Granted, my three year old daughter looks adorable in Afro-Puffs.
The September he started first grade, my son cried every morning.
The homework assignment was simple; make something to do with transportation.
“I dew wheat.” I never knew the power of words until my two year old asked to “do it.” Those two little words sent dread flying through my body.
Time is relative, so Einstein told us. I am sure he was right—I’m not really qualified to contradict one of the world’s greatest scientists—but motherhood has taught me that distance is relative, too.
At just the tender age of three you joined a century-long conversation about the shortcomings of women’s fashion.
Last week was the third consecutive book of the week with which school sent my son home to practice reading and the family it’s about is black.
I liked cooking meat over coals outside on the patio barbeque for the taste and the smoky flavor and of course less kitchen mess.