Those darn Britney Spears videos.

This one might be my fault.

“I think everyone had the same idea as us,” he says to me as he grabs a pound of butter. It’s the week of Thanksgiving, how does he need only one pound of butter?

I stumble down the back stairs and make my way down to work. The sun is bright and golden and everything is wet but the air is crisp.

This is one of the better 3-year-old parties I’ve been to: tacos, wine, and wide open spaces.

Op-ed draft.

She agrees with me that he is indeed a scary driver.

Everyone always wants to play on the mini hoop. Thud, thud, thud. Three boys.

I laugh at him. That’s silly. Go to bed.

I don’t want to get ahead of myself, but oh, boy. I think this might be the year. I look at my Year 1 Goals: Conditioning; Reduce points against; 8 league wins; Increased parent participation; Spanish translation for parent meeting. It’s happening.