I’ve become obsessed with the idea that Jesus was a terrible guitarist but no one told him to stop because they were afraid of his dad.
I think it’s a bad sign that when 9 tries to play charades, everyone’s first guess is “constipation.”
11’s thoughts on tonight’s dinner: “Well, it didn’t make me gag, so I ate it.”
The rewards of motherhood are truly breathtaking.
I’m happiest when people tell me “Don’t be a hero” because there’s absolutely no way I’m going to disappoint them.