No one ever died from sleeping in an unmade bed. I have known mothers who remake the bed after their children do it because there is wrinkle in the spread or the blanket is on crooked. This is sick.

My kids always perceived the bathroom as a place where you wait it out until all the groceries are unloaded from the car.

Humorists can never start to take themselves seriously. It's literary suicide.

There is a thin line that separates laughter and pain, comedy and tragedy, humor and hurt.

With boys you always know where you stand. Right in the path of a hurricane. It's all there. The fruit flies hovering over their waste can, the hamster trying to escape to cleaner air, the bedrooms decorated in Early Bus Station Restroom.

The woman who says, 'My kids are all speaking to one another and they love us' is a psychopathic liar.

You have to love a nation that celebrates its independence every July 4, not with a parade of guns, tanks, and soldiers who file by the White House in a show of strength and muscle, but with family picnics where kids throw Frisbees, the potato salad gets iffy, and the flies die from happiness. You may think you have overeaten, but it is patriotism.