Catherine Gigante-Brown

After I got over the initial devastation, I pulled myself up by my big-girl panties and got on with it. Chemo was no picnic—but it was do-able.

"Sometimes David wore his hair spiked like a cockscomb. Others, he wore it feathery like a baby chick. He wore his Mohawk to summer camp (exchanging encouraging head chucks with another older camper who sported one, too) and even to Vacation Bible School—no judgment there."

Like if she steals from you — cash or a boyfriend. Or does something illegal she wants you to be a part of — or lie about. I draw the line at felonies (sometimes even misdemeanors) and you probably should, too.

I dreaded putting him back on Concerta in the fall but I knew I had to. Or did I?

From New York to LA, this lady knows a good story.

Were you going to run into that cute guy John Williams on the way home? Would you see Anne Marie by the lockers and sort out what to do for the weekend? It was hit-or-miss, and that was the beauty of it. The breath-holding chance of it all. Now, our kids’ friends are as close as a keyboard stroke away. It’s too easy.

I’m boycotting you until you start recognizing breast cancer survivors like me by carrying mastectomy bras.

Being a little bit chubby is better than being a lot dead.

I’m sure you’ll find it a delicious and well-stocked place. There are just a few rules

Why, when I'm cool with being a salt-and-pepper chick, does it so clearly unnerve others?