Finding Ninee » Sharing our parenting and special needs stories with heart and humor.

Author Archives: Kristi Campbell

Kristi Rieger Campbell's passion is writing and drawing stupid-looking pictures for her blog, Finding Ninee. It began with a memoir about her special-needs son Tucker, abandoned when she read that a publisher would rather shave a cat than read another memoir. Kristi writes for a variety of parenting websites including Huffington Post Parents, has been published in several popular anthologies, received 2014 BlogHer's Voice of the Year People's Choice Award, and was a proud cast member of the DC Listen to Your Mother show. Find her on Twitter, Facebook, and Pinterest.

It’s August. “Will you watch me play?” he asks. I don’t want to. In fact, I can think of 1,001 things I’d rather do than watch my not-so-little little boy play Legends of Zelda on his WiiU. I look up, ready to tell him “No.” To explain that I’m working, that watching somebody else play […]

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“How old is your kid?” I’d ask. “Eight.” “That must be fun,” I’d smile. “Oh! It IS!” she’d beam. I’d pretend to believe her but secretly felt sorry for the fact that she no longer had a toothless baby or a waddling, gapped-tooth toddler like mine. It was hard to imagine that eight-years-old was as […]

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If I had a magic wand, the first thing that comes to mind is that I’d “fix” my son. A dozen others. A billion others. An infinity others. In fact, I’ve said before that if I could have a superpower, that it’d be to have magical healing powers. I’d like to fix all kids who […]

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“Babe, help me up – the ladder isn’t down for some reason, and I’m exhausted,” he said treading water, smiling (and twitching a bit) at the thought of his notebook waiting for his recordings of the sea life diversity he’d seen while diving. She looked at him, reached for the rope before getting lost in thought […]

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Sometimes, writers think they don’t have anything to say. More often, writers have too much to say, but can’t say what they want to, don’t have the energy to do so, or feel paralyzed by their now, or memories of deep, dark, nameless stories. Writers share the un-sharable. They breathe life into rattling bones of […]

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We’d finished supper, wiped the table, and loaded lingering plates into the dishwasher. My brothers and I dressed in our jammies to carry bowls of popcorn to the basement where we waited while Dad loaded the projector with slides. Neighbors knocked, hugged my mom, poured cold beer or soda into fizzing glasses, and came downstairs. […]

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