As the mother of two kids ages 7 and 4, the last month has meant a mailbox dominated by holiday catalogs: Target, American Girl, Toys ‘R Us. When my children see the glossy pages, they pounce.
She brings joy to the world. She probably likes cookies.
Dad jokes, am I right?
Fingerpainting never looked so racist.
Spiking dishes with hidden vegetables and lying about it is a good thing to do.
I got the girl of my dreams, and what I originally thought was “baggage” turned out to be the icing on the cake.
I thought the word for a girl’s “private parts” was “bagina.”
I dated a young woman with a child. After dating for two years, they moved. Exactly one year ago today — after over a year apart from the little girl — I flew down to see her. Here is the story.
You’re gonna need a bigger couch.