Sample Winter Spring 2026

Screamin Mamas

Winter Edition 2026 2025 Winter Spring

The Voice of Everyday Moms

Best of the Blogs

• Lisa Cummings • Patricia Lynne • Debbie Murphy • Amy Neal • Darlene Pistocchi • Paula Timpson • Eva Tortora

Poetry • Alison Brechtel • Faleeha Hassan • Valentines Day Contest Winner!

• Lucia Haase • Marcella Kumer • Elizabeth Smith • Miriam Weinstein

Short Stories • Diane Arrelle • Carole C. Koch • Ruth Lee • Emma Moon • Jamie Pitts • Carla Ward • Holly Redell-Witte

A Literary Storybook Written By Moms

TM

Your love is my home Valentine’s Day Contest Winner

Upon this day where lovers' hearts should meet, I sit alone and hear the distant beat.

The guns that sound like drums across the land, While I still trace your name upon my hand.

No roses bloom, no candies, no soft embrace, Just silence falling heavy on this place.

And yet, I send you love through whispered air, I hope you're standing strong out there.

I light a candle — small, but brave and bright, You hold your post beneath the blood-red night.

I kiss your photo framed in simple wood, You kiss the earth where freedom's hope has stood.

Do you recall that vow in winter's chill, To live in peace, beside the window sill?

To plant a rose, to watch our young one grow, To teach him joy, not what the brave must know?

My soldier love, my heart beneath your helm, Though war has pulled you to a distant realm— Each breath I take becomes a silent prayer, Return to me, alive, with windswept hair.

You are my Valentine beyond the fight, The pulse that keeps me warm throughout the night.

Though war may steal the days we longed to share, No force can touch the love that brought you there.

Faleeha Hassan

THE SCREAMINMAMAS TEAM

SCREAMINMAMAS

EDITORIAL

Winter/Spring Edition 2026

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BLOGGERS Our Social Media Mavens JENNIFER BONN Living Well/Mom Vlogs RUTH LEE Poetry/Whimsy PATRICIA LYNNE Poetry/Stories DEBBIE MURPHY English/Humor PAULA TIMPSON Poetic Thoughts EVA TORTORA Artist &Writer

WRITERS Creative Content

WINTER/SPRING CONTRIBUTORS

FreeLancers /Recurring Guests

LUCIA HAASE Poetry/Spiritual

DIANE ARRELLE ALISON BRECHTEL

GLORIA J HANSEN Humor/Nostaligia

FALEEHA HASSAN EMMA MOON

CAROLE C. KOCH Humor/Nostalgia

JAMIE PITTS ELIZABETH SMITH

MARCELLA KUMER Poetry/Stories

MIRIAM WEINSTEIN HOLLY REDELL-WITTE

JEN WALDRON Humor/Network/Stories

CARLA WARD

Disclaimer: As a grassroots group of Moms, our publication dates vary. We work around the kids, the chores, the dogs, the dishes, the laundry, the bills... but, through the grace of God, and everyone’s continued faithfulness and patience, it gets done. Very thankfully. We scour for errors intriplicate but some still squeak by. Apologies in advance. We accept submissions throughout the year, please visit our website for what we look for: screaminmamas.com. You may submit on our website or email: screaminmamas@gmail.com. All work published remains that of the author/artist. Layout and Design remains that of ScreaminMamas. Photos & artwork courtesy contributor, Freepik.com, or AI under license or Public Domain.†Denotes a tag for author’s work after 100 years or fewer. No part of this may be reproduced without express permission. All rights reserved 2013-2026.

Humor

. . . M om T alk for R eal . . .

Women No Longer Outlive Their Husbands!

Carla Ward

WIVES 10:00 p.m.

10:01 p.m.

10:03 p.m.

Begins brushing teeth Interrupted by child who’s escaped their bed (again!)

Swishes fluoride, listens to child chatter incessantly about tomorrow’s daycare field trip to the zoo

10:10 p.m.

Tucks child in (again)

10:11 p.m.

Remembers child must wear a blue shirt for tomorrow’s field trip (matching shirts prevent lost children!), suppresses expletive Finds blue shirt in hamper, starts load of laundry Kills time paying bills on laptop

10:12 p.m.

10:13 p.m.

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Images & CLipart by Freepik.com

10:04 p.m.

Spits, walks child back to bed, fields endless questions, Can I feed the hippos? How much do hippos weigh? How do they hold their breath so long? How many teeth do they have? Are they always hungry?

Wo m e n N o L o n g e r O u t l i v e T h e i r H u s b a n d s . . .

10:35 p.m.

10:36 p.m.

10:37 p.m.

10:38 p.m.

Opens email, reads hostile message from boss Mutters colorful insults, fantasizes about winning the lottery Composes professional reply, explains to boss (tactfully) the data requested was sent two days ago, and sends data report (again!)

Fills out online registration form to enroll child in kindergarten next fall

10:42 p.m.

10:43 p.m.

10:45 p.m.

Cries (her baby is growing up fast!)

Puts laundry in dryer, thinks of additional tasks to fill wait time Loads dishwasher (quietly!), sweeps kitchen, cleans out child’s backpack, finds permission slip (for the field trip!) with sticky note from teacher saying child may not attend unless returned with parent’s signature, signs note, wipes chocolate residue off backpack straps

11:15 p.m.

Sits on couch, reads parenting book, dozes off

11:30 p.m.

11:35 p.m.

11:36 p.m.

11:37 p.m.

11:38 p.m.

11:39 p.m.

Startles awake, pulls clothes from dryer, folds blue shirt Locks front door (husband forgot, again!)

Shuts off lights throughout house, trudges wearily toward bedroom Stealthily enters dark room, slips into bed without jarring mattress, leaves sleeping husband undisturbed Remembers a brown bag lunch is needed for tomorrow’s field trip, grabs phone, enters reminder, sets alarm ten minutes earlier, plugs in phone charger Closes eyes, prays sleep will take her before she can think another thought

Ward

HUSBANDS 10:00 p.m. “Brushes teeth while scratching particulars,

crawls into bed, snores.”

About The Author Carla Ward is a short story author from Central Nebraska. Her work

has appeared in publications like The Saturday Evening Post, Woman’s World, Woman’s Weekly, Porter House Review, and many others. She’s been twice nominated for a Pushcart Prize, selected as a semifinalist in ScreenCraft's Cinematic Short Story Competition 2024, and long listed for the Porter House Review 2024–2025 Editor’s Prize.

S creaminM amas - 5

A LITTLE BIT OF ROMANCE

The Tooth Fairy

Diane Arrelle

Image by Freepik.com

“About July 21st,” Rick said in a low voice and stared straight ahead at the road.

Gails stomach clenched and she glared at him. “Yes, that’s our anniversary. Planning a fun surprise?”

Rick sighed. “It’s the scout’s annual camping trip.”

She frowned.

“You hope not what?”

She groaned and thought, Men; they just can’t follow a conversation. “I said I hope you’d rather not be with a bunch of boys than with your wife.”

“We’ll go out another night,” he said. “I’m sorry they make the camping trip the same week every year. Ted’s

“It wasn’t the vacation that she dreamed about. She the two of them making love on the beach at sunset.”

“Hey, I didn’t pick it, it just happens to be on our anniversary. You think I want to go camping with the boy scouts instead of being with you?”

“Keep your eyes on the road,” Gail snapped and immediately regretted losing her temper. She remembered all the things they had been to each other, from best friends, to lovers and finally to husband and wife. She smiled and added, “I hope not.”

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really into scouting and he likes me there.”

“I know,” Gail replied. “We’ll make it up another time.”

But she knew they wouldn’t. They never did. Once again she’d lost another shot at romance for the sake of parenthood.

Suddenly a projectile hit the windshield. Gail and Rick looked at the half eaten granola bar sticking to the

Images AI Generated, CLipart by Freepik.com

yearned for that romantic vacation in the Bahamas, just

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T H E TO OT H FA I R Y inside of the glass and snapped in unison, “Boys! Stop it!”

Gail wondered about their current family weekend.

They were on their way to Baltimore for a science fiction convention. The boys had begged to go and in a weak moment she and Rick had agreed that perhaps a nice family weekend together would be fun. It wasn’t the vacation that she dreamed about. She yearned for that romantic vacation in the Bahamas, just the two of them making love on the beach at sunset. ~~~ Four hours later they were checked in and Gail flopped onto the queen-sized bed. “This is the life,” she exclaimed as she stretched her arms over her head. “Who wants to take a walk to the Inner Harbor?”

“Sure, sounds great!” Rick said agreeably.

“But Daaad, we wanted to register and see everything. Come on, Dad, you promised.”

Rick shrugged and let the two boys hustle him out the door. “Coming Dear?” he called.

Gail followed and saw her fantasies of a weekend of togetherness were doomed.

After tailing her family for the entire afternoon, Gail announced. “I’m hungry. Why don’t the kids order room service and we can go get some Maryland Crab at the Harbor?”

Rick looked at the kids. “Sounds good to me, how about you guys?”

“OK, but be back by 7:00 because we signed you up for a role playing game with us,” said their older son, Ted. ~~~ Gail looked at her watch. An hour for dinner. No way they were going to get away now and what about the evening she had hoped they’d spend together…alone…in the room…all alone as the boys played downstairs.

They opted for pizza across the street and Gail tried not to outwardly sulk through the meal.

Afterwards, they rushed back to the hotel and Rick gave her a quick kiss as he followed the boys, .

“What’s the matter, honey?” he asked over his shoulder.

“Nothing!” she snapped and turned away to wait for the incredibly slow, constantly overcrowded elevator to take her upstairs.

In the room, she sat on the bed and wiped the tears from her cheeks as she watched a romantic movie on TV. “Some weekend!” She muttered. “All I wanted was a little romance!”

Without warning, the room door opened and Rick came in. He sat on the edge of the bed. “I could tell you were upset. What’s the matter?”

Gail sniffed. “Nothing.”

Rick handed her a tissue, “Some nothing! Look,

Arrelle

the kids ditched me, there were too many signed up, so why don’t we lock the door and fool around.”

Gail couldn’t decide whether to be angry or jump him. She opted for sex. As they stood naked in the glow of the television, looking at each other like it was the first time, the door started to open.

Rick shouted, "Wait a second.” He pulled on his pants as Gail threw on her robe. Tim, who was eight years old burst into the small hotel room drooling blood.

“What happened?” Gail gasped.

Tim spit into the sink and wailed, “I’m losing a tooth.”

Gail couldn’t help herself.

“Tonight? How about about right now?”

Tim spit again and then sat on the bed. “Nope, it’s not ready, yet.” He picked up the remote and put on a sitcom.

Gail took him by the arm and shoved him into the bathroom. “From all that blood, I’d say it’s ready now.”

“No it’s not,” Tim insisted and started back for the TV. Gail spun him around, pried open his mouth and with a washcloth grabbed and yanked the tooth forward then up. To her utter surprise it popped out. “Oh wow,” she gasped. “I’ve never done that before.”

Rick grinned at her surprise. “Guess you were inspired!”

Tim held the washcloth to his mouth and went back to the sitcom.

“Aren’t they waiting for you, downstairs in the game room?” Rick nudged his son.

“Can’t go, I’m bleeding.”

Gail wadded up a tissue and jammed it in the hole in her son’s mouth. “Now you can go.”

Tim tested his mouth. “I’m not so sure.”

“Look,” Gail shouted in desperation. “Here’s $20.00 from the tooth fairy. Go buy a soda and join your brother.”

Tim took the money. “Wow, things sure do cost more in Maryland,” he muttered and went to the elevator.

They watched him get in and the doors close. Then they rushed back to the room knowing that the trip down would take a long time.

Rick double locked the door. “My God, you’re beautiful,” he said as he stripped off her robe.

It may not have been that beach in the Bahamas, Gail decided, but nothing could have been more romantic than that stolen hour when they had the chance to be lovers once again… courtesy of a high-priced tooth fairy and some mighty slow elevators. ◆ ◆ ◆

S creaminM amas - 7

Mommin’ for R eal

Mental Health: Currently on Vacation,

Will Get Back to You When the Noise in My HeadStops

Emma Moon

Do you know that feeling when you wake up already exhausted?

No, you didn’t do anything. You just lived inside your own brain, which feels like carrying a backpack full of bricks that someone occasionally sets on fire.

I’m not even sure anymore if I’m tired, anxious, introverted, mentally ill, or just... the Balkan version of a 2025 mother.

In any case — it’s not something I’d put on my CV. Sometimes I think: “Maybe I should seek professional help.”

People say, “Find time for yourself.”

Where exactly? In the sock drawer? In the freezer next to the frozen pizza?

Then I find my phone in the oven — the one I lost three hours ago — and remember I didn’t finish cleaning it because I got interrupted wiping someone’s butt, cleaning up a mini flood, and Googling how much caffeine I can consume before my heart says“nope.”

I don’t even know anymore when I’m lying, when I’m pretending to be a stable human being.

All I know is I laugh when I’m stressed, and I cry when someone says, “How are you?”

“Hello, I’m here because I don’t know if I’m crying because I’m sad, overtired, or because something just hasn’t emotionally landed yet. I feel like a toddler about to throw a tantrum.”

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Conclusion: My mental health is currently taking a break.

I sent it on a wellness retreat in Switzerland while I’m here patching up reality with coffee and sarcasm.

So if you see me staring into space — don’t call 911.

I’m just waiting for a wave of nameless thoughts (or possibly PMS) to pass. ◆ ◆ ◆ About The Author

Emma Moon is a mom of three little humans from Croatia,

trying to stay afloat in the mess of modern motherhood. “Writing helps me process, breathe, and sometimes just laugh at the absurdity of it all. I also write my own blog.” Emma also writes under a pseudonym. ◆ ◆ ◆

CLipart by Freepik.com

But then I wonder — what would I even tell a therapist?

“Hello, I’m here because I don’t know if I’m crying because I’m sad, overtired, or because something just hasn’t emotionally landed yet. I feel like a toddler about to throw a tantrum.”

My emotional range goes from “I feel everything too much” to “Who am I and why can’t I move?”

The last thing I felt was disappointment when I sat on the bed and remembered I hadn’t turned on the washing machine.

I didn’t turn it on. I just sent a telepathic message and whispered, “God, take me.”

(He didn’t.)

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Pink Moon Rosé Party With my wildflower child, of course the occasion must be pop-up, the distance between us no farther than the clink of a glass tonight. Rosé the perfect complement.

I had some inkling, reading Jane Austen in my third trimester. But then the nurse said “You’ve got a little girl.” Tiny moon of my orbit, irresistible light.

This independent streak: knowing not to ask just do by 6. Majoring in Applied Behavioral Science in middle school as a soccer game turned a coffee shop meet-up morphed into all-night texting.

My exploratory satellite, how you broadened our horizons.

The next frontier a flat tire at 1am; the party we pulled you out of tail fire sparking all the way to the car. We knew you’d find a way to make Mt. Rainier your neighbor.

You in your sphere, rooftop bars, digging clams, papers, practicum, I in mine, committee meetings in coffee shops, exercise class and long-distance calls; separate lives, different places.

Sweep that cosmic dust away.

The ordinary stars of ambition pale tonight to pure luminescence pearl-dipped in peach-blush.

Elizabeth Smith 9

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In Loving Memory

Diane de Anda R. I. P. You are missed

November 27, 1943 - August 25, 2025