Praises of a Thousand Generations
I was born with an overabundance of words. They bubble up inside of me and ooze out of every pore. I can’t help it. I even coach myself on self-control in social settings, yet inevitably walk away thinking, “Why did I just talk so much?” It’s a blessing or a curse, depending who you ask and when. (If you asked my mom circa 1993 after one of her “Sarah, sweetie, mommy’s ears are tired.” schticks, she probably would’ve voted the latter.) But it’s also a blessing. In the past several years, I’ve gotten to use my words across amazing, humbling platforms.
Excavate at Your Own Risk
Knowing my 6 year old’s Prehistoric Marine Reptile Dinosaur birthday was around the corner (his theme choice…as if that needs to be clarified), I needed some small party favors to take to his kindergarten class that were non-edible. (Non-edible, because when the youths today eat sugar, food dye, gluten, or non-grass-fed meat they spontaneously combust. It’s easier not to feed them at all.) I ordered a few things from Amazon – some dinosaur stamps and stickers – but I needed just *one* more little something small to stick in the bag. This was, after all, his first ever birthday to be celebrated at school. It was A Huge Deal.
