On December 1, Feng and I had a combined fever of 80ºC, and suddenly, writing to Santa was no longer a priority.
Browsing: Senior Kindergarten Mark
“All done with your Christmas shopping?” the salesperson asked cheerfully as Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer started playing for the 275th times.
Alright. Maybe Mark doesn’t speak French. And yes, maybe it’s my fault.
Picture me, a cake box on my open left palm, my right hand clutching three strings attached to three large balloons threatening to fly away at any moment in the cold breeze.
I can’t remember a bedtime routine that didn’t include a quick check on the date and a promise that yes, one day it would be October 12.