Joni Edelman

My cocktail is wrong. It’s a gin and tonic with only gin. It’s a martini with 10 olives. And I can’t stand the sun. Not today. Not this month.

As the mother of three teens, I'm here to tell you: You have nothing to freak out about.

The argument against homeschooling is always the same: “Kids need to socialize.”

I said (on TV, to Rachael Ray, so there are a few million witnesses): If you want a bikini body, put a bikini on your body.

I’m lucky to be smart, to have an astonishingly good memory. Or maybe I’m lucky to be bipolar.

Now that I've embarked upon the decade I once considered "old," there are a few things I'd like my 20 (and 30) year-old self to know.

You do not have to hate your body — but you don’t have to love it either. While I'm happy with my fat body, I miss being thin.

And what’s better than eggs? Eggs direct from the cloaca of your own chicken.

Brangelina are splitting up. A sad day for them, a joyful day for single ladies everywhere.

Our relationship has been a little complicated. I've loved you a lot, and I've loathed you at least that much, but mostly you've just gone unnoticed. Except for those 5 to 7 days every four weeks when you made your presence quite evident, what with the river of life blood and the random excruciating, and from what I can tell, unnecessary, contractions.