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.

Marriage has no guarantees. If that's what you're looking for, go live with a car battery.

With all the precautions and risks that accompany sex today, it sounds about as much fun as walking through a minefield.

As a child, my number one best friend was the librarian in my grade school. I actually believed all those books belonged to her.

Family life got better and we got our car back - as soon as we put 'I love Mom' on the license plate.

When mothers talk about the depression of the empty nest, they're not mourning the passing of all those wet towels on the floor, or the music that numbs your teeth, or even the bottle of capless shampoo dribbling down the shower drain. They're upset because they've gone from supervisor of a child's life to a spectator. It's like being the vice president of the United States.

I will never understand children. I never pretended to. I meet mothers all the time who make resolutions to themselves. 'I'm going to ... go out of my way to show them I am interested in them and what they do. I am going to understand my children.' These women end up making rag rugs, using blunt scissors.