[...] 
Lo, it is Friday, and today, we shall have ice cream.
Look, I`m not even going to ask you if it`s a form of child exploitation to dress one`s boy-child in a pink tutu and publish it on the Internet, because a) I already know the answer and b) I`m not interested in hearing from anonymous commenters [...] 
It's Monday, it's raining and I think that my house might be haunted. It's either that or the cats are messing with me. Odds are good either way.
I promised myself that I wouldn't start this week with another weak salute to my hatred of Mondays. I mean, what's more banal than hating on Mondays? Seriously. Welcome to my boring.
I have trouble keeping my days of the week straight. Also, my seasons. Is it spring yet?
When my nephew, Zachary, was about four years old, my mother pulled a prank on him. This was not at all unusual - according to my mother, children only become fun once they're of an age to be messed with, and her relationships with her grandchildren' [...] 
This is me, nine and half months post-partum:
My daughter is a nudist. She is an unrepentant clothes-doffing, underwear-eschewing, bum-baring, breeze-loving, parts-showing nudist. It's sort of awesome, but also a little disconcerting.
Jasper at Blissdom Conference, Nashville, February 2009
... who was given to hitting the bottle before performances, it would probably look something like this:
Hey, baby! Could you look into your little rubber crystal ball and tell us the forecast for the weekend?
Here's the thing about maintaining a personal blog: one sometimes forgets that one is not simply maintaining a diary - albeit a carefully thought-out diary, one that is edited for style and for grammar - but publishing, virtually, a sort of memoir or collection of essays [...] 
When I was seven years old, my family went to Disneyland. My father took a few weeks' holiday from work, and we set off in a camper van down the Pacific coast from Vancouver, stopping to see attractions like the Grand Coulee Dam ('the Eighth Wonder [...] 
I know exactly how she feels.
How, my love, did we get from here...
