Over the past twenty years my byline has appeared in hundreds (yes, hundreds) of national publications and websites.
I publish so much that it is hard for me to update as frequently as I should. So to see all of my publications go to my contently profile here.
These are some my clips (but not all, by a longshot).
(Click on the links in the titles to get the entire articles).
As the co-author of Beautiful Skin: Every Woman’s Guide to Looking Her Best at Any Age, and a former beauty editor, having gorgeous skin is part of my job. I have reported on hundreds of beauty potions, lotions, and treatments, happily being the guinea pig. Try on a dozen tubes of lipstick and document how long lasting they were? I’m on it. Apply self-tanners on my legs to find the ones that best got me to (fake) sun-kissed perfection? Sign me up.
“Want to come with me to a hypnosis seminar for singles?” my friend asked. “The hypnotist specializes in past-life regression.”
“Sure,” I replied.
I grew up thinking I’d marry a Jewish man. My mother and her parents had left Poland during the Holocaust and ended up in Israel, while my father’s parents were Orthodox Jews, with my grandfather the clear patriarch of the family.
My father had also attended the same Yeshiva (a Jewish institution for learning) that my sister’s husband’s father had attended. Is it any wonder that I thought I’d follow in those steps?
After a 20-plus-year career in publishing, I know how to expertly package material to get an editor’s (and reader’s) attention and I can help you do it, too. Here are my tips on how to successfully write a personal essay that will get read, shared, and appreciated.
So the other day an administrator from my daughter’s school (where I’m a class mom) offered me the job of chairing the annual fund committee for 1st grade. I politely thanked her for thinking of me, but declined her offer. I’ve been down that volunteer highway-to-hell road, and frankly, I ain’t got time for that.
I joke to my friends that when my hubby and I fight it’s like the Clash of the Titans. I think it’s no secret that when two strong personalities get together they release a phalanx of emotions — resulting in conflict.
For my husband and I, bickering is like a sport. It’s even a form of stress relief. And we both excel at it (probably because we practice on a daily basis). We could be Olympic medalists, although we’d probably argue about who rightfully won the gold.
Strung out on Percocet, with smeared lipstick and sweat stains, I looked like a nightmare when I met my potential mother-in-law.
Back when my spiky-haired, South African blonde boyfriend (a Sting lookalike) first told his parents about his sophisticated, older American girlfriend, I believe his mother thought that I was a Semitic succubus stealing her son’s very soul. My Jessica-rabbit figure, eyelash extensions, and expertly highlighted brunette tresses poked holes in her dream of the naïve, virginal, South African girl she’d envisioned him dating and eventually marrying.
How I Fell in Love With Growing Older
I remember when I was graduating college in the mid 1980s, I worried that life, as I knew it was over, that I’d never be carefree again, and that my social life would end with the handing over of the diploma. Although I feared getting older I’ve actually found that now with many of my goals accomplished or in progress, I relish it. I always say I’m a late bloomer, but when I bloom, I bloom big. ___________________________________________________________________________
8 Unexpected Ways You’re Killing Your Sex Life
I’d always thought of good sex (and orgasms) as something I was entitled to, and I got no complaints from my husband. Then, I had my daughter after a bought with infertility.
After a year of injections and blood taking and actually going into labor and giving birth, sex took on the allure of let’s say painting the house, or detailing the car.
“Get out of my car!”
A huge dog had just leaped into the back seat of my SUV and was hovering over my three-year-old daughter, who was securely fastened in her car seat. The dog ignored me. He panted and wagged his tail so hard that it hit me. He began to sniff my daughter all over.
“Honey, don’t move too much. We don’t know this doggie,” I said as I tried to figure out the best way to get this strange dog away from my child.
Up until my forties, I was always that girl: the one not quite in control of her body, even though I rushed around as if I were racing against time itself.
My husband does the laundry, and he should
My husband does his own laundry. Let me repeat those words: My husband does his own laundry.
There is no expectation on me to do it for him, even though I work from home and we have a daughter in kindergarten.
I Shamed My Niece for Dyeing Her Hair Pink
I warned my niece that dyeing her hair pink condemned her to the kind of ridicule I had once faced.
But I discovered that while society had evolved, I was still stuck in the dark ages. But I discovered that while society had evolved, I was still stuck in the darkages.
What Wise Moms Know: The Priceless (Healthy) Gift of Hugs and Kisses
Want to improve your children’s lives?
Here two moms write about the importance of hugs and kisses with their kids—of varying ages. The bottom line: showing affection never gets old.
This Mother’s Day I owe my mom some apologies: 16, to be exact. There are a number of things I did during my childhood, adolescence and teenage years that I feel I need to somehow make amends for, and I think now is the perfect time.
Let’s get started at the very beginning.
Being born: You were drugged unconscious while I was dragged out of you with forceps at 7 pounds, 11 ounces. Ouch, right? Sorry, I can’t even imagine how difficult it was to recover from that!
This piece was named a BlogHer Voice of the Year 2015
Giving Up the Ghost Baby
…The miscarriage happened suddenly in the seventh week, right before sunrise. One moment, my body was swimming in a sea of fertility, the next moment I was bleeding on the sheets. ..
” You must be so happy. You must have wanted a baby forever,” the labor nurse said, smiling, as my husband and I left the hospital with our baby girl. After seeing me give birth in my forties, she must have imagined that motherhood had always been my dream. She was wrong.
My daughter is 5 and a half years old going on 15. I get eye rolls from her on a daily basis, impatient ‘Duhs’ when I say something that is apparently just so obvious, and the insistence on having it her way, whether it’s a minor event (“I want 10 more minutes of cuddle time before bed, mommy”), or more major (“I want to wear open-toed sandals to school tomorrow, mommy”).
One day Angelique met me at the door when I got home, berating me for not giving her phone messages (I didn’t even have access to her answering machine). Then, my mother’s roast chicken started disappearing from the refrigerator.
Now about Santa…in theory I don’t have a problem with him, and think it’s a cute idea to write him a letter, but so far my daughter has refused to sit on Santa’s lap at the mall, and I really don’t blame her.
I read with alarm the other day that Sean Penn and Charlize Theron had their morning hike at Vasquez Rocks in Santa Clarita, CA interrupted by cops after another hiker heard Charlize’s toddler, Jackson, screaming and accused them of mistreating him.
And She Danced
I watched my daughter spin around the floor in reckless abandon, her feet moving in a wild motion, to some music in her mind.
Why I Will Never Let My Daughter Ride Her Bike Alone
I remember an incident from my teenage years growing up in Long Island. I used to work at the public library and would ride my bike there and back. My route was an easy one and took me about fifteen minutes: down the street, past the hospital, across a big highway till I arrived at the building.
Unless you’ve been living under a rock, if you’re a parent you’ve probably heard the newest decree from Marissa Mayer — the young CEO of Yahoo, who was hired when she was five months pregnant and notably took only a two-week maternity leave after popping out her baby, undoubtedly while being fanned by a her doula, a waiting nanny in tow.
It’s important for you to know this because your mommies are much, much more than just mothers. They are women. They deserve the same child-free time to recharge their batteries that daddies seem to get as their right.
Make Little Girls’ Voices Carry
So I called the teacher and explained the situation. I was calm and collected, until the teacher said, “I wasn’t aware of this; she didn’t tell me, but this boy likes to be affectionate with his friends. He likes to touch friends but he’s harmless.”
For my dad’s 75th birthday a few years ago, the family celebrated by going away to a hotel in Pennsylvania for a weekend filled with fun, food, family and…did I mention food?
We thought that a great way to stamp the event in our memory would be to videotape my mom and dad talking about their lives so we could have an oral history…
I met the intelligent, beautiful and award-winning actress, mom, humanitarian and advocate for healthy living, Alysia Reiner when we were both cast in the New York production of the show Listen to Your Mother last year.
Talking to Your Child About School Shootings and Other Traumatic Events
How to Throw a Twitter Party: 8 Easy Steps How to Throw a Twitter Party
Twitter is all about two rules: relationship building and content curation in 140 words or less; and as a former magazine editor I can assure you that’s the most fun part, and the reason that people will begin to follow you.
Think about it parents: if you have enrolled your children in preschool full-time, they are in there for at least five to six hours a day! But what do you really know about what they are doing, except for seeing their pre-selected weekly pics, a few art projects, and hearing about the occasional party to throw us off track?
My daughter has a passion for the color purple. If an article of clothing doesn’t have some shade of purple in it, forget about it. She shakes her little head, tendrils of curls flying around, and says, “No, mommy. I want the purple shirt … purple pants … purple socks … purple backpack … purple sneakers.”…
I blame it on Barney.