These nuts are chock full o'normal.

As I sit and lovingly bang this one out, I am happy to remember today as another day that we are all [as] normal [as can be expected of us]. Two years ago the day after Christmas, I sat in the hospital with Eve on my lap as she got a blood transfusion, too tired to play with any of her presents from the day before. Yesterday, I sat with Eve in my lap to calm her down, because she wanted to lob the presents at her brother's head. And, deep down, isn't that what every parent really wants?

The Christmas Mouse

It's kinda crazy over here. We've done some stuff. We don't have cancer. We now understand why adults used to pay us as children to wrap presents.

We went to Pullen Park the weekend it reopened after being closed for a couple years for renovations. The carousel just turned 100; although I searched, I saw no signs of Willard Scott or a jar of jelly anywhere.

Deciphering the hieroglyphics

I was in California not just to Occupy Los Angeles (or secretly camp out for an end-all, be-all sexed-up high school vampire flick), but to attend Pablove's second childhood cancer symposium. This year's theme was survivorship. I liked being able to go because it meant my kid was a survivor.