The photographs from my son Gabe's bar mitzvah sit on my dining room table, waiting to be ordered.
His bar mitzvah took place more than a year ago.
The handpainted needlepoint canvas that I am stitching for my husband's 50th birthday remains unfinished. Never mind that he's now 51.
I am fundamentally a responsible and organized human being.
I am also the mother of four sons -- ages 10, 12, 14 and 17.
"How do you manage?" my cousin Lexy asks. She is overwhelmed with one daughter.
"Some days not very well," I answer.
Particularly days in which I try to write about being a mother. This column, for example, represents my umpteenth attempt.