Who me? When did I become that Mom? Surely, they have me confused with someone else. Yet, lately, I'm forbidden to: a) Say hello to my daughters' friends in front of said daughters b) Speak in public above a whisper c) Sing anywhere other than the shower d) Show affection towards any member of my family (including my husband) outside of our home. The list goes on. I know it's "age-appropriate" for them to act like this...it's normal tween behavior...healthy to separate...blah

As a 12-year-old growing up in NYC in the 1980’s, one might assume I was exposed to a lot of things that were not exactly age-appropriate. That would be correct. There were prostitutes on my corner; I smoked Marijuana with my step-father on the roof of our building and I was already spending weekend nights at clubs like The Limelight and The Tunnel. Yet, when it came to boys, I had very, very little experience. This was because, or at least I believed it was because, I was f

It's true. I'm a F*CKing cliche. A mom in her forties with some time on her hands and a desire to fulfill her lifelong dream of becoming a writer. I'm not entirely sure what I'm doing. Literally, this is my first time (actually, second, but that's for another post) launching a blog. Also, figuratively, as in I'm still not sure what I want to be when I grow up. Which is adorable when you're twenty-five, but when you're forty-something, it's both stressful and pathetic. I plan