When my daughters turn eight, they’ll get their first Swiss Army knives, and not the tiny ones with a nail file and some scissors, but real ones, big enough to gut a fish with.

Quick alert (before everyone goes, “Enough already!”): As mentioned right below here, I’ll be on Nightline tonight talking about dumb…

With Mother’s Day upon us   like a breakfast tray of hot coffee  accidentally spilled on the blanket (amid tears),…