In early 2003, I had a random burst of inspiration – really, I’m still not sure where the idea or the sense of urgency came from. But I wrote out a long list of questions for my then-83-year-old paternal grandfather, and I gave him a small, hand-held tape recorder. I showed him how to use it (it took three tries, as I recall), and I asked him to get to work making a recording of all his memories.

He was a little overwhelmed at the size of the project, but I gave him some prompts. I asked him to talk about growing up as the son of a sharecropper during the Depression. I asked him to reminisce about World War II. I wanted to hear – again – the story of how he met my grandmother.

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Every year Christmas shopping is a struggle for me. How much is too much to buy for my kids? I want them to have a head-popping, full-of-excitement Christmas morning, but I want to get them few enough things that they actually appreciate all of them. I also don’t want to feel like I need to escalate each year to make it even MORE exciting than the year before.

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I am thankful that any Thanksgiving weight I happen to pack on today can be easily rationalized as baby weight when I stand on the scale Friday morning.

I am thankful for the children's sing along CD we play in the car. Listening to "The Wheels on the Bus Go 'Round and 'Round" four thousand times is preferable to the nonstop whine we'd have otherwise.

I am thankful for my friends in the computer, without whom I would not have a nap schedule or dinner ideas or my sanity.

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We were standing in line to board our plane yesterday when a woman and I gave each other the universal, motherly, "Oh, Girl, I feel you'' look.

We each were weighed down with bags and coats that did not belong to us. In addition, she was carrying a booster seat and her husband had a huge car seat in his arms.

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Hello! My name is Jennifer, and I am a catalog-a-holic. I love that this time of year brings catalogs for just about anything you can think of – so many catalogs, I could wallpaper my entire home with them! When these beautiful catalogs arrive in the mailbox, I practically skip up my sidewalk and back to my house to devour them in private.

Yes, I said devour. I pour over each and every one of them as if they hold the hidden key to the universe. Truthfully, many of them barely hold one item that I would consider purchasing or even admit to knowing about. But the fascination is there.

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It doesn't matter how much I plan ahead. It doesn't matter how much I clear my schedule. It doesn't matter how effectively I (sort of) lower my expectations, Christmas card pictures never go well in this family.

Two years ago there was the Great Goose Poop Incident of 2006, a story best left to the annals of my personal blog rather than recounting here.

Last year, by a blessed Christmas miracle, I managed to have a family vacation photo that was worthy of re-using as our yearly photo, with no painful photo session required.

But this year, I reasoned that everyone is maturing and growing, and surely we are ready try again. My daughter is past the age of needing to have naps perfectly timed, and my pre-teen boys are surely old enough to gear up for a session of Happy Family Togetherness.

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I’m a technology mom. I’m a geek. I’m married to a software engineer while having a way too-close relationship on the side with my laptop, smartphone, and many other electronic devices. On the Today show Meredith Vieira called me an example of “Today’s Tech Mom,” resulting in friends and family members referring to me as “Techno-Mom” for months to follow. 

But I’m starting to feel like we need to unplug as a family just an eensy weensy bit. I’ve been worrying about some of Magoo’s behavior lately. Read More

I got my hair cut this week. The universe breathed a sigh of relief when I left the salon. It was wondering when I was going to do something about the disaster that is my head.

I hardly ever cut my hair, seeing as how I don't have time to read a book let alone leave my house all by myself for a haircut. Not to mention the fact that my stylist charges the equivalent of a tropical, five-star vacation.

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When Maria was just a few months old and at the height of drooly, chubby deliciousness, my husband asked when she would start to speak.

I told him it varies from child to child, but I felt she already communicated plenty. The child then yelled out her first "Mama!'' when she was just 9 months old and has gone full-throttle on the language – two of them – since.

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If you have kids – especially teenagers – that need to be dropped off or picked up at school, you will probably encounter at least one of these rules in some form at some point in your career as a chauffeur. Here are the rules as declared by my teens followed by my own version. For the record, my rules trump theirs.

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