Gone are the summers of my childhood, a time when summers were about playing with friends for hours on end……..unsupervised. My parents didn’t hover over us like stealth helicopters swooping in when fights broke out or dangerous activities like hanging upside down on the monkey bars or riding our banana bikes with no hands occurred.

I make no bones about the fact that I am completely against loot bags filled with crap but I'm also against how birthday parties have become a competitive sport. I got caught up in the birthday party mayhem when my boys were younger—movie parties, parties at indoor playgrounds, face painters—all for little kids who could easily be entertained with a box.

This is the picture that woke me up to the sad state of affairs in my chest region.

I went away on the May long weekend with my family—it was four days of frolicking and fun. Over 150 pictures were taken and there are photos of my kids, photos of my husband, photos of scenery, but there are no photos of me and my kids together.

I read a story about a 12-year-old boy, Joel Morales, who had been taunted and bullied by classmates and, despite moving schools, the bullying continued. Last week he hung himself in his family's apartment.

My older son is not too far away from twelve. I can't imagine what Joel's family is going through—what this boy went through that brought him to the point he felt he had no other choice but to kill himself. 

I spend a lot of time on StumbleUpon. A lot. I like to think of it as research. My husband likes to think of it as a way for me to avoid housework. But he is oh so wrong.

I use YouTube as a way to avoid housework.

I get it, I really do. You see someone tweet out how they were invited to an awesome event and you think, "Well, why wasn't I invited?" Or someone was given a new wardrobe and you're all, "What the hell? I shop there ALL THE TIME. Why am I not getting new clothes?"

Even though I’m part of a book club that’s been running for eight years, this past winter I got into a reading rut. I wanted to read smart books—the books everyone recommends and are at the top of the best seller lists. The ones you read and are all “Now I totally get why everyone loves it.” 

The ones Oprah reads. 

I was going to write about my awesome Mother's Day but how it's a weird day for me in general because on the one hand it's Mother's Day and I get completely spoiled yet on the other hand I think of my own mom who is no longer here and then there's the fact that it's also the four year anniversary of the day our family got into a head on collision with a drunk driver.

I know, my life is awesome, is it not?

I was going to write about all of that but then I realized I'm a brush whore.

I attachment parent.

I also dictate.

My children have slept in my bed.

Sometimes I snuck out to sleep in theirs.

I wanted natural child birth.

I begged for drugs.

In my mind I was cloth diapers.

In reality, the disposables called out to me.

I breast fed.

Until I couldn't.

I have spoken to them with a quiet, hushed voice.

I have yelled and then quickly checked to make sure the window were closed.

I have answered their every need.

Sometimes my needs trumped theirs.

I don't chew their food for them.

Since last June, every Friday night in our house has been Crazy Night. Son No. 1 and Son No. 2 alternate weeks and, essentially, are allowed to choose whatever they want for dinner. 

Anything.

I know. I alternate between thinking I'm the best mom ever and thinking I'm completely insane.

When I first told the boys they were ecstatic, yet unbelieving. What was the catch?

One of my biggest regrets in life is that I never got to know my mother as a person. 

She was more than my mom, she was a person who had hopes and dreams, she had moments of frustration and faced disappointments, she had a whole entire life before I was born. But I had only ever viewed her as my Mother. I think as a child it's difficult to see beyond that. It wasn't until I became a mother myself that I viewed her in a different light, but by then it was too late.

Back in 2009 I used to write a What Would Sharon Do column whereby you, the reader, would send in your questions and I would answer.

This was a win/win scenario as it allowed me to write drunk and give you advice at the same time.

Okay, so maybe it was just a win for me.

I'm bringing it back, baby.

We have a, uh, fat cat.  I mean, she's not newsworthy fat but when she runs, her stomach swings side to side and she expands quite noticeably when she lays down. Also, we never have to worry about her jumping on to our dining room table because she can't really jump. It's actually a little embarrassing to have a cat this fat—people look at us like we're bad cat parents.

I walk past the store and feel my feet turning against my will. The snowy white glow beckons me—it is my siren song.

I. Must. Have. More.

Crew necks, V-necks, long sleeve or short. It doesn't matter. I am dazzled by the brightness, the fresh, pristine blank slate, so I buy one. Or three. I promise myself this time will be different. This time they will stay clean, there will be no stains. But it is not meant to be. Inevitably they get splashed with tomato sauce and thrown in with darks. Sticky fingers tug on the bottom edges.

"Mom, have you ever heard of the store Aren't We Naughty?"

You're having a nice weekend, everything is moving along smoothly and all of a sudden Bam! Curveball. I choked down the coffee in my mouth, turned around and responded with the defensive move that should be in every mother's arsenal. I asked him a question back.

"Why do you want to know, honey?"

I'm not a big shoe fan. When my friends Connie or Dee twitpic pictures of shoes, I'm mostly left wondering how one walks in them. Then I StumbledUpon these shoes and fell in love. They're made by Kobi Levi, a shoe designer who creates shoes that are art.

A few months ago we were driving home from running errands and Son No. 1 said, "Mom, let's adopt a park."

To which I replied, "I don't think you can do that."

To which he countered with, "Yes you can, I just saw a sign in a park that said it was adopted by a family."

And so I was all, "We'll check it out when we get home," but in my head I was thinking it was (a) going to be forgotten or (b) cost money.

Dear Bloggers and/or Website Owners:

Often when creating content you refer to other content on the internet so you hyperlink to said content. This is a good thing.

Once again I was on StumbleUpon—my time-wasting nemesis—and I stumbled across this problem that apparently can be solved by preschool children in five to ten minutes. I figured it out in four. Can you?

Aaaaand Go!

Scroll down for the answer.

Are you sure you want the answer? 

You can do it! 

No? Alrighty.... count the number of circles in each line of numbers.