May 27, 2008 @ 6:23 am | Filed under: These People Crack Me Up
At the breakfast table, Beanie heaves a wistful sigh.
“Rats. I’ve dreamed of having a whole box of cereal all to myself, and I thought it was going to come true at last because no one else likes this kind. But then I remembered the baby does.”
Topics of discussion on the way to Trader Joe’s with an eight-year-old
I Always Suspected that Cheery Demeanor Was a Ruse
That’s my girl
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