If the words "prom queen" bring to mind a cheerleader with perfect teeth and perfect hair, get ready to adjust your perceptions. Carolann Nunez is the prom queen at Americas High School in Texas. And Carolann also happens to have Down syndrome.

It's the kind of story that leaves a dopey grin on my face. I'm happy for this kid and her personal triumph. But I'd be lying if I didn't say there wasn't some selfish part of me that sees Carolann's crowning as a sign of something bigger.

Kids are so adorably, impulsively, inconsiderately cute. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve gone to pick Girl Child up from school or dance practice or church school or summer camp and watched her come barreling from afar with another little girl in tow, grinning and bustling along with that urgency that quickens the step of someone who’s about to put her mother in an awkward situation. And then, the inevitable question: “Mommy, can this-child-who’s-standing-right-here spend the night? Pleeeeease?” Punctuated with big, doey eyes and electrifying smiles. 

I love having all of the girls over (and my godson, Arian, who also comes to DC from Philly to hang out with us throughout the year). But I’ve had to let parents know that once their kids are in my care, I’m going to treat them just like they’re mine. That includes a set of ground rules that apply to everyone, visitors and regulars alike:

I adore being a Mommy, on most days, but the terms that some people use to refer to us can be pretty condescending. But maybe they just don't realize how insulting they're being.

Allow me to clear it up a bit.

Let’s start with the word that I hate the most, and I do not use it ever. This is my instantaneous, see red, fighting word. There is only one that's worse, but I can't use it in the presence of you ladies.

When I was a kid, we didn't have "playdates," we just played. Today they have become crazy beasts that require the power of a smart phone to track and more planning than a wedding in some extreme circles. And oh yeah, now some even require that you sign a waiver before your child is allowed to enter her playmate's house.

I wish I was kidding, but apparently it's true. According to Today, parents increasingly are being asked to sign waivers before their children are allowed to attend a birthday party or a playdate.

Mom friends are rad. Who else is in the same place, at the same time, as you? Who else can you bond with over the lice epidemic and the oddly intense parent/teacher conferences you just went through? So when your kiddo befriends another who just happens to have a super cool mom, you have hit the jackpot.

Dinners at each other's houses, playdates that you don't actually mind, all of these things make being a mom easier. Until, of course, those kids decide they don't want to be friends anymore. Like the reverse of RHONJ's Kim G. and Caroline, sometimes your kids break up, but you really want to keep the mom-friend.

What to do?

Whoa. And I thought that inane cinnamon challenge thing was proof positive teens have way too much free time on their hands: The "everybody's doing it" cool trend in New Trier, Illinois is even more bizarre. Called "Paranoia," it's a game which requires players to walk into people's houses uninvited, occasionally naked, armed with Nerf guns.

What could possibly go wrong?

From what I can tell, the teens are at least breaking into the homes of people they know -- the whole point of the game is to stalk (and shoot) your buddies.

And the nudity, apparently, is optional.

Think about all the photos you've taken of your kid since they were born. There are gobs of them, aren't there? And I'm going to bet there are at least a few in there that are a little on the embarrassing side ... or will be once they start to bring friends home who are old enough to examine what's on your walls instead of having to be watched like a hawk lest they use a crayon on one of them.

We are there my friends. Kiddo is 6, and on a recent play date, she came running to me, wailing, "McKayla is looking at my butt!"

I’m a single mother, so I don’t have the benefit of having a husband to co-parent with me on a day-to-day basis. And that can suck, though I don’t spend a lot of time boo-hooing about it. (It can actually have an upside too, since I don’t have to squabble over decisions, either.) I am, however, blessed to have a wonderful support system, my “village” composed of blood relatives, extended family, folks from church, and teachers, both past and present.

My girlfriends are a huge part of my daughter’s life, too. They’re always encouraging her and cheerleading me—especially my best friend, who’s also Skylar’s godmother. My friends and I conference call each other monthly, which has been great for more than one reason, and when we last talked, one of them suggested they all write letters to my child to encourage her and impart a little wisdom they wish they’d had when they were her age.