I often joke that the only things I can write consistently and well about anymore are mothering and my children. (Ask the members of my writing group how badly the introduction to my next book is going.) This does not bode well for the successful mass market book I need to write to fund my children's college education.
Luckily, however, where my creative skill has failed, Frances's has flourished. Here is an acrostic poem she wrote for school:
Bug bit me before lunch
Emergency room
Fire on my nose
Ouch!
Red and purple band-aid
Eek!
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