I remember thinking how difficult it was to meet new friends after graduating from college. When I first moved to the state from “away,” I basically knew my husband and his family. That was pretty awesome, because they’re great people, but it didn’t take me long to realize I kind of missed knowing people outside of work.

There’s only so much griping about the job that one can stand before it gets old. It was three years before I met one of my very best friends, which brings me to my point: it was that hard before I had kids.

Parenthood memoir offers plenty of laughs

We all have writers whose work we enjoy. Whether they are novelists, biographers, historians or bloggers, everyone who reads has writers who resonate with them for whatever reason. And if one of your favorites writes something new, you check it out … even if the subject matter isn’t necessarily what you would expect.

My familiarity with Drew Magary springs primarily from his columns on the sports blog Deadspin and to a lesser extent his work as a correspondent for GQ. One of Magary’s regular Deadspin features is a segment he calls “Dadspin,” in which he relates the trials and tribulations of parenthood in his own wildly funny and impeccably profane voice. 

Anyone who has had kids knows you are basically trading in late mornings for the proper care and raising of the future of humanity. It’s not a bad trade-off in the long run, but it may seem like a steep price, especially at 6 a.m. on a Saturday after you stayed up a little too late watching “The Hobbit” the night before (yes, I’m still catching up on movies that debuted in 2012).

I admit it, I have singleton envy. Whenever I see some mom bopping down the road with a baby in a sling or one of those hands-free carriers, I feel a stab of white-hot envy. She’s being a good mom by taking her little one out into the world to learn and explore.

I usually see sights like this when I’m out by myself buying more groceries than I could scarcely imagine two years ago. A little human toddling between the hands of two happy parents as they shop for groceries. Two kids of various ages steering their racecar shopping cart powered by mom. 

I'm going to admit something that I'm sure not many people would admit, publicly anyway. It's a truth that flies in the face of popular parenting lore, but a truth nonetheless: It's hard to play with your kids. I know, I know. No one should say this, especially not mothers who want to be seen as one woman theme parks. My theme park would be named “Crazy Mom Land.” There would be lots of bumper cars, batting cages and log flume rides with kids snacking on a bottomless supply of homemade chocolate chip banana bread, but I digress. Parents are supposed to love building sandcastles near doggie droppings. We're supposed to smile while whipping up batches of mud pies as our kids hold worms and say, “Look at him wiggle!” We're supposed to enjoy play time.

This column is dedicated to all the parents who let their kids be who they are. 

Last week I boarded a plane from New York City back to Maine. I sat next to a nice young man and we began to chat. I soon learned that he was returning home to Maine from a business trip to South Carolina. I asked him what kind of work he did, to which he replied, “I’m a traveling pastry chef.” I was intrigued.

There’s been something going on behind the scenes of your local media. Some of you may already be aware of it, and for others this may be breaking news. It’s almost a pandemic. You have probably seen one on television. You may even be reading a story by one right now. The secret is out: there are a lot of people in the media who have given birth to multiples. 

Anyone who follows my Edge Mom column may or may not be aware that my tongue-in-cheek look at life with three kids comes from having three kids at the same time. You feel pretty unique when you have multiples, but that only lasts until you find that your network of parents of multiples is actually larger than you would think. It became clear pretty quickly that there are a lot of media personalities who have been blessed with multiples or are a twin themselves.

This is an open letter to mother nature: I need you to listen to me, because I will only rail against you futiley this one time (right) – stop snowing. I mean it.

That snow storm you gave us in the middle of March was one thing. We could use the sleds in that, and it was good snowman material. This “wintery mix” crap that you’re throwing at us in the middle of April is really pushing it. Cold and wet enough to make going outside a nasty challenge, but not quite nifty enough to make it fun. Even the robins I’ve seen look pissed off. What’s a girl got to do to get some 50 degree weather?

Life is filled with choices. Everyone makes them every day, some more profound than others. It seems most of the choices I get to make these days are rather mundane but still make a profound impact on day to day life.

The choice between sleeping an extra 20 minutes and showering. The choice between feeding the cats and going to the bathroom (sorry, kitties). Picking up all the toys (again) or going to bed. Getting some work done during naps or making dinner while the kids can’t try to climb into the hot oven. You know, choices.

Why is it trouble always seems to find us in threes? Is there some universal law of the cosmos that dictates tragedy should strike in triplicate? I'm quite certain Mother Earth has a good chuckle at our expense every now and again. Why am I so certain? Defense Exhibit A: last night. 

Now before you think some terrible fate has befallen me, the tale I have to tell is no worse than a sick kid, a cat's butt and a dog's ear. Hard to believe these three things have anything in common, but Fortune is a fickle-hearted fool, isn't she?