For your Sunday enjoyment… some cartoons!

Apparently, a preposition is a bad word to end a sentence with. I don’t know if that’s a grammatical rule you’re obligated to adhere to. There seem to be so many examples in literature which this rule doesn’t apply in. Or to. I suspect this is the kind of “rule” like the “rule” of never using the split infinitive in English because it’s not permitted in Latin, a language that’s impossible to use it in.

“Where’s your IUD?” Dr. El-Taj asked.

“Somewhere in Florida,” I answered.

I think I left it behind a Burger King dumpster off U.S. 1, somewhere between Miami and Marathon Key.

I barely remember first hearing about 9/11. But I can tell you exactly the weather, what I wore, and where I sat when I received what I thought was an accidental email from the University of Washington Office of Admissions.

The year my kids were two and seven, my husband, Michael, suggested that I complete the last two years of my bachelor’s degree.

“You’re kidding.” I was holding a lamb chop, chasing the two-year-old across the kitchen floor. Lamb chops were Sara’s favorite, so I broiled a couple for breakfast, my new strategy to tackle her recent hunger strike.