Laughter Rises Out Of Tragedy When You

Never Go To A Doctor Whose Office Plants Have Died.

When My Kids Become Wild And Unruly, I Use A Nice, Safe Playpen. When They're Finished, I Climb Out.

Mothers Are Not The Nameless, Faceless Stereotypes Who Appear Once A Year On A Greeting Card With Their Virtues Set To Prose, But Women Who Have Been Dealt A Hand For Life And Play Each Card One At A Time The Best Way They Know How. No Mother Is All Good Or All Bad, All Laughing Or All Serious, All Loving Or All Angry. Ambivalence Rushes Through Their Veins.

Those Magazine Dieting Stories Always Have The Testimonial Of A Woman Who Wore A Dress That Could Slipcover New Jersey In One Photo And Thirty Days Later Looked Like A Well-dressed Thermometer.

Enter My First Neighbor - A Woman Who Spoke In Complete, Coherent Sentences, Who Ate With A Knife And Fork And Who Only Cried At Weddings. I Couldn't Help Myself. In A Dramatic Gesture, I Bolted The Door And Threw My Body Across It To Prevent Her Exit. She Understood.