As a mom, I am always aware, albeit sometimes peripherally, of those stand out moments in Wesley's young life. Some are those picture-perfect instances caught on camera or video cams; others are times that are shared in real time with family and friends. And then there are those moments that just happen sans camera, sans recording devices--moments that are little blessings from heaven because they are so perfect and sweet and real that no picture, video, or even blog can capture it.
Today was one such Mommy Moment.
We were sitting in church, and the choir was singing as an anthem "Little Drummer Boy." This is one of Wesley's favorite songs ever. He has known this song since he was one, thanks to a children's book by the same name. Beautifully illustrated with the lyrics, that book has been one that we have read many, many times over the years. Plus this song is a frequent request at bedtime. Needless to say, it's one Wesley knows well.
In fact, he knows it so well that he sang it out loud with the choir during the anthem. His five-year-old voice carried above the others, swelling with the music. His pa-rum-pum-pum-pums were some of the sweetest I'd ever heard, and I couldn't help beaming at him. He never saw me, so intent on the hymnal in his hands (which was not opened to the song, by the way, but he likes to pretend) and the song.
This is what made it perfect--he wasn't singing for anyone other than himself. Granted, one of his little girl friends, Lily, was sitting with him, and he would give her a grin or two while singing, but this only made it even sweeter and more perfect for me.
No camera would have been able to catch the innocence of that moment. Only a mommy's heart could.
Sunday, December 7, 2014
Wednesday, June 11, 2014
From Gerber to Graduate, Part I
So it's official - my baby is a graduate.
Miss Heidi and Wesley
His pre-school days are winding down, and there comes with that a huge excitement for the future - both for him and me. There's anticipation about attending "Mommy's school" in the fall with the "big kids." There's curiosity about what kinds of things will be learned. There's even joy at the thought of playing on the "big" playground.
And there's especially the bittersweet acceptance of another chapter ended in his young life.
When I look back on the last five years, I realize with a smile and a tear that the better part of four of those years have been spent at Kids World. I remember how tough that first week back at work was - how I had to leave my baby in an unfamiliar setting and trust that those who were looking after him were doing just that. I remember how difficult it was to walk away while he was crying for me and how happy we both were at our afternoon reunions. I remember the day that he didn't cry when I left, when I knew that he was going to be okay and so was I. I remember watching him move up to each "big boy" classroom, the potty training, the scribbles that made up his artwork, the day he learned what letters were in his name, the day he learned to write his name. I remember how the other kids in the classroom slowly trickled in to our dinnertime conversations - how Connor did this or VJ said that, or how Brayden got in trouble (but never Wesley), or how Keats and Addison were the, ahem, "girlfriends" of the day.
And now he has graduated from all of that. In a couple of weeks, Kids World will no longer be a permanent fixture in our lives. The children whom I have watched grow up alongside Wesley will go their separate ways at summer's end, and while I am excited for all of them, I know that I will miss them. It has been a blessing to witness the blossoming of these little one-year-old toddlers into chatty, opinionated, sometimes bossy, always caring little persons. There's a warm, fuzzy feeling that comes with being addressed as "Hey, Wesley's Mom" by these children whose names and faces I know so well. I will miss that in the coming years.
Still, kindergarten will present a new challenge, one of fun and excitement and curiosity. The tide of their lives continues to flow, and even though many of them are moving down different tributaries, they will all eventually dump out into the great wide ocean of life and perhaps run into each other again.
I am so proud of what Wesley has accomplished, and I thank Kids World and all their teachers for four wonderful years.
Graduating class of 2014
His pre-school days are winding down, and there comes with that a huge excitement for the future - both for him and me. There's anticipation about attending "Mommy's school" in the fall with the "big kids." There's curiosity about what kinds of things will be learned. There's even joy at the thought of playing on the "big" playground.
And there's especially the bittersweet acceptance of another chapter ended in his young life.
When I look back on the last five years, I realize with a smile and a tear that the better part of four of those years have been spent at Kids World. I remember how tough that first week back at work was - how I had to leave my baby in an unfamiliar setting and trust that those who were looking after him were doing just that. I remember how difficult it was to walk away while he was crying for me and how happy we both were at our afternoon reunions. I remember the day that he didn't cry when I left, when I knew that he was going to be okay and so was I. I remember watching him move up to each "big boy" classroom, the potty training, the scribbles that made up his artwork, the day he learned what letters were in his name, the day he learned to write his name. I remember how the other kids in the classroom slowly trickled in to our dinnertime conversations - how Connor did this or VJ said that, or how Brayden got in trouble (but never Wesley), or how Keats and Addison were the, ahem, "girlfriends" of the day.
And now he has graduated from all of that. In a couple of weeks, Kids World will no longer be a permanent fixture in our lives. The children whom I have watched grow up alongside Wesley will go their separate ways at summer's end, and while I am excited for all of them, I know that I will miss them. It has been a blessing to witness the blossoming of these little one-year-old toddlers into chatty, opinionated, sometimes bossy, always caring little persons. There's a warm, fuzzy feeling that comes with being addressed as "Hey, Wesley's Mom" by these children whose names and faces I know so well. I will miss that in the coming years.
Still, kindergarten will present a new challenge, one of fun and excitement and curiosity. The tide of their lives continues to flow, and even though many of them are moving down different tributaries, they will all eventually dump out into the great wide ocean of life and perhaps run into each other again.
I am so proud of what Wesley has accomplished, and I thank Kids World and all their teachers for four wonderful years.
Tuesday, April 8, 2014
Milestones Come and Memories to Go
It's hard to believe that it's been 5 years since my son was born. And yet, there he is, larger than life (literally). Five years old and full of ideas, imagination, and energy. His birthday theme this year was Rescue Bots, something that no store does anything with (unlike choo-choos, fire trucks, and construction trucks). That's okay, though--it forced me to get creative, and I think I did okay. Many thanks to all the mommy blogs who helped me come up with ideas.
There was also the really huge event that happened four days before he turned five - Wesley lost his first tooth! Oh, the excitement that reigned in this house! In fact, that Saturday morning, I was awakened by the sound of happy feet running into my bedroom and the very proud statement: "Mommy, guess what! I lost my first tooth! See?" Cue the cute little hole. And guess what? No tooth. I think he swallowed it in his sleep. No amount of searching through dust bunnies, cereal crumbs, or lost toys under the couch (his current favorite weekend sleeping spot) could produce a tooth. Oh well--the tooth fairy was generous nonetheless.
And now we're planning our first trip to Disney World. Wesley is excited to see where Buzz lives and the princesses and all the rides and the big castle...and Rescue Bots, Mommy? Well...
It will also be his first time on a plane, another biggie. And then there's kindergarten in the fall...
Yep. Five years of great memories and major milestones stored neatly away. Here's hoping for another hundred.
There was also the really huge event that happened four days before he turned five - Wesley lost his first tooth! Oh, the excitement that reigned in this house! In fact, that Saturday morning, I was awakened by the sound of happy feet running into my bedroom and the very proud statement: "Mommy, guess what! I lost my first tooth! See?" Cue the cute little hole. And guess what? No tooth. I think he swallowed it in his sleep. No amount of searching through dust bunnies, cereal crumbs, or lost toys under the couch (his current favorite weekend sleeping spot) could produce a tooth. Oh well--the tooth fairy was generous nonetheless.
And now we're planning our first trip to Disney World. Wesley is excited to see where Buzz lives and the princesses and all the rides and the big castle...and Rescue Bots, Mommy? Well...
It will also be his first time on a plane, another biggie. And then there's kindergarten in the fall...
Yep. Five years of great memories and major milestones stored neatly away. Here's hoping for another hundred.
Tuesday, August 6, 2013
Return of Buzz Lightyear
Sunday night after returning from WV, Wesley asked for his Buzz Lightyear toys. To celebrate their return, Woody, Jessie, Zurg, Buzz, Rex, Slinky, RV, Lotso, Robot, Wesley, and Mommy had a tea party.
Wesley: Mommy, where's my Buzz?
Me: You told me to put them away, you didn't want them anymore.
Wesley: Well, now I do.
Me: You sure?
Wesley: Yeah. Buzz and ALL his friends. And Buzz can sleep on my bed.
:) Yep.
Wesley: Mommy, where's my Buzz?
Me: You told me to put them away, you didn't want them anymore.
Wesley: Well, now I do.
Me: You sure?
Wesley: Yeah. Buzz and ALL his friends. And Buzz can sleep on my bed.
:) Yep.
Saturday, July 6, 2013
Growing up and Letting Go
One of the greatest things a parent gets to do is watch his or her child grow up. The innocence and joy our kids bring to everyday experiences that we as adults take for granted is almost magical. To see a baby blossom into a curious, mischievous, sandcastle building, big machine loving, making up his own mind about things big boy of four is a blessing from the great beyond.
It's also one of the hardest parts of being a parent.
Children do grow up. It's a fact of life and something we anticipate, even when we are changing their diapers at two weeks old. However, the reality of children growing up is much harder to take than I think parents readily admit. Tonight, Wesley sort of crossed into that threshold. When I informed him that I would have to put his Toy Story toys up due to mistreatment, he loftily informed me, "You can put them away, Mommy. I don't care."
:o
And he didn't.
:o :o
For two years (plus or minus a couple of months), Buzz Lightyear has reigned supreme, Jessie was one of the sweethearts of his eye, and Slinky Pup was stretchy and cool. Now, all of a sudden, Wesley is four. ("I'm not a baby, Mommy, I'm four years old!" is almost a daily mantra around here these days.) And at the ripe ol' age of four, he's suddenly too cool for Toy Story.
I'll admit it--I took it personally. There was something sweet and genuine about his affection for Woody and the gang, and the way his eyes lit up with any kind of Buzz toy...well, that's something that's tucked away forever in my heart. I knew the day was coming. Honestly, it isn't really too much of a surprise because the signs have been there for a few months: a discovery of other superheroes--Batman, Spiderman, Superman--and a newfound love of Angry Birds (thanks to his cousin Ryan and his Pap). He's getting older and expanding his interests, which means letting go of some other things. It's to be expected, so why did it give me a genuine :o moment?
Because of what the abandonment of Toy Story signifies--my baby is growing up.
Now don't get me wrong--Buzz Lightyear still shows up in our stories in some of the weirdest plot twists ever conceived. No matter. I'm willing to have him fly in from Gamma Quadrant, Sector Four to help work the pile driver on the construction site or battle Doc Oc because, for some reason, Spiderman forgot to wake up. And it's most likely that Wesley will, at some point in the next few days, miss his Toy Story friends and ask for them back.
But then again, it's likely that he won't. And if that happens, what does a mother do? Celebrate the steps towards "Big Boy-hood"? Mourn the loss of "My Baby-hood"? I think a little bit of both. I mean, truthfully, it isn't the end of time. So the toys are no longer in his room--so what? Those characters will always have a place in his heart. Buzz Lightyear was Wesley's first superhero, for heaven's sake. That's something that can't be erased, no matter how much he grows up.
But for me, it's bittersweet. My son is technically no longer a baby (and hasn't been for quite some time), and to let him grow up, I'm learning to let go a little bit at a time. And now I find there's a reverse in the way of nature. As my four-year-old begins to take bigger steps out into the world around him, I find myself taking smaller steps. After all, there will come a day, I know, when he's suddenly too cool for Mommy snuggles, which he's still quite content to take and even instigate half
the time For now, though, I'll work around the accepted adieu to a particular group of toys and accept the blessing that is my big-boy-four-year-old, Mommy snuggles and all.
It's also one of the hardest parts of being a parent.
Children do grow up. It's a fact of life and something we anticipate, even when we are changing their diapers at two weeks old. However, the reality of children growing up is much harder to take than I think parents readily admit. Tonight, Wesley sort of crossed into that threshold. When I informed him that I would have to put his Toy Story toys up due to mistreatment, he loftily informed me, "You can put them away, Mommy. I don't care."
:o
And he didn't.
:o :o
For two years (plus or minus a couple of months), Buzz Lightyear has reigned supreme, Jessie was one of the sweethearts of his eye, and Slinky Pup was stretchy and cool. Now, all of a sudden, Wesley is four. ("I'm not a baby, Mommy, I'm four years old!" is almost a daily mantra around here these days.) And at the ripe ol' age of four, he's suddenly too cool for Toy Story.
I'll admit it--I took it personally. There was something sweet and genuine about his affection for Woody and the gang, and the way his eyes lit up with any kind of Buzz toy...well, that's something that's tucked away forever in my heart. I knew the day was coming. Honestly, it isn't really too much of a surprise because the signs have been there for a few months: a discovery of other superheroes--Batman, Spiderman, Superman--and a newfound love of Angry Birds (thanks to his cousin Ryan and his Pap). He's getting older and expanding his interests, which means letting go of some other things. It's to be expected, so why did it give me a genuine :o moment?
Because of what the abandonment of Toy Story signifies--my baby is growing up.
Now don't get me wrong--Buzz Lightyear still shows up in our stories in some of the weirdest plot twists ever conceived. No matter. I'm willing to have him fly in from Gamma Quadrant, Sector Four to help work the pile driver on the construction site or battle Doc Oc because, for some reason, Spiderman forgot to wake up. And it's most likely that Wesley will, at some point in the next few days, miss his Toy Story friends and ask for them back.
But then again, it's likely that he won't. And if that happens, what does a mother do? Celebrate the steps towards "Big Boy-hood"? Mourn the loss of "My Baby-hood"? I think a little bit of both. I mean, truthfully, it isn't the end of time. So the toys are no longer in his room--so what? Those characters will always have a place in his heart. Buzz Lightyear was Wesley's first superhero, for heaven's sake. That's something that can't be erased, no matter how much he grows up.
But for me, it's bittersweet. My son is technically no longer a baby (and hasn't been for quite some time), and to let him grow up, I'm learning to let go a little bit at a time. And now I find there's a reverse in the way of nature. As my four-year-old begins to take bigger steps out into the world around him, I find myself taking smaller steps. After all, there will come a day, I know, when he's suddenly too cool for Mommy snuggles, which he's still quite content to take and even instigate half
the time For now, though, I'll work around the accepted adieu to a particular group of toys and accept the blessing that is my big-boy-four-year-old, Mommy snuggles and all.
Sunday, December 16, 2012
A Day of Tragedy, a Season of Hope
As a mother, I pray every single day for the safety of my son. When I drop him off at school and give him a kiss good-bye, I pray that God will watch over him and keep him safe while we're apart. I pray that God looks after Wesley and all the children at his school so that they may all be returned to their families safely at the end of the day. These are prayers not unlike, I'm sure, the millions that are prayed every day for all children everywhere, the prayers of mothers and fathers, grandmothers and grandfathers, aunts and uncles.
And that is why the tragedy of Friday resonates with me. Even though I am physically far removed from Newton, CT, my heart is a mother's heart and it has broken into a thousand pieces for all the victims at that school. It is a horrible irony that such a terrible event should happen at this time of year, when Christmas lights twinkle in windows and every store is playing Christmas songs while customers shop. This is not the time for sorrow and grief but a time of joy and peace, or so it should be.
But someone forgot to check the calendar, and so this time of childhood wishes and sugarplum dreams is marred by an all-too real violence that has left in its wake broken innocence and tiny caskets. The world got mean on Friday, life got mean on Friday, and this most wonderful time of year has been, for some, forever changed. The Devil played his hand, and like the Grinch, has tried to steal Christmas from us by turning our green and red wreaths into black ones.
I cannot imagine what those families in Connecticut are going through right now, nor do I want to. I have cried for two days, refused to turn on my computer for fear of reading the horrible stories, ignored my Facebook and Twitter accounts so I would not have to read the sympathetic posts, and have tried to find some peace with what has happened. Finding peace has been important, for this is the story that broke me. Unfortunately, school shootings are much too commonplace in today's society, and I have wept and prayed through far too many of them: Columbine, the Amish school, Virginia Tech. Then there are events like the Aurora, Colorado movie theater and, of course, September 11th, which was violence to the nth degree, but it was this one in Newton that broke my heart. It could be due to the fact that the victims were mostly between the ages of 5 and 10, or it could be the time of year, or it could be a combination of both. My son will be 4 in March, so this terrible moment in time struck a chord with me, this great day of sorrow during what should be a joyous time.
And yet, I've come to believe that the Devil in playing his hand has erred greatly. He forgot to check the calendar. He has tried to steal Christmas from us all by striking us where it hurts the most--at the children. And he has most certainly left a great gaping wound that even those of us who are physically removed from Newton can feel. But he has erred. Evil has snuck in to this time of year when love should dominate, but evil cannot win.
Because Christmas is coming.
This is what I have reminded myself over and over the last few days. Christmas is coming. It cannot be stopped, possibly delayed, but not stopped. Christmas is coming, and it will bring with it as it always does the gift of hope and love absolute. No evil can stop it. It is God's gift to us, and it cannot be stopped no matter how many times the Devil strikes. A great evil took some precious children from this world and everyone, including God I'm sure, wept at the senselessness and cruelty of it, but Christmas is coming. And there will be one child born in a manger whom the Devil will not be able to strike down, no matter what he does.
They say that when life gets cruel, that is when you need Christmas the most. My prayer for the people of Newton is that they reach a point where they are able to find Christmas again. I know for many of them, this season will never be the same. How can it be? Yet I pray that the peace and hope of this season will find them very soon, if not this year, then perhaps next year. For the rest of us, the ones who are able to hold our children in our arms and kiss them and tell them we love them, let us do so. And let us remember that though our hearts are broken right now, though we weep with and for the families in Connecticut--let us remember the hope that is a little baby boy is coming, and in this can we find our greatest comfort.
The day of tragedy will not defeat the season of hope. God loves us, each and every one, and Christmas, His gift to us, is coming.
And that is why the tragedy of Friday resonates with me. Even though I am physically far removed from Newton, CT, my heart is a mother's heart and it has broken into a thousand pieces for all the victims at that school. It is a horrible irony that such a terrible event should happen at this time of year, when Christmas lights twinkle in windows and every store is playing Christmas songs while customers shop. This is not the time for sorrow and grief but a time of joy and peace, or so it should be.
But someone forgot to check the calendar, and so this time of childhood wishes and sugarplum dreams is marred by an all-too real violence that has left in its wake broken innocence and tiny caskets. The world got mean on Friday, life got mean on Friday, and this most wonderful time of year has been, for some, forever changed. The Devil played his hand, and like the Grinch, has tried to steal Christmas from us by turning our green and red wreaths into black ones.
I cannot imagine what those families in Connecticut are going through right now, nor do I want to. I have cried for two days, refused to turn on my computer for fear of reading the horrible stories, ignored my Facebook and Twitter accounts so I would not have to read the sympathetic posts, and have tried to find some peace with what has happened. Finding peace has been important, for this is the story that broke me. Unfortunately, school shootings are much too commonplace in today's society, and I have wept and prayed through far too many of them: Columbine, the Amish school, Virginia Tech. Then there are events like the Aurora, Colorado movie theater and, of course, September 11th, which was violence to the nth degree, but it was this one in Newton that broke my heart. It could be due to the fact that the victims were mostly between the ages of 5 and 10, or it could be the time of year, or it could be a combination of both. My son will be 4 in March, so this terrible moment in time struck a chord with me, this great day of sorrow during what should be a joyous time.
And yet, I've come to believe that the Devil in playing his hand has erred greatly. He forgot to check the calendar. He has tried to steal Christmas from us all by striking us where it hurts the most--at the children. And he has most certainly left a great gaping wound that even those of us who are physically removed from Newton can feel. But he has erred. Evil has snuck in to this time of year when love should dominate, but evil cannot win.
Because Christmas is coming.
This is what I have reminded myself over and over the last few days. Christmas is coming. It cannot be stopped, possibly delayed, but not stopped. Christmas is coming, and it will bring with it as it always does the gift of hope and love absolute. No evil can stop it. It is God's gift to us, and it cannot be stopped no matter how many times the Devil strikes. A great evil took some precious children from this world and everyone, including God I'm sure, wept at the senselessness and cruelty of it, but Christmas is coming. And there will be one child born in a manger whom the Devil will not be able to strike down, no matter what he does.
They say that when life gets cruel, that is when you need Christmas the most. My prayer for the people of Newton is that they reach a point where they are able to find Christmas again. I know for many of them, this season will never be the same. How can it be? Yet I pray that the peace and hope of this season will find them very soon, if not this year, then perhaps next year. For the rest of us, the ones who are able to hold our children in our arms and kiss them and tell them we love them, let us do so. And let us remember that though our hearts are broken right now, though we weep with and for the families in Connecticut--let us remember the hope that is a little baby boy is coming, and in this can we find our greatest comfort.
The day of tragedy will not defeat the season of hope. God loves us, each and every one, and Christmas, His gift to us, is coming.
Sunday, November 4, 2012
Halloween Treats
This year for Halloween, we decided to forego the trunk-or-treat at church and let Wesley go on an actual trick-or-treating spree with his cousin Ryan. Now I know that this holiday is really all about the kids, but I honestly had the best time Wednesday night watching my son experience his first doorbell-ringing adventure. I don't even remember having this much fun when I was the one bringing home a bag full of Smarties and SweetTarts.
What made it so great was my son's natural enthusiasm for (1) finally getting to wear that Buzz Lightyear costume that had been hanging for a month in the closet, (2) going to see Ryan, and (3) the idea of all that candy. Even though Spider-Man and the Transformers (very small action figures and coloring books only) have been creeping into Wesley's web of heroes, Buzz Lightyear still reigns supreme. The first night the costume arrived, I let him try it on and the only way it came off was through careful compromising that he could wear his wings whenever he wanted, but the costume itself had to hang in the closet until Halloween. This worked wonders and kept the enthusiasm alive for the big night when he was able to sport it proudly alongside Ryan, who would save the night from terrorists as Captain America.
Watching those two little boys race--and I do mean that literally--around the neighborhood is something that quite possibly could have won us the grand prize on America's Funniest Videos as the night went something like this:
"Buzz Lightyear to the rescue!" Ring doorbell. "Happy Halloween" (instead of the usual "trick-or-treat"). Bucket out, candy in. Zoom! "Buzz Lightyear to the rescue!" And so the cycle begins again.
Laughter is always good for the soul, and I certainly had plenty that night as I watched Captain America run from house to house with his shield held in front of him and Buzz Lightyear, wings and arms out, chase after him. Even better was the stop two doors down from our final destination, where Ryan rang the doorbell and then both heroes sat on the porch swing, worn out, to await their treats.
There is something to be said for goblins and ghouls on All Hallow's Eve, but there's even more to be said for the excitement such a night brings to children and parents alike. Even after they had dumped out their pumpkin buckets to examine their treasures, Buzz and Captain America battled it out on the living room rug with wrestling matches any hero would be proud of. Needless to say, the space ranger costume came off only with the promise of pajamas and sleep, something Wesley has learned to appreciate after a full day. Now Buzz runs through the house at his leisure, practicing flying, firing lasers at Zurg, and driving big trucks over the playroom rug.
Halloween is over, but the fun is still being had. Who knows if that costume will last through the holiday season?
And really, who cares?
What made it so great was my son's natural enthusiasm for (1) finally getting to wear that Buzz Lightyear costume that had been hanging for a month in the closet, (2) going to see Ryan, and (3) the idea of all that candy. Even though Spider-Man and the Transformers (very small action figures and coloring books only) have been creeping into Wesley's web of heroes, Buzz Lightyear still reigns supreme. The first night the costume arrived, I let him try it on and the only way it came off was through careful compromising that he could wear his wings whenever he wanted, but the costume itself had to hang in the closet until Halloween. This worked wonders and kept the enthusiasm alive for the big night when he was able to sport it proudly alongside Ryan, who would save the night from terrorists as Captain America.
Watching those two little boys race--and I do mean that literally--around the neighborhood is something that quite possibly could have won us the grand prize on America's Funniest Videos as the night went something like this:
"Buzz Lightyear to the rescue!" Ring doorbell. "Happy Halloween" (instead of the usual "trick-or-treat"). Bucket out, candy in. Zoom! "Buzz Lightyear to the rescue!" And so the cycle begins again.
Laughter is always good for the soul, and I certainly had plenty that night as I watched Captain America run from house to house with his shield held in front of him and Buzz Lightyear, wings and arms out, chase after him. Even better was the stop two doors down from our final destination, where Ryan rang the doorbell and then both heroes sat on the porch swing, worn out, to await their treats.
There is something to be said for goblins and ghouls on All Hallow's Eve, but there's even more to be said for the excitement such a night brings to children and parents alike. Even after they had dumped out their pumpkin buckets to examine their treasures, Buzz and Captain America battled it out on the living room rug with wrestling matches any hero would be proud of. Needless to say, the space ranger costume came off only with the promise of pajamas and sleep, something Wesley has learned to appreciate after a full day. Now Buzz runs through the house at his leisure, practicing flying, firing lasers at Zurg, and driving big trucks over the playroom rug.
Halloween is over, but the fun is still being had. Who knows if that costume will last through the holiday season?
And really, who cares?
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)