So if my story below about the poor man who’s consumed with guilt over his misguided search for a better life in North Korea (I know, duh) isn’t depressing enough, go over to In the Family Way and get your pants scared right off of you by the story about the deadly dangers of all of your kids’ favorite foods. Maybe it caused panic to set in only because I was already freaking about that article in the New York Times this morning about how I nearly killed my child and probably caused developmental delays because he had a walker. So this choking story is throwing me into action. No more grapes unless they’re sliced. I admit, I’m guilty of slacking on this in the past, but no more. If DHS reads this post they will take Amos away, clearly I’ve been screwing up left and right.

But I promise with all my heart, no more peanut butter unless it’s a tissue-thin layer mixed with a soggy glob of slippery jam. Peanuts, M&Ms, hot dogs=no, no, no. Not at all. None. I know it’s really good to know this stuff and it was a true public service for Heidi to provide the paralyzing statistics behind the conventional wisdom, but it got the nerves jangling overtime. Amos was having chicken nuggets for lunch. Oh my god chicken nuggets! I will likely put all his entrees in the blender first until I can calm down a bit.

This story about a fatal shark attack has nothing to do with motherhood, except perhaps to serve as a reminder to never take your children to Florida. Or if you do, stay inland.