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
My kids came up with a great new idea you should try. It doesn't have a name, but it's proved so popular that now my son won't go to bed until we do it.
My husband had to go out of town for three days for a business trip this week. It's the first time he's been away for more than one night in 10 years of having kids.
The recent spate of killings and terror going on in Fort Wayne is disturbing on several levels.
My children are the source of my greatest joys and my darkest despairs. Last week it was Max's storming tantrums. This morning, he sang his own made-up lullabies while riding in the car to pre-K.
Wow — I never thought I'd get such a great response to last week's blog about my tantrum child.
My once-loving son has turned into the Incredible Hulk. For the past couple of months. he freaks out, screaming, hitting, kicking — even spitting.