Can I tell you something embarrassing? …I’ve been working up to this.
When I was a super-young mom, I was thinking about writing a novel. (I have a different one on my hard drive that will likely never see the light of day.)
Can I tell you something embarrassing? …I’ve been working up to this.
When I was a super-young mom, I was thinking about writing a novel. (I have a different one on my hard drive that will likely never see the light of day.)
May all your kids come home, and may they get along with each other. Or at least fake it.
May you have a white Christmas to the point that you feel Christmas-y and can say no to an activity you didn’t really want to go to, but don’t lose electricity and heat. May everyone wipe their boots.
May all your kids come home, and may they get along with each other. Or at least fake it.
May you have a white Christmas to the point that you feel Christmas-y and can say no to an activity you didn’t really want to go to, but don’t lose electricity and heat. May everyone wipe their boots.
To the untrained expatriate, swooping into American culture (like yours truly) I gotta say: Face Swap weirds me out a little. My family and I, piled on the sofa, have guffawed at, say, my daughter spontaneously sprouting my husband’s five-o’clock shadow. Or my seven-year-old swapping faces with the dog.
Still. Lately, what I’m realizing about my ideas of God?
He tends to change faces.
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