By “standard procedure,” I mean our Tooth Fairy tries hard to abide it and constantly misses the mark. She is distracted. She is tired. She tells herself to set an alarm on her phone reminding her to swing by, and forgets to do even that.

I’m not saying I’d discuss this at dinner every night, but should one of the girls ask me if I loved their father, I won’t stumble on an answer.

About this time last year, I was on the couch running my hands through my hair when my fingers slid over a smooth, hairless round spot.

You know how sometimes a dessert experience is so good that you're sad when it's over? That's how I felt about this cake. You have to try it, and I'm told it often sells out, so I'll race you.

Trampolines are scary if you are not often airborne. If you perhaps weighed 20 pounds less the last time you did this kind of thing. If your most physically strenuous time of day is your scramble to get dinner on the table before your children stage a hunger-fueled rebellion.

My older daughter has officially dropped “mommy” for “mom,” which is fine, except my ears do not register this sound.

So far, no one has swallowed a marble or lodged one in any kind of orifice. I think we finally aged out of that phase, too. Maybe.

They wanted a new game to play, which is to say I demanded they find a new game to play, which is to say I can only handle so much talk about Minecraft.

Chinese-for-dinner isn’t over until you crack open your cookie and read your fortune out loud to the group. I usually get something like “You will be hungry again in an hour,” while the kids get advice on what to do with all their money and power.

Last Saturday, I went to see author Tomie dePaola at the Norwich Bookstore. He comes annually for a post-Thanksgiving signing, and we’d always been out of town for it until now.

I dialed frantic, imagining my daughter standing on the sidelines counting this among the many ways in which I clearly did not love her.

Again I paused, because, "I’m just here to wander the aisles on my lunch hour,” while true, seemed sort of pathetic to say out loud.

This is the time of year when people around the water cooler ask, “What are your kids doing this summer?” They are making small talk, yes, but make no mistake: they are also pumping you for information and making mental notes for next summer.

I turned to see an orange-yellow light glowing in the oven window. I flung open the door, bashing the dog on the head in the process, and saw the heating element had cracked. Sparks were shooting out of the loose ends.

This particular daughter loves words, and as nonsensical as these seemed, she’d written them with purpose.

Here's a quick scene that restored my faith in people and reminded me that, as a person, I am a real jerk sometimes.

Maybe I wasn’t finished mentally celebrating the fact that we'd avoided landing in a snowy ditch on the side of the road. Maybe I was anticipating the tedium of today’s snow day (when your fun-Mom ideas that are supposed to last all day only last about an hour).

Our new dog is more popular than his humans will ever hope to be.

Like most families, car trips bring out the worst in us.

I whipped the Elf behind my back – right in plain sight of her – and sidled out of the room with my back against the wall like a crazy person.