You know my name, look up the number

Actually, we’re not in the phone book. That’s a reference to one of my greatest accomplishments: Tonight as Alice and I were giving Violet a bath, I started singing the Beatles’ “You Know My Name” (because nothing says retro-indie-hip like bathing your baby). Alice said “NO MAMA! ALCIE DO!” and I was so flabbergasted by the lyrics coming out of her mouth — correctly — that I let the attitude slide by. More proof that I’m teaching her less of the stuff she should be learning and more of the stuff I want to crowd her little brain with: Teaching the real life skills.

I confidently said I’d take my kids back to Ohio for a “A-Palooza” reunion my family throws, but then I gave birth to a second child and whimpered a little bit at all the fun I’m pretty sure I’m going to be missing. An eight-hour drive becomes an eternity when kids are in the car. That’s a fact.

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