bosnia. We had no problem entering, but when it came time to leave, there was an error with Laura's ID card.

One day, when my daughters were little, we were queuing at the butcher's shop, they were tired and threw a tantrum. I was also tired and embarrassed by their tantrum, because I felt that everyone was looking at me, and I handled it as best I could. I don't remember what I said to them, but they calmed down. Then, a woman who was waiting congratulated me for having done well. I haven't seen her again, and considering that in Castellterçol we all know each other, it was strange, but at that moment she gave me a lot of confidence. As if a fairy had touched me with her magic wand.

My character is a real person, Verónica Estay. As an actress, playing someone real is quite a challenge. When she saw my work, she was very happy. She told me that there were moments when she felt that I was more her than she was herself.

It can be love, protection, and welcome; but it doesn't give it. It can be care, attention, and dedication; but it is absent. Not having her because she has died is an intense and painful absence; knowing she is here and realizing she is far away is also grief. The figure of the mother when she does not offer shelter can cause a void in the child, which will be realized over the years. Dysfunctions that can manifest in very diverse ways, such as insecurities and emotional friction: by looking at them, fortunately, they can be transformed.

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

The Mossos d'Esquadra have located in Lloret de Mar a six-year-old minor who was registered as stolen by the French judicial authorities and who had been missing for months with her mother and maternal grandmother. The investigation began a year ago. The search was activated following the issuance of two European Arrest and Surrender Warrants (EASO) by the French authorities against the mother and grandmother, for an alleged crime of child abduction reported by the girl's father.

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.

Sometimes we don't want to love or take responsibility for what it entails; we just want to be loved, no matter how or by whom. It's absurd and immature, but that's how it is. The goal seems to be not just being loved, but rather establishing mature and healthy relationships with others, thinking about what we contribute, and not demanding that those who care about us fill the voids of our own deficiencies. I learned all this in therapy, what do you think? It hasn't gone as badly for me as it did for Sara Bosom, has it?

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.

Why do some women only have girls or only boys? This is a question many people ask when they observe that some families with three or four children all have the same biological sex. Is there a genetic factor that determines this? In human populations as a whole, if no external discriminatory factor is at play—such as sex selection at birth or wars, among others— The ratio of biological male to female sex is very close to 1:1Certainly, there is a slight increase in the percentage of boys compared to girls among newborns, but after one year of life, these percentages are already equivalent. The fact that humans have few offspring makes it difficult to analyze whether there is any genetic factor skewing the proportion when we are only looking at the progeny of a single couple. With two or three children, statistically it is difficult to distinguish the action of chance from the action of some genetic or environmental factor, which must be subtle.

On the day of his mother's funeral, Writer Arundhati Roy was devastated. Not surprising, until she explains that she was also bewildered and somewhat embarrassed to find herself in that state. Her brother, LKC, told her, "I don't understand your reaction. You're the person I treated the worst." Roy writes, "Perhaps he was right, but it seems to me that the one who got the credit was him." She explains all this in the first chapter of'My refuge and my storm (Ara Llibres, translated by Imma Falcó), a kind of memoir that she recommends reading like a novel, as there is a constant mix of fiction and reality, filtered through memories.

In the summer, we move into our house in Alt Empordà, and the children attend summer camps in a nearby town. This allows them to make friends in the area and gain a broader perspective on people and life in general. All of this changes the pace of our children. In August, Gil will be 14, and many things are changing within him. As a mother, it's up to me to give him the space he needs.

You must have been very small, but you were already talking like a little man, perched on the wooden chair, stirring the plate and asking us if that piece of meat would grow back, the suckling pig.

Growing up without maternal love is a wound that, as we all know, leaves a lasting mark. Literature and audiovisual media have been extensively involved, and by chance, I have approached them from two different and complementary perspectives in the same period.

The Mossos d'Esquadra (Catalan police) arrested a woman this Thursday for leaving her six-year-old daughter alone in a hotel pool. The child fell into the water and, according to sources familiar with the case, remained there for more than eight minutes. The incident occurred on May 3 at 11:00 a.m. in a hotel in Calella, in the Maresme region. The child was discharged from the hospital this Thursday, the same day the 35-year-old mother was arrested by the Catalan police.

I still smile today when I remember the first time my son said to me, "You know, Mom? I have a girlfriend. Her name is Juliet, and she's older than me." He was four then, and Juliet was, in fact, a year older, and they both went to the same class. Preserving the memories of children's first experiences and discoveries serves to frame the initiation rituals of children as emblems that guarantee an immediate smile. They seem like sweet treats of tenderness that will never be tasted, but can be savored through the most nostalgic memory.