It’s Going To Be One Messy Year

Please catch my newspaper column each week in the Atlanta Journal Constitution, the Dayton Daily News and other newspapers across Ohio.  Here’s this week’s column: Well, hello there, New Year you, who promises to be 12 months, 365 days, 8,766 hours, 525,948,766 of mess. It’s not that I’m starting the year as a Negative Nelly. It’s actually more about being grateful for what and who I have, which leads to reality, which in my case, and perhaps yours, means accepting life is messy. Anyone

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Thinking About Someone Special On My First Mother’s Day

             I think about her every day. We are forever linked through one of the greatest joys of my life. And I’ll never be able to tell her. That’s what I find myself thinking about this, my first Mother’s Day as a mother. I’ll never be able to say “Thank you” to the woman who started the job I’m blessed to continue. She is my daughter’s other mother. I’ve shared here in this column how I’ve recently come to

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Why Didn’t Anyone Warn Me Before I Adopted My Daughter?

  If I’d only known. Somehow, I thought by adopting a full-sized kid I would avoid biological changes to my body. Silly me. I met my daughter when she was 11. We finalized the adoption earlier this year. No, there were no post-pregnancy pounds to lose, as I had my figure back within minutes of signing those papers. I can’t blame any stretch marks on my body on pregnancy. Those were of my own making. But there is one key

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The Neighbor I Never Expected

Please catch my newspaper column each week in the Atlanta Journal Constitution, the Dayton Daily News and other newspapers across Ohio. Here’s this week’s column: Leave it to my young teenaged daughter to succinctly describe a scene from the sitcom that is sometimes my life. “That awkward moment when you discover your gynecologist is moving in next door,” she said as she slid down in horror in the front passenger seat of my car. There is some teenager embellishment in

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The Three Little Words So Hard For Me To Say

This confession might shock you. There are three little words that are really hard for me to say. Sometimes even get stuck in my throat. Me, who writes each week about love, who shares how happy I am in my new marriage, how much I love being a mom. I have a hard time saying, “I love you.” It’s no big mystery to me why it’s so challenging. I didn’t grow up in a “I love you” kind of house. 

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