I really didn’t know what to write about for this installment. Sure, I could relate some funny anecdote about my son, preferably one that (a) won’t humiliate him, (b) won’t humiliate me, and (c) is easily summarized in a bite-sized morsel of charming wisdom. I could spin a yarn tied to a recent study, the banning of Red No. 3 perhaps, or the fact that Surgeon General Dr. Vivek Murthy hath officially decreed that parenting is perilous to one’s mental health. I might go in the direction of the worry-with-me pearl-clutch — internet porn is always here to serve — or give public voice to my lament that the school board chose, presumably of their own free will, to send our children home for THREE WEEKS in honor of the recent winter holiday.
(Really though, powers that be: Why? Is this our punishment for sending in store-bought cookies for the holiday party? If we promise to bake next year, will you reconsider? Perhaps you could use the entire week we have off for Thanksgiving to ponder the possibility….)
But my heart isn’t in any of that.