I got a phone call last night from a five-year old. Micah Rose had this to say: “Pam? I just wanted to tell you that I’m proud of you for doing the strike, even though I know you don’t want to.”
If the kids get it, certainly the AMPTP can, right?
I got a phone call last night from a five-year old. Micah Rose had this to say: “Pam? I just wanted to tell you that I’m proud of you for doing the strike, even though I know you don’t want to.”
If the kids get it, certainly the AMPTP can, right?
Whenever I open a new bag of cat food and pour it into the cat food container, Taylor acts like he just won a jackpot, pulling himself up to the stream of kibble, trying to catch one in his mouth mid-stream. I can’t imagine how much more delightful and tasty one-second old kibble is compared to the stuff he eats every day, but his excitement leads me to think that there’s a very big difference.
And then, this morning, I opened a new bag of coffee beans, and as I poured them into the coffee beans container, I started salivating. And if it were possible, I would have swiped a couple of those beans with my paw and jammed them right into my mouth, whole.
I get it, Taylor. I get it. Continue reading
Happy Three, pretty girl.
It’s hard to believe three years have passed since you freaked me out. (And even less than that since the time you didn’t call the cops on me!)
The morning after the wedding, we woke up and listened to this song in bed and thought about how happy we were and how perfectly the wedding went and how lucky we were to have these amazing friends and family who braved the rain and snow and winds and this strange waterfall that happens on our front steps when it pours outside. Continue reading