No self-respecting mother would run out of intimidations on the eve of a major holiday.

I originate from a family where sauce is viewed as a refreshment.

I became hysterical and frightened and begged for sedation. And that was just the first prenatal visit.

I was too old for a paper route, too young for Social Security and too tired for an affair.

A friend doesn't go on a diet because you are fat.

A friend doesn't go on a diet because you are fat. A friend never defends a husband who gets his wife an electric skillet for her birthday. A friend will tell you she saw your old boyfriend -- and he's a priest.

Mothers are not the nameless, faceless stereotypes who appear once a year on a greeting card with their virtues set to prose, but women who have been dealt a hand for life and play each card one at a time the best way they know how. No mother is all good or all bad, all laughing or all serious, all loving or all angry. Ambivalence rushes through their veins.