Sunday
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3/28/05
No, My Boys Are The Cutest.
As I sit here this morning, staring bleary eyed at my inbox and trying to wake up, I am sorely tempted to start blogging about our Easter. All about our adorable boys, how well behaved they were in church, the outstanding egg hunt put on by my mom, and the culinary bliss of a prime rib dinner. We drank some pretty good Merlot and talked books, music, politics and... well, end of life healthcare issues ala Ms. Schiavo. Go figure. But did we top it all of with some really good coffee.
And then I thought, naw, I'll bet everybody who does Easter is doing just that right now; blogging about how cute their kids are and reflecting on what Easter means to them. So, I'll spare the world one of my staggeringly lengthy yet brilliant essays on the themes of rebirth, redemption, and forgiveness and cut right to the chase: regardless of how you may feel about your own children, just remember that it's my boys that are the cutest darn egg-hunters ever. So there.
.
|
3/28/05
No, My Boys Are The Cutest.
As I sit here this morning, staring bleary eyed at my inbox and trying to wake up, I am sorely tempted to start blogging about our Easter. All about our adorable boys, how well behaved they were in church, the outstanding egg hunt put on by my mom, and the culinary bliss of a prime rib dinner. We drank some pretty good Merlot and talked books, music, politics and... well, end of life healthcare issues ala Ms. Schiavo. Go figure. But did we top it all of with some really good coffee.
And then I thought, naw, I'll bet everybody who does Easter is doing just that right now; blogging about how cute their kids are and reflecting on what Easter means to them. So, I'll spare the world one of my staggeringly lengthy yet brilliant essays on the themes of rebirth, redemption, and forgiveness and cut right to the chase: regardless of how you may feel about your own children, just remember that it's my boys that are the cutest darn egg-hunters ever. So there.
.
