Welcome to 2017, everyone!

I just realized that this intro makes it seem as though I was already in 2017 and I’ve just been waiting for the rest of you to arrive. That is not the case. We all got here at about the same time, give or take a few different time zones. But now that we are all here, and school has blissfully started again for my six-year-old (who is down two teeth and up one Baby Alive, a doll who eats and then fouls its diaper), I would like to impart some relationship wisdom to you all, in the form of the following tale.

On a recent fine evening, my husband was lifting my hands so that I could pick my nose. I already know what you’re thinking: how can I make this magic happen at my own house? It’s been a long time since I was able to blow my own nose, and Rob’s fingers have been proven too Shrek-like for maximum effect, so this is how we do it sometimes. The holiday fever had mostly died down, though our house was still softly lit by the Christmas tree, and it was quiet, since Scarlett and Otto were snuggled up in her room, visions of baby poop and pig’s ears dancing in their heads. I’m pretty sure Rob’s eyes were squarely on me, and not at all on the football game playing from our 65-inch television screen, when a booger the size of a Gummy Bear fell out of my nostril and onto my dress.

“Ew,” I said. “That thing looks like a gummy bear. Get it.” Read More>