It is my theory you can't get rid of fat. All you can do is move it around, like furniture.

When you leave them in the morning, they stick their nose in the door crack and stand there like a portrait until you turn the key eight hours later.

For years, my husband and I have advocated separate vacations. But the kids keep finding us.

Let me put it this way. According to my girth, I should be a ninety-foot redwood.

I convinced him his luggage had gone to that big Bermuda Triangle in the sky.

Most mothers entering the labor market outside the home are naive. They stagger home each evening, holding mail in their teeth, the cleaning over their arm, a lamb chop defrosting under each armpit, balancing two gallons of frozen milk between their knees, and expect one of the kids to get the door.

Any mother with half a skull knows that when Daddy's little boy becomes Mommy's little boy, the kid is so wet he's treading water.