This weekend I saw I Don’t Know How She Does It with a few of my girlfriends. (My husband happily stayed home—he’s the type of guy who tends to shy away from Sarah Jessica Parker movies.) Based on the 18% RottenTomatoes score it received, I was expecting the worst. And, as with most light comedies I’ve seen lately, it wasn’t actually all that bad. The plot was fluffy and the conclusion was ridiculous, but the cast was so likable that I actually smiled a few times (how can a movie with Greg Kinnear really be that terrible?)

As for the premise, well it’s about a woman trying to juggle a high-powered career and her family. And the script nailed all of the cliches—resentful stay-at-home moms who work out all day, the jealous male co-worker, the corporate climbing “I never want to have kids” female colleague. Sarah Jessica’s character, Kate,  tries to “do it all” by relying heavily on her husband and random babysitters.

But where I Don’t Know How She Does It failed miserably was the fact that, not once, did Kate turn to her friends.

Let me be straight about this: I am a huge fan of the technology that’s available to us today (and I’m not just saying that because I’m married to a software developer.) I’d be lost without my DVR; running with anything heavier than an IPod would be unthinkable; and I honestly can’t imagine not being able to access my email anywhere, anytime. But after what happened to me this past Friday night, I actually started to question whether or not our countless forms of communication and means of capturing memories are doing us more harm than good.

For most of my life, I’ve been a film buff with a particular soft spot for kids’ movies. Even before we became parents, I’d drag my husband to the latest Disney (and later Pixar and Dreamworks) had to offer. And now that we have two excuses to go to these movies (a.k.a. our son and daughter), we’ve seen it all: From perennial classics like Cinderella and more recent hits like Up to less-than-stellar-but-my-kids-still-love-it movies like Gulliver’s Travels and Yogi Bear. (Seriously!?! They couldn’t come out with one good family movie this past Christmas?)

So I kind of consider myself a bit of a children’s film aficionado and with the Academy Awards just a few weeks away, I feel compelled to say the following: Not only should Toy Story 3 win Best Animated Feature Film, it should also win Best Picture of the Year…hands down.

So recently I heard about this new book that’s been making headlines. The title is Battle Hymn of the Tiger Mother, and it’s one of the worst (or best, depending on how you look at it) cases of extreme parenting I’ve ever come across. The book, written by Yale law professor Amy Chua, explains why she thinks that Chinese parents are “better” than those of us here in America. Don’t even get me started!

I’m Type A, and I’m proud of it. In fact, I honestly think I can attribute any success I’ve ever achieved to the fact that I’ve always been overly organized, ambitious, and somewhat obsessive. I thrive on tight deadlines and stress.

That’s how I ran the New York City Marathon in 2001 despite the fact that I’m far from athletic—for me, the race was 99% mental. I taped my running schedule up on a wall in my studio apartment and never deviated from it. I charted what I ate, how much water I drank, how many gel packs I consumed. I pushed my body to the limit because, being Type-A, there was no way I was going to give up.

The same is true for my magazine articles and my book, Previvors. Juggling my work with raising two young children was all the more easier for me because I seem to excel at multi-tasking. I maximize every free minute I have; relaxation isn’t easy to come by.

But, as much as I appreciate my Type-A qualities, I need a break!

Happy New Year! After celebrating the first few days of 2011 with dear friends and family, I’ve found myself reflecting on the year that passed and wondering about the year to come. You see, last January as 2010 began, I knew exactly what was in store for me: I figured I’d pretty much spend the entire year preparing for the release of my first book, Previvors, in October.

And it turns out, I did.

The first six months of the 2010 were spent working on revises, helping come up with an appropriate title, securing endorsements, and fact-checking the book from start to finish. The second six months were spent spreading the word about the book as much as possible. And, in between all the work, I tried to carve out a semblance of a balanced life (like that exists), by planning date nights with my husband, spending as much quality time with my children as possible, and even having an occasional lunch with friends.

I look back at 2010, and I know it’s a year I will never forget. But as I look forward to 2011, I have to admit I’m a little anxious.

For the past six weeks, I’ve been speaking at various events throughout the country about my book, Previvors. And many people have asked me how I first decided to become a writer. Well, at my most recent book signing at Barnes & Noble in Boca Raton, part of my answer was there in person: A man by the name of Anthony Jaswinski.

Breast Cancer Awareness Month is officially over. Not that you needed a reminder:  The abundance of media stories have screeched to a halt. The yogurt lids have resumed their normal shade of blue. And while those NFL players and coaches so proudly wore pink apparel in October, you’d be hard pressed to find even a stitch of the color on them for the rest of football season.

I understand the importance of Breast Cancer Awareness Month. Funding for the disease skyrockets in October and the barrage of pink seems to really remind women to get their annual mammograms. And thanks to media coverage on the whole concept of previvors, women are starting to learn about their risk and how they can protect themselves.

But sometimes the merchandise tie-ins take it a step too far: I was absolutely caught off-guard, for instance, when I walked into my grocery store this morning and there was this prominent sign that said, “50% Off: Breast Cancer” above a display of pink shopping bags, fanny packs and other accessories.

My blog almost exclusively focuses on health issues, but from time to time I feel compelled to write about something unrelated. And the 9th anniversary of September 11th is one of those topics.

A few days ago, my husband suggested we plan a trip to Orlando this weekend, a quick visit to the Magic Kingdom with the kids (we live 3 hours away by car). I figured we could all use a weekend away from it all (i.e. my computer, which lately I’ve been tethered to), so of course I agreed. He booked the trip, and then I saw the date: We would be in Disney World, waiting in line for  It’s a Small World or the Peter Pan ride,  on the anniversary of the most horrific day I’ve ever lived through (let alone what our country lived through).