days of youth.

Last night, we went to the county fair after celebrating K’s 5th birthday with my parents.  It wasn’t her first time at the fair, but it was the first time she rode real rides, including this roller coaster and a ferris wheel. We left hot and sticky and hopped up on sugar, but she was…

shut up already.

About the New Yorker’s Obama cover. It was clever, it was over-the-top, it summed up all the misconceptions about Barack, and it was funny. Sure, it could have been misconstrued by some, but those kinds of people don’t read the New Yorker. Or, at least, they shouldn’t.

it’s come to that point.

My hips hurt. My back hurts. I’m out of breath. I don’t want to eat anything other than Little Debbie fudge brownies. I am tired of hearing “Oooh, you’re getting big! How much longer?” I am tired of being touched by strangers. My underwear does not fit. I have no patience, and my tolerance level for…