When I’m out driving, I “talk” to my kid in the back seat. And when I do, I call him Stormageddon… or Stormie.


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Bc I’m somewhat of a lunatic. That or a Whovian.

But seriously, I talk to him about my driving, stupid drivers, teaching him to drive, learning to drive in Miami in rush hour in a huge station wagon, vacations we’re going to take, his homework, and so much more. Better get used to it if we’re going to be stuck together in the car for over an hour to and from work as long as I’m stuck working on the beach.

Yes, I know I may be nuts, but that’s ok. The voices in my head* say this is “normal” akin to pregnant ladies talking to their bellies.

* There aren’t really voices in my head. Dearest adoption case workers that ultimately find my blog, I am not hearing voices. Promise.


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