I have tried acupuncture, over the counter orthotics to support my arch, and heel wedges from CVS to create lift in my sneaker. I have tried to increase blood flow to my heel to ease the constant ache -- massaging my foot shamelessly on airplanes and in restaurants.

Not only did Jazz become the centerpiece of our life, but she is now the centerpiece on our kitchen table. I discovered an amazing ceramicist who paints dog portraits on all kinds bowls and plates.

What card actually captures the relationship I have with my mom? After all these years, I still haven't found the right one.

After my second son was born, had there been a parenting course about how to raise boys, I would have signed on. I was out of my comfort zone.

'Did I ever tell you I almost died in this pond, Mom?' my son asked as we were having a lovely walk in the woods near my home. It is fun to shock a parent who believes their kid is close to perfect. I have shocked my own mother of course about the things I did when I was young -- and just like her, it turns out I was sometimes clueless.

Last week's news is this week's reality. I can't bring myself to write about anything except what happened this past week in Boston -- the explosions and their devastation on Boylston Street at the finish line of our cherished Boston Marathon on April 15, and the helicopter hovering over our condo, whirring all day long just last Friday, April 19 -- until Suspect #2 was captured.

I believe Hair Matters. A lot. No matter what our ethnicity, who we are, what we do, it defines us.

'Seriously, Mom? What is wrong with people over 50?' my son asked me the other day. 'Everyone over 50 feels the need to explain how to get somewhere. It's annoying.'

Two years ago, same time of year, I was making behavior-shifting pacts with myself. I know it was this time of  year because it was a few weeks before I was to run the Boston Marathon and I was not ready despite my training. Frankly I would never be ready.

A brief survey of my 50-something friends (at least the ones in the northeast region of the country) all agreed. They hated to be called 'Ma'am.' They thought it was synonymous with 'old,' or 'married.' Many were offended.

I loved watching Nana put on her face. Not one item was wasted. Lipsticks worn down to the metal were fair game as she dipped her lip-brush into the cylinder and extracted a full application working first the outline of the lips then filling in the rest.

I'm not just worried about how painful it will be.

When we're not talking about getting in shape, sex, our kids, our homes, our skin/hair or our finances and health -- we're probably talking about sleep. One thing we can all agree on is, there's no one solution to ensuring a good night's sleep that works for everyone.

I brought back an extra four pounds from my trip to Florence visiting my daughter who is doing a semester there, as well as some fantastic truffle oil. But it turns out there was a legitimate reason for my complete lack of discipline. It was the jet lag.

So there I was this morning, with my girls on our eight-miler talking expiration dates on lipsticks, mascaras and ourselves. It was clear -- the cosmetics are an easy fix, throw them out and replenish. But for us, that's a tougher topic.

Can you tweet? Do you Stumble Upon? Have you Reddit? I know, I know. It was so much easier for our parents back in the day, right? #Itsuckstogetold.

I was so in love with my college roommate that when my boyfriend called to see if I would go out on Friday night, I would cover the receiver and whisper to her, 'Did you want to see that movie at the Biograph with me?' If she said yes, I'd tell him I was busy. She was my #1.

My friend Tammy had troubles, but it took me awhile to figure it out. She was a redhead who smoked menthols, loved music, dancing and beer. Her father was a judge, a real one, but she herself was totally non-judgmental.

For many of us at midlife -- when our kids start to leave our nest -- we begin our own personal journeys. Our world, those of us born in the mid-1950s to early 1960s, is full of stories of women who had careers out of college. Careers that would take them into the early child-rearing years until they faced the choice of 50-hour work weeks, or staying at home to raise their kids.

"She's dead," my grandmother tells me with a clear look of disdain -- like someone should have seen to it that she was disposed of long ago. "Just no one has told her so."

Let's talk about how we are going to live in the future. I don't want to be relocated to a place where I have no friends and where I don't know anyone. Maybe we should start putting a plan together now.

So Hillary, this week, as we celebrate those we love, my wish is that you uncork the bubbly, have some chocolate, hug that fabulous husband of yours and feel the love you have earned from your fans.

LED, or the Law of Equivalent Drinking, as Mike explained it one night over a round of martinis with friends, provides that everyone -- married or not -- gets along best with people who drink roughly the same amount.

When my dad sees me, he gives me a big smile through chocolate-stained dentures. He's just finishing a cookie. There are crumbs on his lap and on the floor surrounding his wheelchair. His fingers are speckled with chocolate. He is thoroughly enjoying that cookie, and the mess doesn't bother him.

Valentine's Day comes with a boatload of expectations, but no built-in rituals. And as we all know, expectations can lead to disappointment, and no one wants to be disappointed on Valentine's Day. So, to make this Valentine's Day the best possible, I designed a strategy to embrace it.