This year, I’d like my 8-yearold son to have the best Christmas ever, like the ones you gave me when I was a kid.
I try not to compare my experiences as a child with my son’s experiences. You know me—if I do that, then I’ll kill myself trying to make his childhood exactly like mine. It’s like ordering a meal at a restaurant—if I set my mind on having the meatloaf, then that’s what I must have. If the waiter comes back and says they ran...
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