I finished my scientific seven-minute workout as the clock hit 7 a.m. While I sipped on my home-made fruit, spinach and protein powder smoothie, I tri...

'How is Sophie?' a neighbor asked the other day, inquiring about our endearing Yellow Lab. Sophie, with her lively personality and satanic eyes (she had Horner's syndrome), was an important member of our family for a long time. We loved her. We lost her. And now life is pretty awesome.

'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.

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.'

We are writing this letter to assure you that we are just fine. But we don't get to give you advice 24/7 now, so we hope you will read this, memorize it and refer to it often as the years go by, as it can serve as your guide to avoid Empty Nest Syndrome when your own children are grown.

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

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.

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.

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.

"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."

Yawn. Are the Oscars this week? I don't hate the Oscars. The word hate evokes a passion that I just can't seem to muster -- I'm just bored.

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.

What I have not accepted is that not only do I not look the "look," I no longer talk the "talk." I am an outsider, a foreigner who does not understand or use the language of the young, hip and beautiful.

Friends whom we had lost touch with for years invited us to an intimate dinner party in their beautiful new home last summer. Dinner was served buffet-style -- the chicken and beef grilled to perfection. But what was that over there at the end of the buffet? Yellow Jell-O? 

I'm not stupid. I graduated college, went to law school and passed the bar (the first time). I'm not 'out of it' as far as technology goes. I read on my iPad, I post to Facebook and I tweet. So why is it that I cannot operate our TV? 

For about a year now, I have been searching for a new memory tool. Something that would be relentless until my task was completed. In January, 2012, the "Today" show reported that mental capacity starts to diminish at the average age of 45. I wrote that down, and I'm glad I did.

I'm glad the world did not end so I could enjoy a few days of Forced Family Fun with some pretty awesome adults.

Despite the skepticism from the 'real' adults in the family, after watching the 'End of the World' documentary, we made a family pact. Wherever we were, whatever we were doing, whatever our plans, on 12/21/12 we would be together in a place that meant something to all of us.

In this age of green giving, when many of us have accumulated way too much stuff, re-gifting seems to have become a bit more socially acceptable. Giving away things that we know we will never use -- and that someone else would like -- that's admirable, right?

As an adult, I am not what you would call a champion shopper. I am the friend that paid full price for the sweater at Lord and Taylor when you bought it for half price at Marshalls. I don't know "whose" shoes I am wearing, and I never buy three dresses with the intention of returning two of them (though I have been known to give two away years later with the tags still intact.)

The refrigerator is empty again, save for a few yogurts, a plastic container of homemade cranberry sauce (it lasts forever) and a half-dozen cans of Diet Coke. The kids are gone, and I am feeling the full weight of the holiday. I am ready for my post-Thanksgiving diet.

My organic-vegan-pure food-college-kid has never had a Ho Ho or a Ding Dong. She doesn't understand the magic of a naturally and artificially-flavored Hostess fruit pie.