Two-year-old Bea was in my apartment a month ago. She hid the 10 miniature photo books I’d made through the past decade of baby Max, family, and friends. They’re small enough to fit in a wallet (I print them through iPhoto), and I store
Thinking of Max’s Grrrrreat Grrrrandpa, my Kung-Kung, Albert Kong US Army Captain… thinking of being a six-year-old and being squeezed to bits in the most ferocious bear hugs he could muster. This is him with my grandma Cordelia Kong. To Kung-Kung,
Our most recent argument is about putting gel in Max’s hair to keep it out of his eyes. Max is growing his hair out again, which means the hair in front hangs like a curtain, too short to tie back just yet.
I’m so glad this blog has provided me an excuse to make the time to sit with my journals. Do you remember when your baby discovered he has hands? Can you fathom not knowing you have hands? You twitch in
My friend Lana shared this link from PBS with me: Which Country Shares Your Parenting Values? My results say I should live in Australia (just like Lana). There’s also an interactive chart where you can compare any two countries. As one might expect, the
Once a month Konga Line shall crown one wonderfully beastly girl Rumpus Queen and one gloriously beastly boy Rumpus King. Send in stories of your little goblins for a chance at the crown. If your mini-monster is named Rumpus Royalty, I’ll post