Another memory triggered -- jcarolek

This morning I read a post by another blogger, who was astounded that she had to tell her better half not to bite the dog. It reminded me of an afternoon when I went to pick my then-four-year-old daughter up from our care giver's house. Mamaw, as my children called her, greeted me with a look of concern on her face.

"I had to reprimand Jennifer today," she explained. "She bit Fritzy."

What? My daughter bit the schnauzer

Oh BOY, Cowboy Boots -- jcarolek

Certain memories are always triggered by the onset of the final week of preparation for Christmas. I love all of the music, the smiles, perhaps not shared during the remainder of the year, but certainly offered in the "spirit" of the season. I am less thrilled with the pushing and rushing that puts everyone in sour moods, but I understand it.

I think about those parents busily, frantically, searching for the special gift that will light the face of their youngster Christmas morning, and I am always returned to the year of the "Cowboy Boots." We were never given catalogs and instructed to circle items that we liked (my husband's family did this). As children, we were instructed to sit down and pen a wish list to Santa. No open book test, there.

Just another nightmare -- jcarolek

When I was a kid we had a monkey. His name was Chico and he was actually our second monkey. The first, Impy, had been a squirrel monkey, but Chico was a capucian monkey. he stood about 18 inches tall, I guess, and was a crazy pet. But, I loved him.
 
One night, for some reason I have long since forgotten, I was allowed to sleep with Chico in my top-bunk bed. Much like a normal child might be allowed to have the family cat or dog sleep at their feet, I was allowed to have Chico sleep on my pillow. However, due to his mischievous