When we dropped our youngest off last weekend, Rich and I both felt this weird mix of doom and delight. As it was just after we’d dropped him off last year that the first shoe dropped, there was a natural gurgle of PTSD. Could everyone just be cool this year and…stay alive?
Currently, the broken rules in my youngest’s room represent the actual bridge between childhood and adulting: Teddy Grahams on one side, Stoli on the other.
“I can guarantee you one thing. A new purse will never throw up a pair of children’s underwear.” It was a long weekend, full of regrets.
What is life like outside the Disney bubble? Look around. Do you see any Mickey waffles on the stove?
