Like most people, we’ve had the same tooth fairy since my children first started losing their teeth several years ago. When I was a kid, I used to think that there was just one tooth fairy who serviced the entire tooth-losing population of the world.

I’m a sucker for milestones. The last day of preschool, the first day of kindergarten, graduations of any sort, weddings, silver and gold anniversaries. Play me the first few bars of the graduation march and I’m instantly choked up. Show me a video of a father-daughter dance at a wedding and my mascara

In their quest to discover the truth about where my heart really lies, my children are sneaky.

I had lunch with a few of my girlfriends yesterday, and after we spent an hour discussing summer plans, Fifty Shades of Grey (haven’t read it yet, but as soon as I do, I’m going to blog about it, believe me), and how we all need to have our drooping eyelids fixed, one of my friends pointed out how amazing it was that we hadn’t talked abo

A friend of mine recently pointed me towards a blog that’s been making some waves in the mommy-blog world. It’s called hisgiantmistake.com, and it chronicles the divorce of a woman named Cleo Everest (not her real name) as it happens.

When a teenager, I always swore to myself that I would never be dependent on a man. I was going to have my own, successful career, I would have my own, separate bank account, and if my husband and I had shared finances, I would know everything about them down to the penny.

I have to admit that it was kind of strange for me when my seven year-old asked me if I wanted to see his wife. Her name, he told me, is Lucy, and he was saving up his money to buy her a bed.

Every single day, my seven year-old son gets off the bus with both of his shoes untied, laces dragging on the ground, and his feet coming out of his sneakers with every step. Every single day I ask him how long he’s been walking around like that, and every single day I am met with a silent shrug, which I take to mean, somewhere aro

I read an article in the New York Times last week that completely freaked me out; it was about new parents who are taking non-toxicity to the extreme by purging their households of anything with dangerous chemicals in it.

You may remember that a few months ago I wrote about how my babysitter broke up with me via text message. I thought I was finished with teenagers and their poor tech etiquette, but apparently, this is the new world we live in and unless somebody does something, I’m destined - we’re all destined - to be plagued by it forever.