B proudly showed me this trick on our walk to the grocery store last night.
Apparently ‘daddy’ helped him come up with this questionable stunt (insert side-eye to Mr here). I think my response (a variation on my usual theme of “if you’re going to do stupid boy things, don’t act surprised when you get hurt”) horrified the tourists gathered around The Thinker.
I grew up on ten acres on the outskirts of a small Southern town. As a child, my best friend and I played in the woods with my dogs, pretending to be Indian princesses or fairies until my parents called us in for dinner.
When I moved to Exile, the culture shock was extreme. So many people, so much noise, traffic, horns honking … it’s overwhelming. Watching B navigate childhood here has been, at times, terrifying – but our hard, nerve-wracking work has paid off. Continue reading