Wiggle wiggle wiggle wiggle — STOP.

Dear Jack, You really, really loved the cauliflower at dinner tonight. You gave it a “Iz good” and a thumbs up — this is your official stamp of approval. You wear a Paw Patrol hat every (EVERY) day, usually backwards. You are two and two months. This week, you decided to be terrified of the…… Continue reading Wiggle wiggle wiggle wiggle — STOP.

(Where I track how hard it is to type).

If it could just keep raining, I’d appreciate it. Unlike rainy days as a teacher (where the teenagers howl at the moon), rainy days at home make for peace, especially during toddler naptimes and lazy lunchtimes and — (One.) — book-reading laptimes. It’s not that it’s free from interruption. It’s just that the house is a sort…… Continue reading (Where I track how hard it is to type).

Jack, Jack. He’s our man.

Hey, Jack. You are one. A whole year has passed. You are tall and strawberry-blonde and sensitive-skinned. You are eyebrows and thighs and sock-free feet. The church nursery refers to you as “Jack the Bear” (you growl). Carter calls you “Chumby-saurus” and “Chum-bacca”. Grandma calls you “Sprout”. Papa calls you “Happy”. You are my Jack,…… Continue reading Jack, Jack. He’s our man.