One letter, one syllable, nothing important. Except it is.
As a child, much of what my mother did exasperated me. As an adult, those actions are what I’m most grateful for.
Certain times of a year, kids devolve into psychotic maniacs.
After a weekend of logistical nightmares, we declared the vacation a disaster, or as my engineer husband said, "so not optimized."
My tardiness is not due to lack of piety, but pure pusillanimity.
Lip reading is much harder than the movies make it look. Read on to find out why.
Every so often I pause to appreciate the miracle that my parents didn't strangle me before I reached adulthood.