MR. ROGERS WROTE A PARENTING BOOK: Comics from the Toddler World by Keiler Roberts - Mutha Magazine

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Published on May 21st, 2014 | by Keiler Roberts

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MR. ROGERS WROTE A PARENTING BOOK: Comics from the Toddler World by Keiler Roberts

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SandInMouth

You’re welcome: More comics from the toddler world by the inimitable Keiler Roberts. Keiler’s daughter Xia is three years old and counting, and her mother has been drawing about her since before she was born.

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About the Author

Keiler Roberts teaches comics at the School of the Art Institute of Chicago and lives in Evanston, Illinois with her husband, daughter and dog. The Comics Journal said of her third book, Miseryland, that she “captures human nature in all its quirky contradiction.” Her Ignatz-award winning autobiographical series Powdered Milk can be seen at www.keilerroberts.com. Her new book, Sunburning, has just been released by Koyama Press. Author photo by Glitter Guts.


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  • “It does not escape me that critiques about expectant Black women like me are also rooted in misogynoir.” “You’ve already told me that story,” he said. Switching gears, he asked, “Why isn’t my father around?” #breastfeeding #parenting #fuckit #protest #teenagers #sexualviolence “Over time, Anabelle learned to talk about her feelings. She said saw her birthmother in the sky. She drew a picture of grief moving through her body like water. When she had more language, she began to talk about her losses.” “I’m not sure why I read that poster and thought that it applied to other mothers, other people’s children. But it probably has something to do with the shock I felt two years later when a neurologist confidently diagnosed “Autism Spectrum Disorder” and I responded with at least twenty “What about…” type questions. I had described my dynamic, interesting, loving toddler to this doctor, and her response sounded dire and clinical. That poster was the same. All of it seemed so unfortunate.” “Someone hit the call button. No one came. Someone rushed to the nurses’ station; still no one came. The contractions, a creature, twisted my uterus, lancing its nails. I tried to breathe through them, but there was no space, no time.” “But when, one-by-one, natural disasters ransacked too many of the communities we visited, including my home-state of California, I began to spiral into a grief I didn’t know how to support. I came to realize that our climate crisis wasn’t off in some far-flung future. It was here. Now. I’d birthed two perfectly good humans, boys who wanted to set up lemonade stands and play soccer, but who would be tasked instead to worry about rising seas and firestorms.” “I have to say,” my doctor said. We were still in the OR. He seemed saddened. “There was a uterine rupture. A large one. I have only seen something like this four times in my career.”

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