Sandy and I are spending hours and hours sorting through and paring down childhood mementos as we try valiantly to turn the guest room from an enormous storage closet into a reasonable place to put a baby.
Yesterday, I uncovered an essay on imagination that I wrote in perhaps 4th grade that was surprisingly relevant to our current endeavor:
When I see or hear anything interesting, it triggers my imagination to shoot off in all directions. When I see a baby, my mind races to the time when I will have my own. I imagine raising my child and the exact ways of punishing him or her. I will have a special spot to put him or her when he/she is bad. Imagination, such a wonderful thing to have.
See, that’s practical advice right there. Sandy and I had not even starting thinking about where to put the baby when he’s bad.