Wisconsin Gov. Scott Walker walked away from his presidential campaign today and urged his fellow trailing Republican candidates to do the same.

As Chris Stirewalt summarized this piece of news on “The Kelly File” this evening: “Good guy, patriotic act, classy.”

It was patriotic of Walker to exalt conservative ideas over his own campaign and it was classy to recognize that Republicans will likely fare better in the general election if they’re able to coalesce around a single candidate as soon as possible, but, I confess, I’m still surprised and disappointed.

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Two days ago, Fox News Contributor and HotAir.com editor-at-large Mary Katharine Ham lost her husband, Jake Brewer, in a bicycle accident during a charity race.

Ham has a daughter, Georgia, who is not much older than Sweet Potato — and she is seven months pregnant with her second child.

Since Saturday, Brewer’s family, friends and former colleagues — including President Obama, for whom he worked as a tech adviser — have offered an outpouring of profoundly moving tributes to a man who was evidently brilliantly talented, warmly unifying and generously energetic.

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On Friday night, the Oilman and I redeemed a generous gift card to the tony local steakhouse Mickey Mantle’s to preemptively celebrate our third wedding anniversary, which is Tuesday.

(Doesn’t Sept. 22 just sound like one of the loveliest possible dates for a wedding? It really was, too! It was fortunate, as well, that it fell on an OSU bye weekend.)

We snacked over herbed boursin cheese and crostini, chatting — at first — about Sweet Potato, whom we’d left with Lolo and Boppa for her first solo stay overnight.

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In which I rediscover the extent to which the culture has divorced sex and childbearing …

As might be expected, sustaining two pregnancies in two years has irrevocably altered my figure. To me, this is neither a point of pride nor a point of shame; it is simply a point of reality to which the most appropriate response is acceptance and adaptation.

In that spirit, I recently resolved to buy new well-fitting undergarments (ahem, bras!). Underthings are, after all, foundational. Over ill-fitting unmentionables, even the chicest of blouses can appear frumpy. Conversely, atop something sleek and supportive, a plain frock assumes the proper shape and proportion.

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Pope Francis has asked his 7.14 million Twitter followers to pray for him as he lands in the United States for the first time Tuesday, and pray for him I will.

He’ll undoubtedly arrive to great joy among Catholics and other men and women of good will who admire him — particularly his much-vaunted humility (a paradox not of his making!) and the mercy that has become the watchword of his pontificate.

Yet, his trip will also assuredly offer him more than his fair share of opportunities to shoulder the Cross. Classless gestures, selective reporting and willful misunderstanding will hinder the reception of his message, even among those of us who wish to receive it with gratitude and to discern faithfully its application to our lives.

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Last night, I had a volunteer commitment at 6:30 p.m., so I was only able to catch the very end of the GOP debate live. The Oilman dutifully recorded it for me, however, and, this evening, I watched it in its entirety.

May I first just say what a pleasure it was to watch 11 would-be presidents orate, declaim, harangue and — every now and then — quip about a spectrum of issues both serious and silly? As heavy a heart as I so often have when I pray about or ponder the future of the United States, the logophile in me still revels in skillful rhetoric and equally delights to mock clumsy verbal constructions. Because both were in plentiful supply throughout the debate, I count the hours I spent glued to the television well-spent, even though I’m still unsure which of the Republican candidates I endorse.

As a sheer rhetorician, Carly Fiorina dazzled me most, with Marco Rubio a close second, but Chris Christie climbed unexpectedly on my chart in this regard, as well. Inevitably, when I paused or rewound the DVR to transcribe a quote word for word, it came from one of the three of them.

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Yes, I realize all 10 of these quotes come from the same three candidates, but can I help it if the other eight said nothing I found compelling enough to transcribe word for word?

(10) Carly Fiorina on which woman to feature on the $10 bill:

I wouldn’t change the $10 or the $20 bill. I think honestly it’s a gesture. I don’t think it helps to change our history. What I would think is that we ought to recognize that women are not a special interest group.”

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“What’s for supper?” the witty Simcha Fisher asks.

“These menus!” respond ever-so-many with-it women.

It’s inspiring. Even though I bragged in my “Bio” page that I’ve arrived at a place in my life to be able to “concoct a few company-worthy dishes,” I’m still a very mercurial meal planner. Either I will spend more time than is reasonable scouring cook books and assembling a list of gourmet meals to attempt in a given week or I will fail to plan entirely.

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“Is #WhatIWoreSunday still a thing?” I asked myself as I dressed for Mass this morning.

I first discovered this hashtag — I think! — through the blogs of the inimitable Jennifer Fulwiler and the lovely Hallie Lord. Immediately, I was drawn to the concept: A compilation of images to inspire me to don my “Sunday best” for the King of Kings and, then, hopefully, to forget what I was wearing as soon as I entered the sanctuary to worship Him.

For a time, it seemed every humorous, savvy, stylish Catholic mama with a blog participated and I was tempted to launch a website simply to do the same. Lately, I’ve not happened upon as many posts, but I correctly assumed that meant nothing as to its continuation. Apparently, #WhatIWoreSunday originated with Fine Linen and Purple – a site I just visited for the first time, but already find appealing — and is still ongoing. I’m delighted!

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In my bio, I promised more about our second-in-line-to-the-throne. Baby Dzurisin No. 2 (a.k.a. “Mint Julep”) is due Dec. 31, 2015. More mellow in the womb than his sister, who wriggled nearly nonstop, Mint Julep shares her cute little ultrasound profile. He already exerts pretty profound pressure on me to be tougher and stronger than I’ve ever had to be before (hello, pelvic pain!). Other than that, I don’t know much about him, but how eager I am to learn more!

One more thing: His actual name is Rhett Louis.

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