Let me tell you a story about a dog named Chuck.
“California here we come, right back where we started from. Pedal to the floor. Thinkin’ of the roar.”
You could make the argument that it’s ironic that I’m starting a tradition around the mission of fighting hunger when both of my kids don’t like to eat. And you’d be right.
Historical facts do not matter when trying to distract a five-year-old from the knowledge that we are not yet at our destination.
We threw a party involving both Marlo AND a piñata and somehow no one got hurt.
When it comes to games involving the alphabet, pity the participant who is in his sixties and can’t remember what comes after the letter C.
A bittersweet milestone, one that is tearing me up as much as it is confusing for her.
Yet another first for my child who is drawn to books and art and writing elaborate fictional stories in a summer replete with physically breaking free.
The only thing that is going to top this for her upcoming birthday is a real live puppy, and wow is she going to be devastated with a gift card to a hardware store.
Yet another developmental milestone whose rewards are in direct proportion to the years it takes off of your life.