I am glad to hear that the kids are, STILL, apparently all right — unless “kids” is a euphemism for Julianne Moore’s chest, in which case I think we should issue a distress call.
This is very poor treatment of them indeed; if this keeps up, they’ll become surly, and start slamming doors and drinking warm beers they stashed under the bed and playing Motley Crue at top volume until they get thoroughly grounded. Which… come on, Julianne. Nipples aren’t meant to feel pavement. Coddle them a little.
