Based on the amount and complexity of the things your mother has brought back from her first shower it seems that raising children has become very complicated. Very gear intensive. Everything that is something I don't recognize is what it is because the thing I would recognize, the obvious thing, would apparently kill you. I don't know when they made this discovery, but apparently almost everything kills children. Be on the lookout for everything.
I know there are certain things in there that I don't understand and don't want to understand. The phrase 'industrial grade double barrel mechanical breast pump' comes to mind. I probably should have mentioned that when I was helping you pick a gender. Enjoy being girls!
Various individuals were kind enough to donate your all important, expensive, and death proof car seats. The Apollo astronauts were strapped in with shoelaces by comparison. Of course, these aren't your long term car seats. These are just for the first year. After that, they too will kill you if we don't upgrade. You see what I'm saying? Trust nothing. It's all out to get you.
I'm not sure if they had car seats when I was a child. I think we were just carted around in shoeboxes. I mean, they had lids, so it wasn't totally unsafe. There may have been seatbelts but I don't think we used them. I remember that we rear ended a car once and I went flying and smashed the windshield. And then I had one of those moments that kids have where something crazy has just happened and they look up at their parents to see if they've got the green light to start wailing. But instead of coddling me or leading me to believe that shattering glass with my skull was cause for consternation, my mom picked me up, smiled and said, 'Wow, that's some head you've got! Look at that window! You smashed it right up! This thing must be made out of rock!' And then she mussed my hair, put me back in my shoebox, and off we went. I don't think people traded insurance information in those days either, you just drove off. The point is, she took a traumatic brain injury, and instead of making me cry, she made me proud of it. To this day I still think about the hardness of my head with pride. Now that's parenting. From then on when people would get in our car and look at the spiderwebbed glass I would say with pride, 'I did that with my head.' When they looked at me in horror my mom would just twirl her finger around her temple to indicate that I was crazy and then tell them that I hadn't been quite right since a non-car related, non-negligent blow to the head. I guess what I'm saying is, remind me not to leave you alone with grandma.
Novel - p6
Dunking - can't lift a car, but can hammer nails with my super strong head
French - Je suis un tete dur.