While shopping yesterday, some 4-ish-year-old kid ran around the aisle corner and asked me where my underwear were. His mom just came up behind him and smiled at me before moving on.
… kids might say the darndest things, but I’m hoping mine don’t opt for solicitation. Also, I’m hoping I’ll be the mom to say something witty and not just blank-stare-creepo-smile at the other person.
So the baby can start hearing soon.
Should we start making it listen to Baby Einstein stuff?
Umm, no. I was thinking Beatles and Fleetwood Mac.
Switching things up a little bit … this time around it’s Preacher’s Wife Wore Stilettos, Knocked Up edition.
Yep, I’ve caught the preggos. And I needed a spot to vent on how ridiculous this whole pregnancy thing is. Needless to say, I haven’t yet found “the glow.” Hopefully, it’s coming soon. But until then, expect some gripes, mood swings, wine cravings, continued attempts to balance in heels, and tales of the spousal ridiculousness.
You could do what Dianne Feinstein wants and ban all high-capacity magazines, but it’s not going to make kids any safer... I get calls from gun owners saying I went to bed safer because I have a firearm...
That's an argument, not a fact.
It IS a fact.
No, a feeling is not a fact. That’s reassurance, not evidence.
Mass shootings. As a journalist I know … there’s a time limit. There’s a certain number of days of newsworthiness. There are phases. Shock. Details. Horror. Backlash. Gun control. Backlash about gun control. Op-eds. Forgetfulness.
But this. I just don’t know how to get beyond the shock.