Tracy Curtis

You know it’s coming. It starts around April – jackets turn into long-sleeve shirts, pants turn into shorts, clogs into sandals, and suddenly, it’s almost time for it: The Bathing Suit.

But then I think about my own mother. And it’s not what she does that makes her a great mom. It’s what she doesn’t do.

I can’t remember ever getting a call from the school when it was good news. Typically the call starts out with “Mrs. Curtis, this is the school nurse.” And I’ve got a sick child. Or “Mrs. Curtis, this is the office.” And somebody’s forgotten their lunch.

But it’s a good point. If I’m just going to the trashcan, why not go out there in a green flip-flop? Maybe blue, or something in a chartreuse? Why not break things up a bit, and venture out to some other colors?

Watching Bubba Watson swinging his pink driver at the Masters last Sunday, I am offered an Arnold Palmer. A what? Oh, it’s a drink? Mmm – bet it’s good. I would bet the greatest player in the history of men’s golf probably has the greatest drink in the history of bartending.

A little girl and her mother sit on the bleachers at the baseball field. They are dressed just alike – white button-down shirt, skinny jeans, little flat shoes, with their blonde hair pulled up in clips. Mom’s just one of the girls.

A girlfriend gave me a little gift book – “Stuff Every Woman Should Know,” by Alanna Kalb. Thought I’d share some stuff:

I got the funniest email from a reader named Lynn. She was referencing last weeks’ Challenge Baseball column and something that was said to her while running with her girlfriend, Jane.

OK, I know why they call it Challenge Baseball. And it has nothing to do with the baseball.

How many moms do you need to take 9-year-olds snowboarding? Three.