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Boys had Nintendo 64—even I played Golden Eye a few times—babies had Tickle Me Elmo—lord, I remember the Black Friday mania from that year—and some of us had Furbies—the only toy my Dad attempted a Black Friday, early morning Toys-R-Us run. But American Girl Dolls were their own category.

Because you aren’t only buying the service or product; you are buying them. If you feel some sort of connection, you are more likely to listen to their pitch and give them a sale.

Actually…I’d say its dynamite in a dumpster; once that puppy blows there’s no amount of distance or cover that will save your ass.

…I was about to be an unwitting participant in an Up in the Air reenactment.

Yes, children are the reason for the season and their happiness lights up the cold, winter days but…their parents were frozen.

“How are you alive?” my son’s teacher—whom I had clued in on the situation—asked, noticing my disheveled appearance at pick-up.

As I unsuccessfully tried to explain the impracticality of a baby elephant squeezing through jail bars, another thought struck me…

Thinking back on those summers while in the trenches of my own vacation made me wonder how my parents managed it for all those years.

…writing would have been the perfect use for unintended and extended free time.

Recently, I’ve been doing some math.

What could elicit the amount of joy I need to escape the doom-spirals taking up every ounce of my unconscious (and conscious) brain?

“I swear I didn’t queue this up,” he said as Tim’s Minchin’s voice streamed from our Google Home speaker.

In the age of social media where we are constantly trying to “keep up with the Jones’”, life comparisons and regret are rampant.

How can I expect to feel inspired in any way if my only goal is to end the day on my couch, watching mindless tv for 2 hours before I pass out?

Instagram will try to fool you; it is NOT all rainbows and butterflies. It is bodily fluids and temper tantrums.

And moments like these—where you’ll let me hold you, feel your little body’s warmth against mine and rock you to sleep—are fleeting.

…everything in life that has a beginning should also have an end, right?

Needless to say, I’m anxious about this trip.

…disappointment is a cruel, cruel bitch.

Call it my Spidey-sense, but my memories are triggered by the five senses.