Oh, how we used to fight. And my mother and I fought about everything from hair brushes to philosophical differences.

I never held back during our debates, and she never wanted me to.

I suppose that’s why the art of shutting up still eludes me. The woman who raised me never me taught me that.

“I raised you to be independent and to speak your mind, so I guess I asked for it,” she always said.

It seems like each day I realize something else we don’t have in common, but I can’t deny the feelings of comfort, safety and home I feel anytime she visits me.

When I told her earlier this year that her only child, and three grandchildren, would be moving about four hours away to start the next chapter in our lives, she offered supportive words.

Then she drank wine.

Then she shopped for the new home I had yet to secure.

Once my family and I found the home we love in the Dallastown School District, she announced that Nana would be seeing her grandkids as much every month as she did when they lived in Pittsburgh.

And, indeed, she has. In fact, I think we see her more now than when she was only an hour away. She’s frequently here for about a week at a time–met with the hugs of my three children, who are eager to see what gifts she’s brought this time.

This week, those gifts included clothes, music, superheroes and water toys.

In her eyes, my children are perfect and worthy of spoiling–an opinion she (thankfully) never bestowed upon me.

And she frequently tells me–and random strangers in the supermarket–that she’s a far better nana than she was a mother. It can create a very awkward moment while shoppers scan produce for the perfect peaches.

But if I’m being really honest, even though it sometimes surprises me, I’m just as excited as the kids are when she shows up, awkward moments and all. With her, I don’t need to explain myself, apologize or worry about anything.

Most importantly, I know I will laugh–at her and with her. She speaks of the resurrection of “Dallas” as though it’s as important as Obamacare legislation. She calls just to remind me of the anniversary of “Footloose.” And we have an amount of inside jokes that enables us to carry on conversations with nothing more than facial expressions and prepositional phrases.

She also lets me know when I’m being ridiculous, and that’s a service I require often.

So even though I’m a mother of three and a grown-up by many standards, I still need my mom.

Because, really, where would I be without knowing the prime time drama of the wealthy Ewings in Texas?

She never taught me to sew, but you better believe I know who shot J.R.

I know a girl like Merida–the strong-willed Scottish princess at the center of Pixar’s latest incarnation.

And because my children love going to the movies as much as the movies themselves,  my family and I naturally ended up in theater seats last weekend, contributing to the $66.7 million box office success.

While Merida’s bouncy red mane, full of untamed corkscrews, is reason enough to spend money on admission tickets, the movie lost me.

What could have been the simple story of a girl, seeking an adventurous life beyond the precepts for a princess, unfortunately became a dark, complicated tale involving witchcraft.

It’s not that the storyline was hard to follow, it was just a bit superfluous.

Stories of empowered women are practically the trend right now, with popular movies  including “Snow White and the Huntsman,” “Hunger Games” and ”Mirror Mirror.”  The heroines in those movies succeed in taking a stand without manipulations or spells. In fact, in some cases, their inner beauty and strength were resistant to spells.

Though “Brave” isn’t teaching children to use spells to achieve success, the story does warn to be careful what you wish for.

Yes, ladies, you can manipulate things to get your way, but you rarely ever get what you want. And that truth is at the heart of what young Merida learns.

Despite a happy ending, Pixar still lost my applause.

Even if it wasn’t intentional, the movie somewhat implied strong women have to use tricks and manipulations to change their fate.

A bow-and-arrow toting princess, who didn’t want to get married, was enough of a novelty. The story didn’t need dressed up with witches and queens who turn into bears.

And though all the kids laughed at times, my sons both asked when we were going home long before the credits rolled. My 8-year-old daughter did seem captivated, but, really, the hair alone could captivate anyone.

It was visually stunning, but it didn’t send the message of strength I had hoped.

I’m longing for a screenwriter who can wield a story about a strong woman without making her manipulative, petulant or–especially–a vampire.

Now that would be brave.

Karen Klein said she didn’t know what to do when a group of middle school students bullied her last week.

The 68-year-old bus monitor sat mostly silent, looking out of a window, as a smart phone captured a sad display of humanity, as teenagers in upstate New York bombed her with hurtful words and physical ridicule.

But what was most painful to Klein, whose eldest son took his life 10 years ago, was when a boy said of her family, “They all killed themselves because they didn’t want to be near you.”

After a series of news interviews and an outpouring of support from strangers, Klein has said she doesn’t believe the taunters are bad kids and doesn’t want to press criminal charges.

The bullies have also apologized for their cruel actions, according to media reports.

As both a newswoman and a mother, the story has reached me in different ways.

Bullying is a frequent topic in the news, and there’s always a sheet being sent home with my school-aged children about it. Often included is a checklist for parents, teaching us how to recognize if our child is being bullied.

And there are also handouts, sharing with students the principles of good behavior and kindness toward their peers.

But my third-grader has yet to bring home a paper, instructing parents of what to do upon finding out their child is a bully.

Given their strong personalities, I’d be stunned if my children ever became victims of bullying.

But I’d be absolutely heartbroken if my kids did the bullying.

I’m sure the parents in New York felt the same way.

As I’ve thought about the latest bullying news, something else Klein said resonated with me. She didn’t think her taunters were bad kids because, individually, they’re fine. But when they get into a group, that’s when trouble starts.

The latter is often true regardless of age or location. That bus could’ve just as easily been a classroom or office.

Like Klein, I would’ve mostly ignored those bullies 50-some years my junior. They’re kids. They did something bad, and I’m hopeful they are learning something from this experience.

And I’d probably do the same if I was being bullied by someone my own age.

Like I tell my children, there’s nothing you can do to bullies that they haven’t already done to themselves. As Maya Angelou said, “Bitterness is like cancer. It eats upon the host.”

If there’s one thing I’m sure of about bullies it’s that they’re not happy people. Happy people don’t want to hurt others.

I have this disease in which I frequently realize I should’ve stopped talking 10 minutes sooner, but I just can’t help myself.

It happened again on Thursday, and I promise I was trying to mind my own business.

But an adorable pregnant mom sat down at the table next to me at Panera Bread, interrupting my soup and Google searches with her unnecessary apologies.

Though at separate tables, we were essentially sharing the same bench. I didn’t mind that she bumped into me with a barrage of bags and a tray, but she did.

“I’m so sorry. I’m just at that point where I can’t see my feet and have no depth perception at all,” she said.

I advised her not to worry about it. “I haven’t been pregnant for three years, and I still have no depth perception,” I said.

And, really, as is often the case, her bags could fit inside my bags–which are frequently stuffed with days-old newspapers, documents, agendas and, sometimes, high-heeled shoes.

Small talk moved to shopping pretty quickly, and I couldn’t help but bestow on her the best pregnant purchase I had ever made: The Snoogle.

Made by Leachco Inc., the C-shaped pillow is more an island of comfort than it is bedding. It sells for about $25 on Amazon and in several stores up to about $70.  Regardless of where you get it, this Bobby pillow for adults is worth every penny.

It will support you from head to toe, and can also be wrapped around you in various ways while you’re nursing (or using your laptop, reading, paying bills or reading the five magazines you purchased in the checkout line).

The Snoogle was part of my life long after my babies arrived, often hidden behind numerious decorative pillows on my bed.

Sleep is a novelty once you’re a parent. It should be treated like the religious experience that it is.

Even if three hours is all you have, snuggle with a Snoogle.

Cienna Faye, my voracious reader

Cienna Faye is a lot of things.

And she likes a lot of things.

Books allow my 8-year-old daughter to combine two of those things—reading and having adventures.

I’ve said no to a lot of her wants—such as junky toys involving pieces I know will be lost or clogging my vacuum within five minutes—but I never say no to books.
From birth to adulthood, I can think of no better gift.

Books are a treasure that know no socioeconomic status. Even if you can’t afford to buy one, you can borrow one from the library or exchange with a friend.

And if you can buy one, please buy a book that you can hold in your hands, turning pages with your fingers instead of a touch screen. I have nothing against e-books, but there’s just something precious about seeing a child curled up with a book instead of a computer.

My kids are voracious readers. That’s partially because I’ve insisted on it—reading to them since they were in utero—and partially because I do not accept “I’m bored” as an answer for anything.
The response I always give to that dreaded two-word phrase is, “If you want to go somewhere, open a book.”
Books have also replaced the time out in my house.

All three kids have their own reading spaces, equipped with Pillow Pets, to retreat to when they get overstimulated or can’t get along. In those moments, I explain it’s time for our reading corners. They all pick a book and go sit down, and everything gets nice and quiet.

What are you reading? Please share your list with me and moms who read this.

Here are some of our summer favorites (so far):

“Don’t Let the Pigeon Drive the Bus!” by Mo Willems

“Goodnight, Goodnight, Construction Site” by Sherri Duskey Rinker

The Frog and Toad Collection by Arnold Lobel

“Little Owl’s Night” by Divya Srinivasan

“Dinosaurs Love Underpants” by Claire Freedman

“A Boy Called Dickens” by Deborah Hopkinson

“Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone” by J.K. Rowling

“The Bippolo Seed and Other Lost Stories” by Dr. Seuss

“The Third Wheel (Diary of a Wimpy Kid)” by Jeff Kinney

“The Adventures of Tom Sawyer” by Mark Twain

“The Giver” by Lois Lowry

“A Wrinkle in Time” by Madeline L’Engle

“Where the Mountain Meets the Moon” by Grace Lin

“Make Way for Ducklings” by Robert McCloskey

“Hope for the Flowers” by Trina Paulus