The Wrong Rock

Saturday morning was crisp. The skies were blue and the sun had already dried the dew from the grass where Arlo and I sat to watch Silas’ T-ball game. On our walk from the car to the field, Arlo had collected two small rocks, which, in case you didn’t know, are religious artifacts to three[…]

Arlo Interviews The Honest Toddler

I received an email this morning from containing a transcript of my three year old son, Arlo, interviewing The Honest Toddler. As you might imagine, it gets pretty deep. I’ve copied it here, unedited. —BEGIN TRANSCRIPT— Arlo: Any idea why my mom can’t make a sandwich while driving? The Honest Toddler (HT): Maybe she[…]

Fridays are the New Mondays

During my high school years, Sunday evenings triggered a festering pit of dread in my gut. My father would turn on 60 Minutes only to find that the “goddamn football game” wasn’t over yet. It was as predictable as the fact that the next morning would bring a new week of school, requiring me to[…]

That’s Not Where Snot Goes

Here’s something I learned: I can only ask, “Do you need a Kleenex?” 17 times within a four hour period before I give up. Arlo inherited a clean nose obsession from me. If I feel anything clinging or flapping around in there like a sad little prisoner, I can do nothing else until I free[…]

College is Optional, Kid

Yesterday, Silas (5), asked me, “Daddy, do I have to go to college?” Without any hesitation, I responded, “Nah. You don’t have to.” Lindsay offered some clarification from the kitchen, “It depends on what you want to study.” “Well, if I don’t want to do science, can I not go to college?” “There are a[…]

What Should my Kids call You?

From the ages of 9 to 26, I addressed my friends’ parents by saying, “Hey, ummm.” and just hoped they responded. If they didn’t, I’d  go back and eat more of their food without cleaning up after myself. After 26, I called them by their first names because once you have a full beard there’s[…]

The G-Rated Phraseology of Motherhood

After feeding, comforting, dressing, teaching, entertaining, and loving our children, the remaining 30% of parenting is basically trying not to say the f-word in front of them. When they’re babies, it’s fine, blast away if you want. But as anyone knows, when they get older, children have a knack for repeating things, and when given the choice between “Oh my Golly” and “Holy Fu*king Sh*t”, they’ll always choose to yell the latter in front of the new neighbors.