Jody Allard

What I do know is what it is like to be the wife of an addict, and those years taught me to claim responsibility for addictions that aren't my own. Thankfully, while that is still my first instinct, I have come far enough now to pause and remind myself that I am no one's caretaker. I am not responsible for my ex-husband's addiction, and I am certainly not responsible for Macklemore's.

In case ground meat wasn't sketchy enough, a new study by Chapman University found that as much as twenty percent of specialty ground meats are mislabeled –– and many include ground horse and even beaver.

I know what autism looks like, and I understand why people are afraid of it because, at its worst moments, it is desperately, terribly ugly — it is children who can’t communicate, who become adults who are unable to live independently, and who simply cannot cope with the onslaught of sensory input that we barely notice. It is meltdowns that are triggered by nothing and everything, learning difficulties, and services that cost our healthcare system billions of dollars every year.

A Target spokesperson has confirmed that a Chicago neighborhood will soon be the lucky recipient of a brand spanking new Target –– complete with a BAR. That has ALCOHOL.

My favorite part about summer is the ability, for three short months, to stop looking at the clock or calendar and to start enjoying the present.

". . . it is illegal to sell fetal tissue, but it is perfectly legal to receive compensation for the time and expense involved in collecting, preparing, storing, and transporting tissue for research purposes. This is well-established in the rules and regulations surrounding organ and tissue donation. Similar regulations also make it illegal to sell children, but legal to compensate parents for medical care and expenses incurred during an adoption."

Amber Scorah's son Karl was three months old when she dropped him off at his first day of daycare. When she returned two and a half hours later to breastfeed him on her lunch break, he was dead.

I simply can't accept autism as just another variation of normal.

There is a bitter, ugly irony today in the trending hashtag #Pray4Paris and the haunting “Peace for Paris” graphic shown alongside the news of France’s military strikes against ISIS-held positions on Sunday.

After sorting through all of the reasons why people claim that dress codes are needed, I can't find a single one that holds any weight or that isn't founded in strangely Victorian ideals about girl's bodies.