The grocery shopping scenario rarely varies. It takes us three minutes just to get past the entryway of the store because I do a wheel check on the numerous handicap carts to find one that doesn’t squeak, wobble, or veer off to the left when I let go of the handle. Then, my husband, Andy, insists we sterilize the handle with one of those free wipes on display by the doors. Ok, I think we’re ready to go. I am the official “keeper of the list”. I pluck the list out of my purse and snap it open like a soldier reading orders for his next assignment. Andy, Mr. No-Nonsense,…

“Dude, you smacked me right in the face!”, Brandon bellows at Austin as they mimicked dancing to banjo and fiddle music all over the living room. Arms were flailing in the air and legs were kicking dangerously near the heads of those seated nearby. In between hysterical laughter, I twinged inside – waiting for a lamp or someone’s limb to break. Naturally, we continued to cheer them on and the two of them didn’t disappoint their audience. That’s when Austin’s free-swinging, happy arm backhanded Brandon right in the face. We tried to act concerned – honest – but it was too stinkin’ funny not to give in to hysterics. By…