I’d much rather be a woman than a man. Women can cry, they can wear cute clothes, and they’re the first to be rescued off sinking ships.

- Gilda Radner

For me, the advantage to being a woman has more to do with choices. Women can work, or not. We can have babies, or not. We can stay home with the kids, or not. We can work full time, or part time, or not. We can look outside of our jobs for our identities, or not. We can lean on our men, or not. We can be independent, or not. We are allowed to share our feelings, or not. We are allowed to express ourselves, or not.

I’m not saying it’s easy to be a woman, or a person for that matter. And I know my ability to make choices is the product of my upbringing, my education, my social status, my family, my husband, my environment, my health, and so on. But I feel so lucky to be a woman.

And even luckier to be a mom. Happy Mother’s Day everyone.

Never eat more than you can lift.

- Miss Piggy

My older daughter was away for the whole weekend - for the first time. I really missed her.

When she got back, her sister gave her a big hug and told her how much she missed her. Then, without skipping a beat, they went right back to fighting. Music to my ears.

I take supplements. All kinds. Right now my stash includes a multi, ferrous gluconate (a fancy name for iron), vitamin C, ASA, and chromium. In the past I’ve also taken ALA. Many diabetes books recommend even more supplements - like vanadium, CLA, omega 3s, and mushrooms (the non-hallucinogenic kind).

I used to pooh-pooh extra vitamins and minerals, oils and fungi as unnecessary. I eat well, so why do I need to supplement my diet?

I am also confused by all the information out there. Which vitamins go together, what facilitates what, which ones can be harmful and how do I finance all this pill popping?

I decided to start taking a few supplements after researching, talking with my dietitian, and trying to slow down the effects of my diabetes. I truly don’t know if they help or not. Do I feel healthier? No. Do I feel more energetic? No. Do I get sick less often? No. Am I slowing down my diabetes? I don’t know.

What I do know - I have very expensive urine.

You know why fish are so thin? They eat fish.

- Jerry Seinfeld

I know I’m supposed to eat more fish but sometimes I just can’t do it. That piece of salmon stares up at me from the plate but I just don’t feel like eating it. What is it? Is it the bones, or the texture or the oiliness? I don’t think that’s it. I think it’s because fish just goes so well with rice, and rice really isn’t in the edible radar for me these days.

Don’t get me wrong, I do sometimes eat restaurant sushi, but for me, home-cooked fish means big bowls of rice, salty pickles and green tea. Somehow, removing the rice from the equation means I’d just rather not eat fish at all.

So I think I’ll just have a sandwich. Tuna, anyone?

For a recent birthday I was given an anti-aging product. Something called an intensive treatment for face and neck - a ceramide advanced time complex (what the heck does that mean anyway?).

I can now report that the bags under my eyes are noticeably plumper.

But I’m trying.

My daughter is a girly-girl and somewhere along the line she chose me to be her mom. Me! Doesn’t she know I’m “hair challenged?” Doesn’t she know I suck at mascara application, costume sewing, nail doing, and body glitter know-how?

I can’t choose a tiara. I can’t do a bun. I don’t shop at MAC, and those old ladies that run every dance shop in town scare the bejeezus out of me.

So what can I do? I can cheer my girl on. I can cry when I watch her lyrical number, and I can comfort her when not everything goes her way on stage.

Just think of me as a dance mom in training.

But really, is there any other kind?

Anyway, I was shopping the other day and came across the “Girls’ Favorite CD-Rom Pack” (or something to that effect), which included the game “My Fantasy Wedding.”

Need I say more?

One of the key kid stressors around here right now is “that’s sooooo embarrassing!”

I don’t know if it’s the age, a phase, or what, but embarrassment is to be avoided at all costs.

So, I usually like to tell the kids embarrassing stories about myself for them to rejoice in. For some reason, parental foibles are glee-making material.

One of their fave stories is “the pop incident.”

This occurred one day while I was leaving the grocery store with a precariously over-packed cart of groceries. As I manoeuvered my cart over a speed bump (or slow bump as my kids call them), the case of pop fell off of the bottom of the cart and I promptly ran over it. This caused several pop cans to puncture and they started shooting carbonated fluid several feet into the air. It was like a geyser of Diet Pepsi.

I could have been “sooooo embarrassed!” but why waste the hilarity?

Sometimes kids just don’t get it.

The other day my daughter was telling me about someone in her class at school whom she really dislikes.

I put my “psychologist” hat on and told her that sometimes when you have intense feelings towards another person it’s because they represent an element of yourself that you don’t really like.

So, while I was so wisely explaining this thought process to her, she interrupted with “you mean like a zit? I really don’t like zits. Yeah, that’s what he is. He’s like a really big zit right in the middle of my forehead.”