Mothers don’t like to talk about cavities because we view them as evidence of what we perceive to be bad parenting. How could we let those precious little baby teeth decay? Even the sound of the word — “decay” — makes us shudder. Decay? DECAY? My child’s mouth has decay?
Read moreOwen Wilson Stole My Baby's Name!
When asked about the name Ford, Owen Wilson told E! Online: “Jade [Duell] and I just liked the name. Thought it was a good name, a very American-sounding name, and I don’t know a lot of kids named Ford so it seemed kind of original.” He’s right. According to Baby Name Wizard’s Laura Wattenberg (whose Name Voyager is a must-see), “the popularity of the name Ford peaked back in 1915, when it was ranked at #483, and it has been a rare bird for most of the time since.”
“Ford” ranked #608 for baby names in 1910 and slipped to #757 in the 1920s. By the 1930s, it was gone from the chart completely. (The Name Voyager doesn’t track names that didn’t reach a rank of at least 1,000 for that year.)
Read moreChild's Stuffed Animal Becomes Member of Family
When he first came to us four years ago, Lindiddy had fluffy fur and a mohawk of green on top of his head. Through the years, his fur has become mashed, the mohawk matted. His eyes are sewn in, but the eyelids are drooping. His yellow nose is crooked, like he flew into a window. He has long, orange legs that are bent at the knees and flopping wing-like arms that are too long for his body.
Read moreNew Military Widow's Words for Her Sons
Theresa has a new baby, Hunter, born in July, as well as a 6-year-old son, Anthony. Landon was supposed to be home a month ago, but his deployment was extended due to the situation in Syria. In other words, Theresa’s husband should have been home on Monday with his new son. Instead, he is dead.
Read moreAn Alzheimer's Patient's Gift to My Sons
At the end of the line was Frank, a small man permanently bent forward at his waist. He had wispy grey hairs combed over his bald, sun-spotted head. He stopped and touched my hand. “Will you have dinner with us?” he said quietly. “There’s room at our table.” Anita — the taller, straighter woman beside Frank, who was clutching his elbow for support — smiled at me and said, “We’ll do some sorting. Would you like that? We can sort things together.”
Before I could say anything, Owen shrugged his shoulders and said, “Sure, what’s for dinner?”
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