On December 28th, I stabbed this note into my phone:
“At least when you write, when something horrifyingly disappointing happens it holds some value in life currency - the chance to share and see if anybody else out there has f-cked up so royally.”
I KNOW my kid still sh-ts herself. I UNDERSTAND she doesn't comprehend the historical and magical time of year that is Christmas. I realized, despite everybody's kind advice, that I DON'T CARE.