I’m listening to my youngest — now a teenager — COUGH and I’m praying he won’t develop the laryngitis I suffered from recently (see “Silence in the Man Cave” part 1, part 2 and part 3). If there’s anyone who genuinely enjoys talking as much as his network-news-correspondent mom, it’s my youngest.
I remember when he was about 5 or 6, on Saturday mornings, the door to our bedroom would creak open. Only a small hand reaching up to the doorknob visible. Continue reading