by Julie Donner Andersen
Being the maaahvelous parent I am (take it from me, because my kids will lie), I absorb all the literature I can get my hands on which have anything to do with parental improvement. Recently, I read that going on individual “dates” once a month with each of your kids will increase your intimate parent/child bond. […]
by Kristi Rodstrom
Okay, I will oblige you….if these are my golden years, then mine are more the color of rust-y.
I am a midlife mother. My children are nine and five years old. I am also a single mom, a professional, a daughter, an advocate for my children and, now, add to that list…someone who dates. Really?! […]
by Cyma Shapiro
I’ve been blessed with great genes and a presence which often appears years younger than I really am.
I’ve also been blessed with a daughter (like so many others) whose mouth regurgitates and replays recently heard tidbits. Anywhere. Everywhere. Anytime. All-the-time.
With this in mind, I’ve chosen not to tell her my chronological age. Not yet. […]
by Linda K. Wertheimer
“Click, clack,” I read, then paused. “Moo,” Simon shouted as he cuddled in my lap in a chair at Starbucks.
A man walked up and smiled. “Your grandson is so adorable,” he said.
I resisted the urge to glower. This man after all was paying Simon a compliment. I smiled back, then corrected the error as my 3-year-old son sucked his thumb and held onto my ear. “He’s not my grandson. I’m his mother.” […]
by Julie Donner Andersen
I don’t care who invented it. Perhaps some greedy florist or greeting card company, but it’s the only day of the year in which moms are feted, honored, gifted, and showered with appreciation for their roles as birth-givers, boo-boo kissers, vomit cleaner-uppers, laundry pile attackers, and vacuum cleaner rodeo clowns. […]
by Julie Donner Andersen
Another secret to surviving marriage in midlife is to share a hobby together, say the experts. It will renew your bond, and give you something to talk about over dinner besides the war in the Middle East or the irony of how your youngest kid resembles the mailman, they advise. […]
by Cyma Shapiro
Just call me M&M or P. Doody. I’m the next Yo’ Ma-Ma-Donna, Lady Cerebellum, or Ice-Cream.
Erykah Fru-Fru,* Afro Queen, Knee-Knee, Chardonnay Pleaze, Unleash My Keys, Ja Skool, Lil’ Sin, Sit-on-This, Jelly, Tina Tuna, Clean MiTeetha. […]
by Andrea Lynn
It is the era of the Bad Mother confessional. Proud recounting of the slacker things we do as moms, the ways in which we defiantly refuse to compete for the Mother of the Year award. Everywhere one turns, it seems, mothers are unashamedly sharing the ways at which they don’t quite meet the needs of their children. […]
by Julie Donner Andersen
At the moment, I am wearing a pair of stretchy black stirrup pants. One of the elastic bands under my foot has just snapped and now flaps behind the heel of my shoe. There’s a hole the size of a quarter in the crotch, making it impossible for me to sit Indian style on any given floor (like you really believed this middle-aged, flexibility-of-steel mommy could sit in such a way?). […]
by Julie Donner Anderson
Women buy more books than men, which might explain why Dr. John Grey’s series of Mars/Venus books are bestsellers. Most women are clueless in regard to the male of the species, especially their never-ending failure in the romance department. Women will go to the ends of the earth (or to a bookstore, incognito) in search of the answer to the age-old question: When it comes to gifts, why is my husband such a klutz? Such a question is never asked aloud, however. It would make us women appear ungrateful for the smallest gestures our men attempt, but let’s face it: It’s hard to fake a smile when you get a bowling ball for your birthday. […]