I remember how innocent I was, long before I was a parent. Do you remember that time? When you were young, perhaps it was the 80s, or the early 90s. You imagined bringing a baby into your home one day, certainly, it was far off in the future but the image was clear, if a bit soft-focused around the edges: all was fuzzy, wuzzy, warm, soft, and gentle. If you imagined your home with a kitchen, in fact, the knives were all tucked safely away in a hand-oiled maple block somewhere, way, way back on the counter.
[Big sound of brakes squeaking, wheels skidding, cars smashing into walls, screams...]
And then, I became a parent in the new millennium. And my world was filled with the most fearsome, warlike cutting implements. Industrial-strength scissors that came apart at the hinge so you could sharpen them daily. Hunting knives with a whetting stone, glistening next to the sink (where I keep my gentle organic hand soap). A typical day in my first child's infancy might find my knuckles raw, my fingers calloused, battle wounds all over my fingers.I'd been faced with my children's toy packaging.
Before the bell: Stocks ready to climb on hopes of continued low rates
Why do we have a weak dollar?
Holiday hiring slow for retailers
