Life is good, your kids no longer need babysitting, more free time. Then you notice: your husband is letting his hair grow. No, it has grown, it's long; he's wearing it...in a pony tail. He looks ridiculous! Stop this silly midlife crisis, you think. Then you pause. You think...no, it's OK, we all go through it. Be calm. Be patient. It'll pass. (You hope.)

School's back in swing. The kids have their classes, activities and friends; and, whenever you try to talk to them, they think you're grilling them, challenging, undermining, not "getting" them. You're not -- it's not true! -- but they think you are. You're each frustrated, suffering from misunderstood signals, from..."faulty reception."

The family gathers. Photo albums are opened, so many special family moments captured. Kids, dad, relatives. But...not mom. Mom (you) were at all the events; you weren't even the photographer. And then you realize -- you didn't want your pic taken, not that day at least (a bad hair day) and, it turns out, almost no days. You're there, in all those precious moments of course, but not there, not recorded. Maybe a little, as time passes...forgotten.

The day comes. You pack up your kids' trunks, take them to the bus. And they're gone....Sleepaway camp. You return to your empty house, just you (maybe your partner and the dog). You look around, take things in. And you feel...fantastic! And that's OK. Isn't it?

Staying in shape, exercising, yoga-ing, mind-bodying . . . all good. But the latest trendy training mantra--suck in your "navel to your spine"--uh, no, thank you, we have to draw the line.