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My mom recently told me a funny (well, not funny-ha-ha, more like funny-hmmmmm) story about the time she got a peek into my younger brother’s kindergarten classroom. Seems that one day, my brother missed the bus, so my mom drove him. After leaving him inside the school to be walked to his class by the secretary, she was about to hop in our 1974 Caprice Classic station wagon (with the fake-wood-grain panel outside and green shag rug in the way back) and head home, when she had an idea. What if she snuck around the building and just sorta peeked …Keep Reading
If you’ve been reading Confessions, you already know I don’t buy a lot of toys for my sons. I like toys, I honestly do, but there are few things I’d spend my money on (and before you think I’m truly awful or that my boys are playing with corncob dolls like Little House on the Prairie rejects, be aware that generous family members do buy them toys, some of which I like, some of which I grimace at while the boys play with them). If I’m going to part with cash, in short, the item has to have longevity, creativity, …Keep Reading
If I were as mean a mommy as I profess, if I were so hooked on schedules and eager to turn my little babies into independent boys-to-men, if I so valued my me-time and my work ethic, then I wouldn’t want a third child quite so badly, would I? But I do. And I’m not going to have one. The reasons not to range from the silly to the sublime. Here they are, in no particular order: I’m 43 years old. I don’t think that’s too old to have a baby. And in fact, my instinct, my health, and my …Keep Reading