Love your kids and just be there for them. You don’t have to eyeball their every moment or to orchestrate all their comings and goings. They know this. They know that’s too much. All they want is to be assured that there’s a home fire cooking, that there are two foremen and a rulebook, and that there’s someone to tuck them in at night.

Summer, dropping so easily a delicious everything upon your skin and lips. Like a never-ending kiss – taunting, deep, and luscious.

Thanksgiving – fall’s finale. Best damn holiday of the year in my worldly estimation.

As I see it, you GET married – but you MAKE a marriage.

Summer, dropping so easily a delicious everything upon your skin and lips. Like a never-ending kiss – taunting, deep, and luscious. The sun. The heat. The thousand echoes of a timelessness before time, when every day seems longer than the next and no day seems likely to ever truly end. Summer.

Living isn’t always red bows and birthday balloons.

Let my memories of you be like water on the moon. A beautiful impossibility-but allowing me to sleep and dream of infinite beginnings rather than Othello endings.

And I don’t care what age you are, kissing in the rain is the best.

Kids are kids and not little adults. They’re watching and listening to you all the time. They’re figuring out the game plan but still don’t know all the rules. Talk straight to them and they’ll respect you for it.

Old is old at any age. Old is when you quit asking questions about this, that, and everything. Old is when you forget how to love-or worse, don’t care. Old is when you don’t want to dance anymore. Old is when you don’t want to learn anything new except how to be old. Old is when people tell you that you are old-and you believe them.