I am trying to take the right attitude after my husband and friend rolled in from a weekend south of Ensenada, Mexico, carrying their weight in tuna.
I hesitated at writing this column, as it seems like yesterday I was writing on this same subject.
I broke out my white pants last week, and not a moment before the dawn of Memorial Day. Then I laughed at myself, because, I suspect, I am the only person for several states around even aware of that passé, old-money dress code.
It is truly coming. Not the end of days. Not the big one. Not a sharknado. Yesterday we spent two hours with my daughter’s wedding planner. I am officially, and inescapably, the mother of the bride now.
It turns out one can be furious and grim, while simultaneously being jubilant. Yes, of course it has to do with a computer and a “help” line.
So how was my son’s wedding weekend in Philadelphia? Why, thanks for asking. It was perfect. I feared all the predictable disasters. I was gloriously wrong.
As the years pass by and I look back on the first five years of my children’s lives, I suppose my memories will soften, but if I were asked right now to sum up life with toddlers in one word, that word would be “sticky.”
After being one of her fans over the years, I was shocked to read several bitter and sullen quotes from the longtime editor of Cosmopolitan magazine, Helen Gurley Brown. It seems the immutable laws of life and time had finally stolen her endless energy and sex appeal, or at least she thought so, and she […]
It was a pretty tough day, almost 20 years ago, as we returned from having our 6-week-old, all-gray, cute-as-a-button dwarf bunny put to sleep. The experience not only made me profoundly sad, it also exposed me as a fraud. I don’t think I ever regained my tough-guy status with my kids.