A mini review of the Talkatoo:Earlier in the school year, I sent my son a note in his lunchbox. “I love you!” He came home and admonished me for sending him such an “embarrassing” message. But at the same time he then commented that maybe I could send him with something a little cooler next time.He’s […]
I am sitting outside a coffee shop when I see a cute girl standing at the register. She’s in her mid-twenties, with shiny hair and a cute body. She looks so thin to me (but even the Pillsbury Dough Boy looks like he’s lost weight to me these days.) I hate her.
Many moons ago, when I was in culinary school, I made an enormous, intricately detailed gingerbread house. It was a replica of my parents home (Spanish cookie tiles, candied iron gate, and marzipan dog included). It took me weeks, and I'm proud to say landed me a spot on Good Morning America!
I’m a bad mom. I admit it. I don’t enjoy playing board games with my kids. One more lap around “Parcheesi” or another clink of a plastic cube falling in “Don’t Break the Ice” is enough to drive me to tears. But, as mothers, we are never allowed to admit this, are we?