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If part of growing up is recognizing your limitations, then I have more recognition than Kim Kardashian’s most famous asset.  Among the things I’ve learned about myself over the years is this: If smartphones had been invented when I was a new mother I would have missed the best moments of my son’s childhood. (For those of you born in the new millennium, there were no iPhones, Blackberries, YouTube, texting, Facebook or Twitter when I was a new mom in 1995.) You could not be bombarded with messages from your 200 best friends and followers every moment of every day.

And for that I am eternally grateful.

Because for me, smartphones are the new cigarettes: they are

More than one-third of Americans made a New Year’s resolution to lose weight this year.* Sometimes this makes me sad. Shouldn’t we be reaching for loftier goals like world peace? If we put our collective yearning together, couldn’t we find a cure for poverty, an end to domestic violence?

But framed another way (as my friend Andrea suggested), this resolution is really about transforming the way we see ourselves; to believe that we are worthy enough to care for ourselves by eating right, exercising, and finding balance. **

So, taking this suggestion to heart, perhaps this age-old New Year’s resolution is not about losing body weight; it’s about dropping the weight of the world ... shedding the burden of taking care of everyone else before we take care of ourselves.

It’s my favorite because by the end of the year, I’m usually a little stressed and the holidays

make me a little crazier.  I’m trying to make sure that the “yours-mine-and-ours” time with

our son, his grandparents, his cousins, his father, my boyfriend’s family and me all

I cannot find the original author of this hilarious story – the earliest posting I’ve seen was on HDTalking, a community for Harley Davidson riders – and of course I cannot vouch for its authenticity. But I can tell you that #1 and #15 made me laugh so hard I had tears streaming down my face!

It took almost two years for this delightful tale to make it into my inbox, and of the one hundred “joke” emails my mother insists on sending me, I can no longer ask her to cease and desist because this one made all the others worth it. It put me in such a good mood that I wanted to share it on ShareWIK, because none of us will be able to step into a Target again without stifling a gig

Dear Mom,

Now that I am out on my own and have to clean my own bathroom, do my own laundry, make my own meals, and be my own taskmaster/cheerleader, I have a new perspective of the love, care and hard work you put into raising me.

Thank you for standing your ground when I tried to guilt you or out-negotiate you into letting me have whatever I wanted. I remember you told me that stuff "can’t fill you up." I’m beginning to understand what you mean. Like you said when I was eight, "We

It is hard to believe this is the third anniversary of the day the world began to turn with a little less love on its surface... a little less laughter, with the loss of the fiercely fun-loving and subtlety brilliant mother, wife and friend, my friend, Shann.  I remember the year that she died ... too damn soon, ridiculously early, how shocking that G-d had called her to Him when she was just spreading her wings here on earth. I wrote this then; I hold her in my heart today...

I just received a holiday card and I could barely tear my eyes away from the picture. It’s not that it is an exceptional photograph – just a happy candid,

When I was in college, I’d never heard the term “binge drinking.” We used words like “hammered,” “trashed” and, well, “happy hour.”  I’m sure there were many nights when I had three drinks in less than three hours; while I never passed out or lost time, I know I made some of my stupidest decisions after sipping something strong.

Now that my son is entering the age where he’s curious about alcohol, my concern is heightened. Pay attention to your kids’ conversations and you’ll hear about friends drinking to excess on the weekends; filling water bottles with liquor, and stealing beer from their parents’ fridge. (Note: do not tell your kids that alcohol doesn’t freeze; you’ll know if they’ve been swiping your vodka when the bottle bursts.) I read jus

To say I am an optimistic person is like saying Lady Gaga has some interesting outfits. I am the real-life incarnation of Pollyanna. I am so upbeat it can be annoying to some people (most notably, my teenage son). I can’t help it. It’s scientific. A group of behavioral researchers did a study years ago that showed that every person has his or her own predetermined level of happiness. No matter what happens, the person eventually returns to this happiness level.  You win the lottery? Sure, your level goes up … for a while. Then it bounces back to whatever normal is for you. Your partner dies suddenly? The level drops – dramatically and perhaps even continuously. But eventually your level of happiness returns to its original state, or at least pretty darn close.

Of course, I’ve had my ups and downs; days when I’m blue or a little out of sorts. There was a three-month period during my senior year in college when I could barely drag myself to class. I also know what it’s like to have hormones playing havoc – making me cry for no reason during adolescence (and again, these days, during the jo

Last week I heard an interview on the radio that was so moving, I sat in my car – in my driveway – for 30 minutes so I wouldn’t miss a minute. NPR’s Michel Norris was speaking with Nancy Brinker, and it was mesmerizing to hear her story. For most people, the name Nancy Brinker won’t ring a bell, even though she has had a tremendously positive impact on the lives of millions of women.

In 1982, Nancy founded the famously pink Susan G. Komen for the Cure. Susan was Nancy’s only sister; she died of breast cancer in 1980 at the age of 36. But before Susan died, Nancy promised her that she would “do everything in her power to end breast cancer forever.”  Today, Susan G. Komen has given nearly $2 billion to cancer research and prevention, and is one of the leading grassroots groups of cancer survivors and philanthropists.

As I listened to Nancy, I wondered: How must it feel to have watched your sister suffer with breast cancer, while you yourself could do nothing to ease her pain or chan

I wanted to love Glee. I really did. From the hyped-up hype from my friends and family (both virtual and actual), it sure sounded like a show I would love. After all, I was the original Gleek. I spent my childhood playing in the back of a local theater called Duffy Playhouse, where my mother was the star attraction. It was ancient even then – velveteen seats so worn in spots the metal casing showed through … the overpowering aromas of pancake makeup, 1000-watt lights and wood varnish.

My mom was community theater royalty. She starred in (or stole the show of) nearly every production for a decade – from Annie Get Your Gun to Funny Girl; Oklahoma! to South Pacific. In one of my earliest memories, I am sitting on my great-grand