For some unexplained reason, it's always the other end of the table that's wild and raucous, with screaming laughter and a fella who plays 'Holiday for Strings' on water glasses.

Never loan your car to anyone to whom you've given birth.

Who in their infinite wisdom decreed that Little League uniforms be white? Certainly not a mother.

I firmly believe kids don't want your understanding. They want your trust, your compassion, your blinding love and your car keys, but you try to understand them and you're in big trouble.

There would have been more 'I love you's' and more, 'I'm sorry's'.

If Life is a Bowl of Cherries, What Am I Doing in the Pits?

I see children as kites. You spend a lifetime trying to get them off the ground. You run with them until you're both breathless. They crash . . . you add a longer tail . . . you patch and comfort, adjust and teach. You watch them lifted by the wind and assure them that someday they'll fly.