Before bed tonight, Isaac told me that my nose is a beak like on a bird. Thought I would make record of that — not as in to keep a record of wrongs, but more as in to say I love you, even though you [name it].
Mama, I’m so sorry that Erin and I stood behind you in the grocery store, waving our arms tall and wide, pointing to passers by that my Mama’s got junk in her trunk. What a stinking brat! Have I told you that Isaac tells me all the time with such innocence and love that I am his Big Mama?