First, let me just remind you of how much I love comments. Comments are better than brownies or endless fields of mustard in bloom. Better than airshows. Better than shoes you buy at Nordstrom Rack because they are so cheap. They are better than being stopped by a stranger and told you look like Kate Winslet. They are better than making every green light and better than those new 100 calorie York Peppermint candy bars.
They are not better than trips to Venice or the way the tummy skin of my kids feels. They are not better than renting a house in Stinson for the weekend and cooking dinner with a bunch of friends. They are not better than this conversation I had with Oliver on the way to school this morning. Still, keep 'em coming.
What school does Georgia go to?
She goes to big kid school. She's a second grader.
What's a second grader?
When you are six you are a first grader, when you are seven you are a second grader, when you are eight...
And I know another important one that is sharp! A cheese grater!
I blame the Mister for what is obviously a genetic trait toward puns.