Mamas, Missiles, Milk

We’re headed to Vermont for the weekend to see family and hopefully ski. I am not ready at all. Cute W, however, has purchased a car-top storage thingy for the occasion. This is excellent, because we are a van-free family, so until this purchase we’ve been shoving skis into our small-ish wagon. Frankly, it’s uncomfortable and potentially hazardous. Have you ever gotten the police to check your car seat? You can totally do that, by the way. There’s usually someone quite nice and competent who really likes to perform this invaluable community service, so call them.

Sorry. There I go again, getting off track and finding more stuff that I think that you should do. But what I meant to say was, whenever I’ve done the car seat inspection, it’s usually accompanied by a safety schpiel in which I’d learn, among other things, that in the event of a car accident, the sippy cup that I  allow my child to hold while I’m driving will turn into a Deadly Missile. So then I’d drive home, and even though my child is more securely fastened than usual, I’d find myself terrified of possible imminent catastrophe until I’d park in my driveway and breathe a ragged sigh of relief.  So, clearly, I know that having this jumble of skis and poles rattling between my two precious daughters’ skulls is a bad idea. Glad it’s over.

Anyway, the point was, I’m not going to be particularly informative today. But I did find two links to share. One is that a recent Motherlode included a little essay from Anna Quindlen in which she tells us that the best is yet to come.  If I had the technical capabilities, I’d surround her name with fancy curlicues and hearts and flowers because I love her.  Which you might already know because I linked to her for last year’s Mother’s Day Weep-Fest Triple Threat.

All Over Albany also recently posted about local milk delivery options, which I thought some of you might want to know about.

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