Who are these people?

  • Kris
  • Angela
  • Alicia
  • Jung
  • Sandra
  • Liz
  • Michele

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July 20, 2007



I just love the "I'll ask Daddy because I think he might know more than you," line.

Ahhh, the dignities of motherhood.

As for the guilt over lying about Santa ... I told Joseph the truth, that there was no such thing as Santa, but that he shouldn't tell the other kids, and OF COURSE he went around telling the other kids.

Turns out he was only telling them so he could get reassurance from them that Santa _did_ in fact exist. I would hear things like, "There really is a Santa Clause because Nicholas saw him. For real."

When he ran into "Picture Santa" in the bathroom at Wal-Mart, he was thrilled and felt toally vindicated.

Turns out maybe they're just going to believe what they want to regardless of what you tell them.


Oh, which reminds me of the great cop-out response:

"Well, what do _you_ think about ..."

Joseph often goes off on these great fanciful explainations, and then I'm off the hook.


Will is funny. So are you, Kris.

We had the death talk recently. Sort of. I mentioned that Emma was named after my grandmother. Connor asked where she was so I told him she's not alive anymore. And then he asked how "she got not alive." Don't really remember what I said. I think it had something to do with being old - very, very, very, very old. And then I think I offered him some of the chocolate milk I had only just told him he couldn't have.

BTW, I'm pretty sure ostriches do eat people.


I want chicken nuggets.
Sometimes reality is too much for me to bear.

Ethan seems okay with death...like today when I was brushing his teeth and he said something like, "when you die and daddy is still alive...". I tuned out. The number of goldfish we've gone through may be an explanation. Or he's just indifferent.

Sorry about the witch thing. That's actually Dora's fault but Ethan probably tells friends how horrible witches are. Perhaps it's time for a Salem, MA talk?...
You're on your own with ostriches.


We've had way more conversations about death than I care to recall. Now my daughter just says, when we pass by a dead squirrel, "Everything dies, right, Momma?" It's really hard. I feel for ya.


Lars asked me once how old he would be when I die. It broke my heart, but of course I put on a strong front and said something like "hopefully you'll be really old".

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