I can’t tell you the exact moment when I knew being a mother wasn’t right for me.   Sure, I talked about my future children in an abstract way and had baby dolls growing up. My Cabbage Patch doll, April-May, was a faithful companion for many years of my childhood.  I also left her in the window of a hot car on a scorching summer day at the zoo and melted her little plastic head, so I think it’s rather clear the nurturing instinct can be a bit hit or miss for me. But dolls and

I didn’t have a chance to talk about my mother on Mother’s Day, so combining these two posts will have to do. My parents are awesome.  Not perfect or without faults, but they try very hard to be good people.  Even when we screamed and fought when I was growing up, I knew they loved me.  I never questioned that.  I knew they wanted what was best for me, even when we didn’t agree what best was. I have them to thank for growing up feeling loved and supported.  I can thank them f