Usually when we talk about body image issues, we’re talking about girls. But did you know that more than one million boys and men struggle with eating disorders? More than 80% of 10-year-olds are afraid of being fat.  More than 10% of middle school boys have used steroids. These are boys who don’t understand why they should brush their teeth every night; how can they possibly understand the repercussions of starving or using steroids?

Studies today suggest that body image is deeply affected by the media – television shows and movies that show buff, brawny young men and the sexy, slim women who love them.  And in fact, my own son – who at 15 is tall and thin – can often be found facing the mirror sideways, and sighing over the fact that his stomach is not completely flat. What he sees is the 10-year-old version of himself, when his one chin became two and he had to wear uniform pants marked “Husky.” (What marketing genius thought that “Husky” would be a good retail term?) This was the year tha

Plus 6 Tips For A Loving Marriage, from the author of Back on Top:

I went to Carrie Underwood’s wedding today.

Actually, I spent the day hovering in our boat outside the Ritz Carlton Lodge on Lake Oconee, where her wedding took place.  Carrie rented out the entire resort, and no one but her guests was allowed within 100 yards of the pool, restaurant or golf course. Even the nearest coves were closed.  (How can you close a waterway? With a security guard, a big boat, and, I’m supposing, a big payment.)

Now, it’s not as if I’m Carrie’s fan club president, although I do like her songs and she seems incredibly sweet.  But for this small sleepy town in Greensboro, Georgia, wher

For those of us who are divorced with kids, we face a recurring question that sometimes keeps us up at night: Is my child simply going through a normal adolescent stage or is his behavior due to the fact that his dad and I are not together? 

I realize that “normal adolescence” is an oxymoron -- a fantasy created by Disney imagineers or by parents who, as they age, only remember the sweet parts of their children’s childhood.  And I have read numerous books explaining all about the teenage brain, the different stages of growth, the struggle for independence that is often accompanied by defiant behavior. But I can’t help but wonder what affect my divorce – as unusually friendly as it is – has ha

Any of you who have teenaged sons or daughters at home must know what it's like to feel as if you are in your own reality TV show that's a cross between Malcolm in the Middle (remember the voice-raising, hair-pulling, certifiable Mom?) and That 70s Show (where the self-absorbed kids are hilarious and awful at the same time.) 

Seriously, if I had a dollar for every time my son's sarcasm nearly punctured my heart I would be so wealthy that I'd gather up all of you -- my sister-moms -- for a week-long vacay at some tropical island where the pool boys and bartenders all have to be over 25 and sweet – without a single surly bone in their bodies.

The first time my son went to sleepaway camp he was 10 years old. We flew to New York to meet his cousins, who had been going to the same camp for several years and were excited to have their “baby cousin” join them. 

My son was excited, thrilled – and nervous. When he saw his cousins at the airport, hanging out with their “camp” friends, he moved slowly toward them, not wanting to intrude. He needn’t have worried; his cousin Erica swooped in to hug him, and barely let him leave her side.

The next four weeks went by as slowly as clouds move across a summer sky. I received one letter from my son – five sentences, actually – “Camp’s great. I’m great. Food’s fine. Learned to play poker. Love you.”

Twenty-eight days later, I flew back to Newark to retrieve my son. As soon as he got off the bus and saw me in the airport, he ran into my arms and asked if he could have McDonald’s. I laughed and nodded – I had

At a dinner party we were hosting one evening, my ex-husband (who is still one of my best friends) commented during a conversation about work-life balance that, “Women do the real work.”

He wasn’t talking about cooking or cleaning or gardening or sewing -- he was talking about raising children. He believes whether you are a mom who”stays at home” (perhaps the biggest misnomer of parenthood – what mom who raises kids stays home?) or you are a mom who works outside the home as well, that you are doing what is important to the future of the world, and I would add, to the heart and soul of the world. You are raising a child. Or maybe several.

Wow, parenting sure can make me cry sometimes. And I’m not talking about what my son says to me. I’m talking about my own inadvertent stupidity.  That is, what I say or do -- and how long it takes to forgive myself. 

A few days ago, my son was so excited about a hooded sweatshirt he had found online.  He couldn’t wait to show me – and this is not a kid who goes gaga over clothing. But he does goes for unique-looking stuff and he is not one bit afraid to wear what he likes, no matter what others think. (He gets this from his dad!)

I can’t pretend to understand why my son likes a certain song, food or style, so believe me, I did not really get the attraction to a hoodie that doubles as a

To the "Other Women" of Tiger and Jesse: Affairs Are Not Something To Brag About! 

One of the reasons I began writing Back on Top was because as I entered my first year of dating after divorce, I realized I was completely clueless about today’s dating rules. It had been 15 years since I was single and looking. And to be honest, I didn’t even know what I was looking for. 

But that’s no excuse for any of us to go out there with our eyes wide shut.

Yet, that’s just what I was doing -- dating online, going out with friends of friends, dancing into midtown clubs – without a handbook or compass or perhaps most importantly, a first-aid kit. And for someone like me, who had not felt desired in years, I was an open

When Forever Ends

Somewhere between Elin & Tiger and Demi & Bruce

I met my future husband, Jon, in late summer; four months later he asked me to marry him; by September we were married – and had already been in couple’s therapy for eight months. Our problems were complex, but probably not all that unique. There was substance abuse involved, intimacy issues, and my need to try to control the fear. But even in those early years, we thought we would make it. Both of us truly believed we loved each other as much as a marriage would ever need.  (Click here to read the Non-Disney version of our romance).

But after 13 years of marriage (and 14 years of therapy), Jon and I separated. Within two months, on his own accord, my husband checked himself into rehab. My son and I visited, attended meetings, supported his dad the best we knew how, and learned to live w

I had been dating my boyfriend, Jon, for four months when he asked if I would drive from Atlanta to South Florida with him, to attend an anniversary party for his grandparents. This was big – meeting his grandmother would be like meeting the Queen of England. Jon’s Grandma Dorothy was the matriarch of his family, and often ruled it with an unforgiving iron fist. 

But she was no match for a girl in love. Without hesitation, I said yes! After all, my entire family lived in South Florida, and I was just waiting for the perfect time to introduce them to Jon.

Let the Romance Begin

The anniversary party was Saturday night, and everything went beautifully. Jon’s grandparents were gracious and delighted that their grandson was dating a “nice Jewish girl.” We danced, we laughed, we bonded over family stories. To my surprise, my boyfriend showed up at my parents’ home the next morning at the crack of dawn – literally, 6 a.m. With an air of mystery, he told me to grab my flip flops – we were going to the beach.

My 14-year-old son said to me yesterday, “I don’t have any plans for Valentine’s Day.” Smirking to myself, I said, "I'll be around. We can do something together.” 

Have you ever heard the sound of a teenage boy cringing? Really, it can make a sound. It’s quite deafening.

“That’s just gross, Mom,” my son said.  I smiled. Sometimes it’s a lot of fun to gross-out your son; it’s like payback for all those burps and boy-movies we have to put up with.

I remember it like it was yesterday. Or like I had never had a brain cell burn out. I was splashing around in my parents’ pool in Florida and I was telling whoever would listen about the amazing phenomenon of electrolysis. It was 1989 and electrolysis was all the rage.

Now, I don’t come from a particularly hairy family (well, not the girls, anyway). But we all know you don’t have to be covered in fur to feel as if you have an unwanted hair problem. You could simply have half a dozen stubborn blonde hairs on your chin and one very dark one under your neck and that is enough to drive you absolutely crazy – or at least drive you indoors on a beautiful sunny day. So I had decided to do something about it. I had gone to see an electrolysis beautician every week for the past six months, and now I had nothing to show for it. (That’s kind of an electrolysis joke.) I finally, truly had no unwanted hairs on my chin to embarrass me when I least expected it. And that’s what I was telling my family as

It is the day before my 50^th birthday, and I’d be doing okay if everyone didn’t keep calling me to ask if I’m doing okay.

Really, I can’t complain. I have my health, my hair, and all my original teeth. Which, to be honest, is more than I can say for many of the men whose pictures used to show up in my online dating inbox.

But I do have a few things I would like to bring up with God. Or my mother. Wait, she’ll think that’s redundant. First of all, why didn’t anyone ever tell me that raging hormones strike twice in a woman’s life? Once in adolescence and again, during peri-menopause.  The ironic twist? My 14-year-old son and I are both dealing with irrational hormones at the same time, in the same single-parent household.  If you don’t hear from me for a few days, please come make sure neither one of us has locked himself/herself in the bathroom for too long.

After a divorce, when we finally decide to step back out into the dating world, we often don't feel pretty enough, thin enough,

Thank God Christmas is over! I had no idea it could be such a dangerous holiday. 

It all started the morning I was shopping for a gift for my boyfriend’s mom. And let’s stop right there. Here I am, nearly 50 years old, and I still have to use the term “boyfriend” to describe the man I love.  I feel like I’m 12! Yet, here I am, a grown woman, and I have a boyfriend. And, well, that boyfriend has a mother. She’s really sweet and very

I remember feeling surprised the first time I realized my marriage was not going to last forever and that I was going to be divorced.

No one in my family had ever been divorced.  I had no role models for this. I had no siblings paving the way, no aunts or uncles, no cousins.  No grandmothers or grandfathers. 

No one.

Thanksgiving is an interesting time for my family and me. You see, I typically make the 10-hour car trek to South Florida from Atlanta with my son, my boyfriend and my ex-husband, so we can be with my entire family: mother, father, sister, brothers, and all the teenage grandchildren.

This year marks the 5-year anniversary of my divorce—the event that turned my ex-husband into one of my truest friends.  I tell my ex all the time, “Honey, I’m glad I married you, because you are great to be divorced from."