If you are getting ready to go out of town to a conference and will be in three different hotel rooms over a course of three nights and you’re an anxiety-ridden-worrier-insomniac who is freaking out about packing and bed bugs and making lists of instructions for home, make sure that the following happens in the two weeks before you leave…

1. Your mom moves…again.

2. You paint the interior of your mom’s new house.

3. Your mom has surgery.

4. You schedule surgery for yourself.

5. Your dog grows some weird lump on her chest and it keeps getting bigger by the day.

6. Your daughter goes to camp for a week.

7. Your best friend’s grandmother dies (not that you actually do anything for her, like make her family dinner or send a card.)

8. Your son starts behavior therapy.

9. Your son gets what you think is a urinary tract infection, but after a doctor visit and a pee sample you find out it’s a too-much-soap-in-his-bath-infection, but he gets a prescription for antibiotics anyway, because he’s that kind of kid.

10. You get chosen to have your writing honored at a gala reception.

11. You struggle to find something to wear to said reception.

12. You make sure to get your Ambien refilled.

13. You still don’t sleep.

Follow

Email

My eleven year old daughter is leaving today for a week at camp. Oh, sorry. My eleven-and-a-half year old daughter, because if you don’t add the ‘half’ then you will get an eye roll. And, sometimes, a hair flip.

I went to this same camp in the sixth grade and had so much fun that, as the school bus pulled away from the cabins on the last day, I looked out the back window and cried as the lyrics to Dan Fogelberg’s “Longer” danced in my head. The whole scene was like a bad, after-school special.

I know my daughter is going to have a great time. She is going to make new friends, have experiences she will remember forever and, so help me, none of those experiences had better include boys or someone is going to get hurt.

But, knowing she is going to have a fabulous week doesn’t mean I’m going to miss her any less. She has been to overnight camp before, but never for a week. Sure, there will be less arguing and we won’t run out of milk as quickly, but not kissing her forehead before she goes to bed each night is kind of going to make my heart hurt.

Of course, I knew she would feel the same way. Which was almost evident when I asked, “Are you going to miss us?”

And she replied, “Nope.”

Follow

Email

The kids and I went to pick up a pizza earlier this evening and as we waited in the crowded counter area, I looked down to see my son vigorously rubbing his nose.

I had seen this before. This was the booger rub.

I looked around for a napkin, but there were none in sight. I didn’t want to be standing among a group of people, who were picking up their dinner, and see a green glob on my son’s knuckle, so I nudged him and quietly requested, “Hey buddy, why don’t you wait until we’re in the car to do that?”

And, not realizing that this was something he should do with a bit of modesty, he loudly replied, “You mean I should wait until we get in the car to pick my nose?”

Yeah, that’s right…and we’re going to pass on those green peppers.

Follow

Email

A couple of days ago, I sat down with my husband and kids to watch an Oprah rerun featuring Dr. Oz. He was discussing the diabetes epidemic in America.

I wanted my 11 year old daughter to see the show, because she loves food that is horrible for her. If I let allowed it, she would eat doughnuts for breakfast, bologna on white bread for lunch and chicken nuggets for dinner. With extra dipping sauce.

I don’t let her. I buy plenty of fruits and vegetables, whole wheat bread and pasta and she is not allowed to drink soda unless it’s a special occasion or if she sneaks one at a friend’s house. Don’t think you’re fooling me, girl. She is in the 50th percentile for height and weight. She is healthy. For now.

I wanted her to see that, given the opportunity, she needs to make her own good decisions about nutrition. I don’t want her to end up like me. I can’t even keep sweets in the house because I have no self-control. If only I was as obsessed with laundry as I am with sugar. No one would ever run out of underwear.

My eight year old son loves all food. My mom can’t believe it. Really, it’s like a grandparents dream come true. He never asks what’s for dinner, he just sits down and starts eating everything on his plate. He weighs 42 pounds, so I’m pretty sure he’s just trying to bulk up.

My boy craves pine-nut hummus and red peppers. He eats blueberries and raw veggies like they’re going to stop harvesting them. Given his congenital heart disease, this is a good thing.

At the risk of losing readers who are also PETA members, I will admit that I have long said that I would be a vegetarian if someone else did all the food prep. All that washing and cutting…ugh.

Although I think I could survive without meat, you can’t deny that it is awfully easy to make chicken. Boiled chicken, grilled chicken, baked chicken, rotisserie chicken hot and ready for consumption on the end-cap of my local grocery store…

I don’t think my son would complain if I put him on a vegetarian diet either. Of course, he enjoys chocolate too. He’s a lot like his mother.

Which can only mean one thing.

Someday, he is really going to like beer.

Follow

Email