The other morning, I was digging around for something in the back of my closet when I found a framed photograph I’d stashed there in one of my fits of manic tidying.

What happens when a normal, PTA-fearing mother of two teenagers suddenly finds herself thrust into a new career at the tender age of forty-one? And what if that career happens to involve an entirely new wardrobe, including high heels (which she hasn't worn in decades) and underwire bras (ditto)?

Is there something the matter with me? As a wife? Because here’s the thing: I don’t always like to do my “wifely duty.”

What is it these days with the Oblivious Factor? Whether we're driving, shopping or walking down the street, we are so wrapped up in something else other than looking to see if we're blocking someone's way or slowing down traffic, that we pretty much become a nuisance not only to others, but a hazard to ourselves.

Lately, I’ve had a growing concern for moms. Not in the how-can-we-manage-our-over scheduled-kids kind of way. But I’ve been deeply worried about us as women.

This Thanksgiving, I am thankful for all the lessons my parents taught me. I am grateful because those lessons are now all I have. I don’t get any new advice.

The moments of our daily lives are the best therapist we could have if we pay attention. Motherhood provides an extraordinary opportunity because it triggers so many emotions that lay buried.