I knew this week was going to be a crazy one.
I'm working on a new project or two. The first quarter of school is coming to a close for my kids.
And I was driving down to Miami with my daughter to go to a concert. One that she was really excited for. The Cud Life...
I’ve been thinking a lot about that post I wrote last week.
Don’t Stare At My Daughter.
I got a lot of feedback on it. Mostly women with daughters who were feeling the same way that I did.
Disgusted. Concerned. And powerless.
I went to the mall yesterday with my two kids. My giant 16 year-old son and his sister, my petite 14 year-old daughter.
We had just walked through the doors, and were on our way to one of those smelly teen emporiums to return a shirt, when I noticed these two men staring at us. ...
My husband celebrated his 50th birthday last week.
On Thursday night, I threw him a surprise happy hour at one of our favorite local bars. People from all different parts of his life just kept walking through the doors.
Unexpectedly. And he felt tremendously loved.
Which is how I wanted him to feel.
Today is my husband’s 50th birthday.
Fifty is kind of old. I mean, for a husband of mine to be.
I’m only 47. His trophy wife.
I fell in love with you last Friday night in Miami.
But don't worry. It's not what you may think. I'm not a stalker. And I'm not (too) crazy.
I'm just a 47 year-old (happily married) mother of a teenage daughter.