Hay fever. I hate hay fever. I hate hay fever so much that I want to take a torch to my nose. I am so sick and tired of having to just “deal” with it, and go to all these parties in outdoor places, full of pollen. While everyone else is relaxed and enjoying themselves and acting all “Hey look at me! It’s summertime and I’m so happy!”, I have to pretend to enjoy myself even though I feel like sitting on a wasp nest. I sometimes would rather die than have to deal any longer wit

When I was 10 years old, I used to love it when the mail came. I’d run to the mailbox, hoping to find my magazines inside. If one came, I’d run to my room, sit down at my desk while listening to Whitney Houston’s new album on a cassette tape (yes, I’m old). I’d put my weekly allowance into the little white envelopes that were stapled in the back fold of the Amnesty International Magazine. Every time I asked my parents for a stamp they looked at me like I was from outer space.

People ask me this question all the time: “How do you do it all?” I literally hear this at least once a day. It’s sometimes a little embarrassing to tell someone what all I do. To me, it’s normal to do all the things I do. And I do NOT mean that to brag at all. I assume everyone has their load to carry around just like me. But since people ask this a lot, I decided to write about it. I am a middle-aged mom of three children. I am an American who left for Germany over 20 years