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I write a lot of blog pieces and Facebook posts about my crazy life and unbelievable, but true, adventures.  I post silly questions, risqué jokes, and way too many pop culture references (sorry/not sorry for the jabs Gwynnie ).  Today, with this post, I am scratching much deeper than the surface.  If you don't like to go deep, click here for a fun, but more shallow, read. Thursday night, Kelly Clarkson, American Idol's poster girl turned anti-establishment chanteuse, paid a visit to her alma mater. An older, heavily pregnant Kelly sang her new song, "Piece by Piece".  If you haven't heard it yet, you might want to take a listen or you won't really get what I am about to prattle on about. I have never been a Kelly Clarkson fan, but this song hit me straight in the heart.  My biological father abandoned me when I was a baby.  He abused my mother and neglected me.  I am truly a better person because my  young mother had the cour...

A few years ago, I had a mid-life crisis.  I liken it to surviving a horrific car crash.  I was going about the business of my life, hands on the wheel, cruising along at a moderate speed.  I was so fixated on the road ahead, I missed vital signs alerting me I was headed in the wrong direction.  On auto-pilot, I sped along, oblivious to the imminent crash. On auto-pilot.  That's how I would describe the way I was functioning.  Mindlessly moving forward, propelled more by inertia than a desire to follow a thoughtfully charted course. I shoveled the snow from our driveway, went to my early morning Spin class, got the kids to school, cleaned the house, did the marketing, paid the bills, picked the kids up from school, made dinner, listened to my husband's musings about his work, and fell into bed too exhausted to process my thoughts or feelings about the day.  Some days, I added volunteering or writing to my schedule.  This it...

F ourteen years ago, I had a successful career as a journalist and a busy personal life that included frequent trips abroad. I ran with the bulls in Pamplona, went diving with dolphins in Honduras, scaled the Acropolis in Athens, and surfed the waves off the coast of Spain. When I became pregnant, I traded my power suits and pumps for khakis and loafers. I exchanged my night courses for night feedings. I packed away my suitcases and purchased a diaper bag. Sometimes, late at night, after baths, prayers and two readings of Lily and the Purple Plastic Purse , I found myself longing for my old life. I did not regret giving up my career to stay home with my children, but I did miss the stimulation I got from traveling to foreign countries. Trips to the park and Gymboree were not enough for me. I wanted adult stimulation. Finally, my husband decided I deserved a vacation from motherhood. He sent my mother and me to Paris, where we spent seven glorious days touring museums, monu...

I wanted to be the perfect mom. The mom who sent her children to school in stylish outfits, volunteered at every PTA event, baked homemade oatmeal cookies for after school snacks, and made super-cool Halloween costumes. I wanted to be a McGyver Mom; unruffled under pressure and always prepared, carrying spare band-aids, children’s Tylenol, duct tape, Legos, and an assortment of healthy snacks in my purse. For awhile, I actually thought I was the perfect mom. Okay, maybe not the perfect mom, but close. From the time my squalling, pink, precious bundles were placed in my arms, I made it my number one priority to be the person to tend to their every need, to nurture, educate, mold, and love them. I made the decision early-on to be a full-time, stay-at-home, hands-on mom. When they were toddlers, I took my children to playgroups, sat Indian-style beside them during story time at the local library, and swayed and sang with them in music and motion classes. I read “Goodnight Moon” so ma...