Right about now, columnists are expected to write ponderously and meaningfully, but mostly ponderously, about somebody who took up a lot of space in our public life in the year just ending. But I can't think of a single soul.
Thousands instead come to mind.
And who manage usually to smile, if wanly. Working parents keep this country running. I give myself no pat on the back. I'm too busy on my knees, searching for stray, dirty socks that fit a child's foot, size five through eight. This was my first full year of ricocheting between work and child, child and work, and wondering whether I was doing it right and how other parents made it.