Those of you who are regular readers of this blog know I won't be nominated for Mother of the Year anytime soon.
Now that the crazy storms have passed, this weekend's weather forecast is for bright blue skies and warm temperatures.
Well, we've finally made it. We've dragged the girl, kicking and screaming, to the end of the school year.
The Internet is a wonderful thing.
OK, OK. I'll admit it. I bought a Powerball ticket last week.
I did not win.
I've been complaining a lot lately, so let me pause in my grumpiness to appreciate what a beautiful spring we've had lately. Sure it was cold on Mother's Day, but look at the flowers.
Sometimes, parenting is not all fun and games. Sometime, frankly, it's a pain in the tuckus.
I'm what's known as a wanna-be clean freak. That is, my desires to have a clean, orderly home and workplace are derailed by my rank ineptitude and laziness.
I don't know how you put words to the horror of what happened in Boston on Monday. A wide-eyed 8-year-old boy killed, his mother and sister maimed.
My son Max announced to me the other night that he'd prefer to be called "Jason." This is because "Jason" is smart and strong and brave, and my son does not feel that "Max" reflects these character