Last week Working Mother magazine sent out the results of its Sex Study.

In essence: working moms defy stereotypes when it comes to affairs of the bedroom. They want sex. They like sex. They have sex.
-- More than half of those surveyed have sex once a week; 29 percent have sex TWO or more times a week.
-- 63 percent of working moms said they want more sex on a regular basis.
-- 83 percent of working moms enjoy sex, regardless of whether they are in the mood or not when they start.

WHO ARE THESE WOMEN?!

Apparently I fall into the stereotype -- frazzled and frumpy.

And as of the last survey finding -- "70 percent say they use adult movies and sex toys to spice things up" -- all I can say is whoa nelly, don't show this to my husband!

*As an aside to all you Family Talk readers, we will be moving to a new blog area called Home Front at the end of the month. Family Talk, Fork & Bottle and 926 Prairie Lane blogs will all be found there.

There is much talk about the mom who gave birth to octuplets and has six other kids under the age of 7.

Her explanation? She loves babies.

I love babies too. But 14!

There are a lot of issues surrounding this story:
A) Mom isn't married to the father.
B) Mom lives at home with her own mom.
C) Mom doesn't have a stable income to care for 14 kids.
D)Many doctors say it was irresponsible of the fertility clinic to implant eight embroyos.
E) Despite the fact that the babies are healthy now, the medical odds put them at risk for many health difficulties in their futures.

So what are your thoughts on this case? Should she have been allowed to carry eight babies? Is she irresponsible? I tend to think "yes" to both questions.

But what gives us the right to judge her and criticize her? Would we feel differently if she was married to a nice devout man who earned a modest income? I suspect, public opinion would be more tolerant if those things were true. Which is why I am so bothered by all the attention this case has generated. Are our hearts really with those babies and their mom, or are we judging her based on our own prejudices and stereotypes?

Personally, my feelings are torn. I am jealous. My husband and I couldn't afford to continue fertility treatments, much less undergo invitro fertilization several times.

That said, I could not imagine raising 14 children -- let alone eight newborns at one time.

But it was her choice. And it was a decision she made with her doctor. Should we as complete strangers have a right to decide
Who are we to judge? Would we want the public to weigh in on our personal decisions? And would we want them to weigh in on our lives based on their pocketbooks, rather than any type of real relationships?

I think not.

So while I remain conflicted, I have decided it is not our place to judge this woman.

Do you agree?

The world is all a buzz over a Michael Phelps photo showing him with a pot pipe.

Shocking? Yes. Disappointing? Yes. Sign of a corrupt and dishonest guy? No.

My heart goes out to Michael's mom, Debbie Phelps who must be wondering: What were you thinking Michael!?

I suspect, he wasn't thinking.

I suspect it was truly an ADHD moment.

As the parent of an ADHD child who has made some of the dumbest choices imaginable, I suspect Michael was reacting on impulse and never once thought through any possible ramifications for his bad decision.

A psychologist once described the different between ADHD people and normal people this way.

The normal person driving down the street sees a Dairy Queen and thinks: I'd like an ice cream. Do I have time to stop and get one? Do I have money for it? Can I pull over and turn safely without causing an accident?

The ADHD person sees Dairy Queen, and swerves across traffic and pulls in, without ever looking or thinking about anything other than ice cream.

It sounds simplistic. It may sound like I am cutting Michael Phelps too much slack.

But as the mom of a kid who decided it would be fun to climb on the roof and toss eggs at a neighbor's house because 10 years ago said neighbor threw away our frisbee that landed in his yard -- I am painfully aware of ADHD impulsiveness.

Not that my son's behavior or Michael Phelps' behavior should be dismissed.

Even Debbie would tell you there has to be natural consequences. I am sure Michael will find plenty of consequences in coming weeks and months. Just as my son learned that scrapping egg off windows and siding is hard work and getting grounded sucks, but owning up to the mistake, publicly apologizing and living with the fallout, is immensely more difficult.

This morning as I readied for work, my son had the TV on. He was watching the millions of people assembled in Washington, D.C. to see Barack Obama sworn in as the 44th president.

I didn't even have to tell him to watch it. Although I told him several days ago that I thought he should watch it because of its historical significance.

He doesn't really get why this is such a big deal -- at least why it's a bigger deal than any other inauguration.

Perhaps that says something about how much times have changed. He has friends of different races and ethnic backgrounds. He has never seen people by their color -- first or second. He has seen them for who they are.

He doesn't get racism. Or discrimination.

He is growing up in a different era.

I grew up in the 1960s. I remember the race riots in Milwaukee, Wis. Although I lived in a suburb, my parents did not let me out in the backyard. "For fear."

My family stopped visiting landmarks and museums because we had to "drive through bad neighborhoods." We had to be careful of "those people." Whenever we encountered an urban area of mixed race, the car windows went up, the doors were locked and we were instructed to keep our eyes in the car.

I went to a grade school that was all white -- at least as far as I can remember. I vaguely remember an African American in middle school. I do not think there were any people of color in my rural high school -- except for a foreign exchange student from Africa, and a doctor's family from the Philippines. But in my parents' eyes, these students were different -- it was as if the African girl wasn't really "black" in the African American sense of the word.

My parents grew up in an era when derogatory terms were customary. Where people feared sharing a drinking fountain, a bus seat or even church with someone of color could somehow hurt you. When I married and moved to Rapid City, S.D. my father remarked how there were not a lot of "darkies" in our city.

There weren't many blacks. And in Rapid City, it was the Natives who suffered the most discrimination and racism.

I don't get racism. Never did. Never will.

It galls me when I hear my well meaning mother say: "He's black. But he's well educated and dresses nice."

Right or wrong, I've given up trying to change her.

But I'm glad my son is growing up colorblind. I am glad we live in a colorful neighborhood of black, white, Hispanic, Bosnian and Middle Eastern. I'm glad he sees people for what they are -- people.

Today, I am not only proud to be an American, but I am filled with hope -- for all people.

My dad used to worry about Alzheimer's.

My mom used to say she couldn't pay attention if too many people were talking at once, or competing with a TV and a stereo and what-not going on.

I fear I am becoming my parents.

Increasingly I can't hear conversations if there is something else going on in the room.

Frequently, I feel like my brain has fallen out of my head. I forget stuff mid-sentence. I start talking and cannot remember what the heck I was talking about, or worse my thought come at me like a speeding locomotive and they come out in words that wander or make no sense at all. I feel confused. In fact I will be out walking the dog or driving to work and I will forget where I am, and have to work through that initial moment of panic to re-orient myself.

Is it stress? Motherhood? Being the parent of a teenager?

It feels different from those early days of exhaustion when I was parenting a toddler. It feels different from raising an elementary schooler and middle schooler.

Raising a teenager can leave you feeling stupid -- even when they are not reminding you of how old, out of touch and un-hip you are. Add that to these no-brainer, no-can-hear moments, and it is fairly overwhelming. I think I know how my parents felt with four kids at home.

I just wish I knew how to deal with it.

Anyone else out there struggling with noise-levels, activity levels and sagging brain waves?