“Mom! Can you help me?!” I hear that phrase throughout the day, invariably bellowed from some other room in the house while I’m trying to cook, clean, answer emails, put away groceries, fold laundry, take a shower, write my column, or watch a DVRed episode of The Bachelorette while savoring an afternoon cup of microwaved…
9/11
Attack of the Killer Teens
This week, my youngest child turned thirteen, making me the mother of three teenagers. For those readers who have raised (i.e., survived) teenagers, I could end my column here. There’s no need for lengthy anecdotes. Upon reading my first sentence, other parents of teens most likely heaved a collective groan, and instantly understood the prickly…
Over the river, and off the Beltway
“Grams, could we make brownies?” my daughter asks, already knowing the answer. “Is the Pope a Catholic?” replies my husband’s mother, smiling up at Anna, who has at least a half a foot on her now. Short but feisty. Born of Irish heritage. Humbly brought up in Ho-Ho-Kus, New Jersey. Married fifty-three years to a…
My sailor won’t batten down the hatches!
Ahoy, fellow Milspouses! Are you tethered to a soldier who doesn’t know how to hang a ceiling fan? Does your airman plead ignorance when it’s time to program the remote? Are you anchored to a sailor who can’t assemble the baby’s crib? Does your marine call the plumber when the faucet leaks? If you answered,…
What I believe about Hell and hand baskets