While it's true the term "motherhood" is a simple collection of ten letters, specifically arranged for ease of pronunciation, it is suggestive of so much more. In sum, I regard it as a wholly intangible, behemoth-like affair that effectively upended all that I thought I knew about life as a...

As love affairs with cell phones go, the one I am about to describe is epic. Not that I'm the only person ever to become enamored with his or her smartphone -- because I'm not. Plenty of idiots like me cling to...

In the dark of predawn I lay in bed, tucked snugly beneath my downy comforter, sleet pinging against the window panes in soft yet fitful waves. Against all odds associated with parenthood, no one under the age of 8 burst into the room to announce that the sky was falling....

It's possible that I might be slightly smitten with jingle bells -- more specifically, with the completely delicious and decidedly hypnotic sound they emit. A feast for the ears. A balm for the soul. A window into the past for people like me, who've harvested decades-old memories that involve horses,...

The unthinkable has happened. I've become one of those women who puts stick figure people on her car. You know -- to broadcast procreative talents in a manner that even cavemen could readily grasp (or perhaps mock, because said portrayal is so embarrassingly unoriginal, not to mention self-absorbed).

We make pot pie at our house each Thanksgiving -- a savory Pennsylvania Dutch meal that features the most perfect blend of onions, potatoes, thick squares of doughy goodness and meaty strands of chicken. Only we use turkey on this festive occasion. Six-and-a-half pounds of succulent dark meat to be...

As I piece this column together on the cusp of Election Day, the fate of our presidential race has yet to be decided. Granted, over the past several weeks, multitudes of early votes have been cast, absentee ballots from near and far have been duly harvested and an embarrassment of...

"If wishes were horses, then beggars would ride." I remember well hearing that expression as a child, but I never fully understood the particulars of its meaning. It was a curious phrase, for certain, leading me to assume that it had something to do with wishing for stuff that I...

Sunday afternoons are my respite in this harried place. The sanity cocktail from which I draw sweet sustenance. That said, I lounge around doing as little as humanly possible, embracing my inner sloth. Old movies and blanket forts rule the day. That is not to say I haven't been inspired...

I've often thought that the art of raising children is a lot like carving a pumpkin. In both instances, I brought home a rotund little bundle of neediness, fumbling and stumbling over myself just to get it out of the car and safely...

Putting a child to bed at a reasonable hour has never been my forte. Okay, it's at the bottom of the list, hovering slightly above ice sculpting and changing a flat tire. Admittedly, I am pitiful when it comes to the bedtime routine thing. Clearly, it represents for me yet...

I am a poster child for parenting ineptitude. And at no time does it become more painfully apparent than during the first few weeks of school, when I look back over the vast expanse of the summer and realize that I've mismanaged a good deal of it. In spite of...

I don't remember my summers as a kid being the least bit hectic, never mind structured. As I recall, summer was an exercise in deliverance and spontaneity -- an intoxicating river of endless days and weeks, blurred at the edges, verdant at its core, punctuated by dozens upon dozens of...

Five years ago, my kids swam like stones. Stones both dense and unwieldy in nature. Stones destined for the bottoms of lakes, ponds and pools. And yet, there was an uncanny barnacle-ness about them. Said buoyancy-challenged individuals were largely comfortable in swimming pools, so long as my husband and I...

Fathers come in all shapes and sizes, temperaments and talents. On the whole, I'd daresay they are a thankless lot -- often underappreciated, largely misunderstood -- an entire populace of men rarely acknowledged for the many and varied ways in which they contribute as parents....

My children have a routine when they leave the house each school day. It's a fairly logical succession of events that usually culminates with a mad dash to the bus stop, backpacks and jackets flapping as they run, their unruly manes trailing behind them. Of all the memories of motherhood...

I made a solemn vow not to tread anywhere near the Hilary Rosen/Ann Romney brouhaha that erupted recently, thrusting the infamous Mommy Wars to the fore yet again. But I simply couldn't resist. Not because I have a compelling desire to foist my views upon anyone...

I'm not especially sure that I was meant for mothering and all its rigors and responsibilities and those insufferable shades of gray. Simply put, I'm just not wired for it. I much preferred being able to place chunks of my life into neat...

I've always loved springtime -- especially the warm embrace of April. Of all the seasons, I'm inclined to say that it is my favorite. Partly because baseball is back and the school year is drawing its last breath, but mostly because it is an era awash with newness. Almost indescribably...

There are but two kinds of people in this world: those who brazenly read the endings of books before the endings are actually reached and those who would never dream of a crime so heinous. I myself fall with the masses into the latter category, always mindful of the tenets...