Kate Wehr lives someplace in the Rocky Mountain West. She’d tell you where but her sense of direction is dreadful. A cowboy picked her up once upon a time and now she can’t figure out how to leave. Considering her cell phone has been refrigerated, deep fried and run through several baths at this point, she cannot imagine what on earth she is doing with four small children, two horses, five ducks, thirteen chickens, and one hyperactive Australian Shepherd.
You ought to have paid more attention the last time the kids and I forced you to watch Ghostbusters. Had you done so, perhaps the pestilence that has infested our household could have been averted. Sadly, my love, I fear it is now too late. Certainly, the suede recliner where I rock your infant son to sleep every night did not benefit from its sudden dousing in neon goo. Nor will the first full-sized quilt I ever made (at 15,