Michaela Mitchell

Somewhere between the birth of my first child and the first time my youngest hurt himself and I told him to “walk it off,” I lost much of my mom guilt. It helps that a very good friend of mine, who'd already raised her children years before, shared some of her own hard-earned wisdom with me.

In a do-nothing Congress that barely manages to pass resolutions supporting cute puppies with big brown eyes (okay, I made that up), the Republican-controlled House of Representatives has managed to vote 63 times to repeal Obamacare. Oddly enough, the last vote I’m aware of was on...wait for it...Groundhog’s Day. Oh, the irony. Have they seen the movie? Bill Murray’s version was much funnier, but even he had to change his ways in order to move forward.

Older men hooking up with younger women get a bad rap.

Ok, for the record, he's in kindergarten, and for his age, it did not suck. It was a masterpiece of little boy seriousness and hard work, actually. (Of course, I might be biased.)

Several months ago I read a piece from a mother who was so over people comparing raising kids to taking care of their “furbabies.” The annoyance and eye rolls practically leapt off the page.

God forbid a single group, like fast-food workers, attempt to unite and fight for a better living wage. The moment they do, stories about more deserving groups who don't complain about their income are thrown about.

Ever hear the phrase, “We were poor growing up, but I didn't know it?” It was a common refrain in my family. When my mother and aunt speak about those days, they wax poetically about tomato sandwiches and bread with every meal (meant to fill an empty stomach when there wasn't enough food).

In my family, it's not a matter of if cancer will affect one of us, but when. Right now, breast cancer has center stage in our lives.

I have a completely common and certainly not surprising confession to make. Turning 30 freaked me out.