Cheers to All the “Bad Moms”

I’m officially a bad mom. I agreed to let my son steer the jumbo-sized, three-seated, boat of a cart at Target, yesterday. It’s so big he can’t see over the front. I guided the basket cheerfully until I realized Brandon had abandoned the helm. I backtracked saying his name as loud as I felt comfortable…

Our Kids Are Counting On Us

I’m pretty accustomed to pouty lips and frowny faces. I have a two-year-old. I’m not accustomed to witnessing a candidate, running for the highest office in our great country, exhibit such childish behavior. I won’t degrade my toddler any further. Donald Trump represents everything I’m trying to teach my son and daughter not to be….

Build Your Best Life Through Vulnerability

I’ve put my career above all else. I’ve also stood in the kitchen unable to see my bare feet beyond a pregnant belly. I’m the same woman. The power suit still fits—I simply started making different choices. Those choices, as cold as bricks, continue to build the life I love. There’s inherent vulnerability in choice. Too…

Great Confrontations

I thought the days of getting kicked out of just about anywhere ended when I left TV news. Tracking down some funeral home owner accused of mismanaging funds, or some district attorney charged with taking bribes is no longer part of the routine (not that I ever liked confrontation). My new routine involves play dates,…

The Phrase I’m Banishing From Our Home

My toddler slides a guitar strap around his neck. His fubsy fingers strum a choppy tune as I smile from the couch. Maybe he’ll become a musician and escort his dear old mom to the Grammys. “Bradley Cooper took his to the Oscars,” I’ll joke. A funny face can trigger an equally audacious thought about…

Why I’m Not Ready For Mom’s Night Out

I stepped into the Magic Time Machine without a diaper bag. A woman dressed as Disney’s Jasmine handed me a menu. Teal harem paints framed a tonned porcelain tummy. She must not have kids, I thought. Marks formed over two pregnancies now wind around my belly like a mountainside eroded by rain. My middrift wasn’t…

Pride, Ego and the Plastic Pineapple

I sat on a park bench, one sweet Saturday afternoon, swapping humble boasts— bonding over motherhood. The woman next to me cooed at my baby and praised my toddler’s fearlessness on the slide. My pride beamed like October sunshine until my son shoved a little girl to the ground. The little girl’s mom shouted “No!…

A Message for the Mamarazzi

My dad shoved a sandwich bag in my direction. I opened my hand unimpressed. What is this? I peered through plastic to find treasures from the past—photographs bearing the unmistakable filter of the 1980’s. The pictures unlocked traces of the everyday. It was all there (joyful, silly, happy, moody moments and forgettable frowns). Dates written…

New Year, Big Questions

I’ve started writing down big questions ahead of 2016. It’s my new year’s resolution. I’m ready for a year of reflection and a reprieve from a world of fast answers (how to calm a crying baby, how to toast bread properly, how to be a California girl living in Texas). Pinterest. Facebook. It’s overwhelming. I want…

Mindful Breathing Hack for Angry Moms

Life with a toddler is like riding on a revolving see-saw all day long. UP. DOWN. ALL. AROUND. My head spins trying to keep it together. The other day my son wildly pecked and pawed at my laptop keyboard. “He’s literally pushing my buttons,” I told my husband later. The power struggle is real my…

Here’s to Harvesting Gratitude All Year

Thanksgiving once loomed very low on my favorite holiday list. I’m not partial to yams or gravy and (as embarrassing as it is to admit) I wasn’t always very grateful. Growing up, the women in our family rushed around fretting over trimmings while barking at my cousins and me for cluttering the kitchen. Everyone on…

26 Questions to Ask Yourself When Life Gets Hard

I sighed deeply. Why is everything so hard? Well, for starters my two-month old daughter and I spent two days in the hospital after a terrifying mid-night choking spell. My absence hurt my two-year-old son’s feelings (feelings, already so very bruised and banged from the arrival of his sister). As I try to make it…