by Janelle Meraz Hooper
When our children were young, I had a friend who told me that it was time for her five-year old son to go to school — she had taught him everything she could.
I looked at it this way: the teachers could teach my daughter all of that 3-R stuff — I was never good at it anyway. I could teach her about fine literature, art, the history of oriental carpets — and how to make tiny guest soaps from little plastic muffin pans and a microwave.
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by John Fern
“We don’t need a pool table!” my wife told me, after I’d mentioned that there was a good deal on a slate-bed, eight-footer in the classified ads.
“I know! I was just making an observation while reading the newspaper. If I saw a Mercedes Benz in here for a hundred bucks, don’t ya think I’d mention it? It doesn’t mean I’m gonna run out and buy it!” I assured her.
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