Eliana Osborn

I’ve got two tales of hideous male behavior — at the elementary school, somewhere typically full of good vibes and happiness and all that.

It is hard to find any real numbers about how many people do "direct sales" or how much money they make. The web is full of either big promises or pissed-off former sellers. What I do know, from bazillions of friends and family, is that making much more than pocket money means selling like a real job. Yes, it might be more flexible, but there’s no magic formula.

I’m not there yet. But I need to be honest—I’m closer to 40 than any other multiple of five.

The most important things my mother taught me included work from Neil Diamond, Billy Joel, Wham! and Whitney Houston.

I look tired when I stay up too late. I also look tired if I get eight hours of sleep.

Full-fat dairy may be “healthier” for you than low-fat dairy. “May” be, as in, probably is, like with numbers and science and stuff.

I’m full of emotions: pride, awe, fear, nerves. The spelling bee first, then the piano recital. Two different kids, same mom. Same me, wanting to prevent my boys from pain and discomfort. Same me, biting my tongue and smiling broadly in support.

I’ve developed a fast and furious passion for the new Daily Show host, Trevor Noah.

We take weekend turns. He does vacations and summers. Literally. He takes them away. It is great.

My husband is worried about stigma, about Owen feeling different, about epilepsy being part of his identity. Those are sweet concerns, really. And I get it — I love the kid too. I’d never want to make his life harder in any way.