This month the smell of coffee doesn’t bother me. This month I’m not bone-achingly tired. This month I have no nausea and my breasts are not full and uncomfortable. I have no desire to devour a bag of oranges or a tub of ice-cream. This month there is no extra pink line on a tiny white stick that I have watched for the longest three minutes of my life. This month I’m not pregnant. Again... 

We are fast approaching the time of year when many of us embrace fantasy, perpetuate a myth, or lie to our children – depending on your perspective. This week I’ve been lucky enough to have a trial run of my ability in this area because my six-year-old son lost his first tooth. Personally, I would have liked to have spent the week wallowing in the nostalgia aroused by this poignant milestone. Unfortunately, my son has an older sister ready to destroy his innocence – or perhaps to enforce my integrity – at every turn. Of course the fantasy/myth/lie I’m talking about is Santa Claus – along with his shady cohorts the Tooth Fairy and Easter Bunny...

It started with a pair of socks and ended up being an all-out examination of the desires and ambitions I have for my kids. Those damn socks led me into the hazy domain of my own childhood. They also saw me reduce my six-year-old son to tears. I probably should have just let my daughter wear them...

I hate to misquote Alfred Tennyson, but it is indeed spring and it would seem that my young man’s thoughts have turned to… sex. By ‘young man’ I mean my six-year-old son, Levi, and by ‘sex’ I mean… well, who knows really?...

I always knew that when my kids started school they would bring stuff home – library books, birthday-party invitations, newsletters, report cards, head lice, four-letter words. But they have started bringing home stuff I never anticipated, some of which I can barely even describe...