My kids have already written their letters to Santa Claus. Tonight they are baking cookies to leave out for him. And on Christmas Eve, they will scatter carrots and apples for Santa's reindeer. By the way, my kids are 11 and 14 years old.
Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, the Defendant stands before you unjustly accused by the Plaintiff of being "the meanest mother in the world." We offer, therefore, this exchange as exculpatory evidence ....
"They" say that traditions are important in creating a stable and happy home. Well, "they" would be very proud of me, because my family is lousy with traditions.
We've always taught our children that grownups don't know everything, and that they shouldn't always doubt themselves when they disagree with an authority figure. I guess we needed to fine-tune that instruction a bit, because my daughter insisted that she was right and her father was wrong.
When my mother had been given the hideous news that there was nothing more they could do for her cancer, she seemed to take the news pretty well. I did some sort of favor for her for which she was grateful -- got her coffee or something -- and as I left the room, she looked at me and smiled and said (this is the unforgettable part), "I did something right with you." Was I ... an accomplishment?
There is no glib or clever way to start this posting, so I will just hit you between the eyes: On Valentine's Day, 2010, I lost my brother.