Here in Connecticut, most kids (well, moms really) get gifts for their kids’ teachers at Christmas. It is also quite common for the class mom to collect money from parents to buy a larger gift from the whole class for the teacher. To be honest, it’s gotten to be out of control. This year, in lieu
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toy (n): an object for a child to play with, typically a model or miniature replica of something.
A couple months ago I discovered something horrific in my house. Rainbow loom? No, worse. The entire Caillou CD collection? No. Worse. Drugs? Condoms? No. Even worse. A couple months ago I discovered fucking Shopkins in my house. I have no idea how they got there, where they came from, or who supplied them to
WELL WHAT HAPPENS TO BOYS, THEN???
Our normal routine here is that I get home from swim practice at about 8:00. I get Number 3 and 4 their dinner, and while they are eating, I put Number 6 and 7, who share a room, into bed. We read a story, then I sing each of them a song, and we do
Because you can.
Three years ago today I was sitting on the floor of the weight room at the Y when a staff member came in and asked me if I had a child in the Newtown Public Schools. I didn’t know what was going on, but I knew it wasn’t good. A couple hours later I learned
Mommy, do you think Santa is real?
This morning one of the kids asked the question that at least one of them inevitably asks every year: Mommy, do you think Santa is real? I’ve struggled with this in the past. How should I answer? My response is always the same: Well, what do you think? Do you think he’s real? Every year
The Talk. Part Deux.
A couple weeks ago, after Number 4 asked me what exactly sex was, she and I had the talk. That took place on the way to Costco and in the Costco parking lot. Once we walked through the entrance she said to me, “We should probably stop talking about his now that we are inside.” So