You hear a lot of dialogue on the death of the American family. Families aren't dying. They're merging into big conglomerates.

I lost everything in the post-natal depression.

Good kids are like sunsets. We take them for granted.

My mother phones daily to ask, "Did you just try to reach me?" When I reply no, she adds, "So, if you're not too busy, call me while I'm still alive," . . . and hangs up.

It is not until you become a mother that your judgment slowly turns to compassion and understanding.

A small waist makes you tire easily.

The grass is always greener over the septic tank.