A long time ago, in a far away land, I wanted to be a writer. A really good writer. I wanted to have a column in the newspaper that people would clamor to read (think Dear Abby or Dave Barry but more sex.) Alas, I took the road traveled too much (a throwback to the famous footprints poem) and got married, moved to all corners of Illinois, got divorced, got remarried, popped out a couple of kids and settled in a town not quite known for famous journalists. So here I sit, approaching 30, selling tofu and ketchup, and missing that dream I once had. Alas, I jump on the bandwagon of bloggers.
Each article will differ. Some could be newsy, some editorial, and yet some others just everyday observations in the life of raising two boys. I promise not to become to Kathy Lee Giffordish (don’t want to lose my fan base,) but sometimes you just can’t help but find humor in what two kids under three say and do.
Each article will differ. Some could be newsy, some editorial, and yet some others just everyday observations in the life of raising two boys. I promise not to become to Kathy Lee Giffordish (don’t want to lose my fan base,) but sometimes you just can’t help but find humor in what two kids under three say and do.
No comments:
Post a Comment