Owen was two. He was speaking seventeen words. He told his dad he loved him. I barely could get him to say “mama”. Home with him every hour of the day and he tells his father, “I love you.” I was Barbara’s jealous resentment. He rarely kissed. If he did it was without using his… Read More Fork you and your words.
I’m a whirling dervish of futility lately. My calendar looks like a pixelated Rorschach blot. If I went color blind from some sudden aphasia from the stroke (I’m fated to have if I keep up this pace) our whole world would fall apart. So as I organized, color coded appointments once again to match the… Read More Whirling dervish of futility
“What NOW, Owen?” I’m not proud of that lament but I’m driven to it by noon on a good day. Considering I’ve been up since 3 a.m., that makes it happy hour in some time zones for those without children. So imagine my surprise when I discovered my baby stuck in the cat door. It’s… Read More Mama, the baby is stuck again!
My husband, Jamie, is meticulous and cautious by nature and trade. He spends his days as an engineer and prides himself on being thorough, accurate, and heading off trouble. Then there’s his play time with Owen. Owen has no sense of fear. He’ll jump from anything and run head long without sensing any imminent danger… Read More Papa playtime requires protective gear
There’s certain truths of parenting, the Murphy’s Law of raising humans, that when you absolutely need things to go your way they probably won’t. Forgot the extra diaper? The baby is going to crap and play with it while he’s in the shopping cart. Your kid forgot to take their lunch to school? Today is… Read More Rock, Paper, Broken Glass
Owen is obsessed with cars. He runs out to grab them up the moment his eyes open. I hear his feet slapping on the hardwood floor and then him running to our bed once he has them. I’m awoken by him launching himself headfirst into my neck, rubbing his forehead on me in his version… Read More The boy who chases cars.
Puppetry of the Penis, hands down one of the weirdest, yet funniest, live performances I’ve ever seen. I remember thinking at the time that I would probably never see something quite as strange again in my life. Then I had children. Post bathtime our son likes to pull on his scrotum and contort it into… Read More Puppetry of the Penis, a.k.a. our son
Nora is grinning and bearing her belly. I look up from writing and smile, “Uh-oh, is my hand going to tickle you?” A squeal of laughter and she’s off running after answering, “YES!” Owen joins in and chases after her giggling, “Nawnie-nawnie-na-na, sista’!!” We tickle her tummy and then Nora turns to Owen, “Oo-ie?! Do you… Read More Consent starts with parents.
“We don’t always get what we want!” Not my finest, or most original, moment of parenting. Not the kindest either. Shared illness amongst us, lack of sleep, and the infinite meltdowns of a verbally struggling two year old had me barking clichéd guilt trips at my five year old daughter this past week. Even with… Read More Your entitled to hear me say “no”.
“What’s So Terrible About Two?” The benign article asked. My brain screamed, “Really? REALLY, assholes?!” They meant to be uplifting in their message, they meant to give people hope, to show that it isn’t that bad. At least I think so but I had trouble reading it as Owen was busy pulling a skintag off… Read More Toddlerhood: A test of a parents love