I am five feet, three inches tall and pleasingly plump. After I had a minor accident, my mother accompanied me to the emergency room.
The triage nurse asked for my height and weight, and I blurted out, "Five-foot-eight and 125 pounds."
While the nurse pondered this information, my mother leaned over to me. "Sweetheart," she gently chided, "this is not the Internet."
Since I am a busy mom of four, I rely on my children to help me out with everyday chores around the house. One morning I was running around trying to get the children and myself ready, when I suddenly realized it was trash pickup day. So I handed a bag of garbage to my sleepy seven-year-old son and told him to toss it in the trash bin on his way out the door.
Glancing out my window moments later, I saw him wearily boarding the bus. He was carrying his backpack, his lunchbox, and a big white bag of garbage.
Don’t ever pay a surprise visit to a child in college. You might be the one getting the surprise. I learned this the hard way when I swung by my son’s campus during a business trip.
Locating what I thought was his fraternity house, I rang the doorbell. "Yeah?" a voice called from inside.
"Does Dylan Houseman live here?"
"Yup," the voice answered. "Leave him on the front porch. We’ll bring him in later."
My doctor friend moved his family to a small town in Montana. An Italian American raised in Philadelphia, he wanted his kids to enjoy clean the benefits of air and the outdoors.
The locals were thrilled to have a doctor of their own, and were always inviting him and his family over for dinner. During one visit, one of his daughters told a rancher’s daughter, "We’re Italian."
Somewhat confused, the little girl replied, "We’re Ranch."