Eliana Osborn

I always have a small piece of my brain on mom mode, no matter what else is happening. I have no problem with this, since that is how humanity has survived.

Eighteen hours, even if prepared with reading and art material, snacks, and an upgrade to China Airline’s family couch seating, is still EIGHTEEN HOURS.

Best case scenario? A few hours of activity, then we all fall asleep comfortably. Worst case? Well, let's just say it involves blood splatter on those weird double-paned airplane window.

I’m proud of you right now, even with all the sadness. Proud of you for heading to rehab, leaving the kids, the man, the house — all of it — to get on top of things. Doing it instead of just thinking about it, talking about it even, hemming and hawing? That’s pretty badass.

They were horrible.

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.

Kirk Cameron in all his Growing Pains glory was the ideal crush. Unthreatening, goofy, good kid with very reasonable weekly conflicts. And a good smile. Always been a sucker for that.

A haircut is a whole lot cheaper than therapy or tattoos or a round-the-world plane ticket.

I’m not broken by this therapy failure. Jane wasn't the person to help me at this point of my life. Someone else WILL be.

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

The other magical thing about living in 2015 is the Internet. You can get great training in all kinds of fields while sitting in your underwear at home.