The Thing That Put This Soccer Mom In Her Place
I’ve been reveling in some bragging rights about my daughter Bridget’s prowess as a soccer goalie. She made the All-Star team this year and I
I’ve been reveling in some bragging rights about my daughter Bridget’s prowess as a soccer goalie. She made the All-Star team this year and I
In bed I’m soft. Demure. Enticing as Brigitte Bardot in And God Created Woman, with doe-like come-hither glances and marzipan hair. I’m as tremulous as
It’s the moment every woman dreads. You’re lying flat on your back, your feet in stirrups and a doctor lady with cold fingers kneads your
Me to Bridget (aged 9) when I fail as a mother: Honey, I’m sorry I lost it with daddy in front of you today.
I drink wine. Every day. Usually two glasses and lately it’s red. Henry eats bread. Every day. Sometimes at 2 in the morning. And lately
My first lover was a USC football player with 0% body fat. He looked like this: You’d think we would have had hot sex. And
If you read my blog you know I’m capable of catastrophic Irish morbidity. Case in point. When my daughters strike an aloof attitude toward me
Leaving Paris to go home and: 1. Set up mammogram. 2. Set up doctor appointment to remove child’s warts. 3. Figure out Obama Care. 4. Pick up cats from kennel 5. Mainline crack.
Welcome to my Traveling With Kids In Paris series: This year our vacation has been to Paris over the kids’ winter break. Here are my
Shhh. I’m hiding in an internet cafe on Rue Thouin across the street from the apartment we’re renting on the Left Bank in the Latin
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