The problem with too many modern commentators on parenting, I think, is their inability to distinguish love from acceptance. This confusion is apparent in Alfie Kohn’s New York Times essay, where he writes: “In 2004, two Israeli researchers, Avi Assor and Guy Roth, joined Edward L. Deci, a leading American expert on the psychology of …
Wife tells me that when baby Isaiah went for his two year-old check-up this week, the doctor announced that he was to receive two shots. “Two shots!” Isaiah shouted with glee. “Two shots!” Either he thought he was going to play guns with his brothers, or he believed shots is a new kind of candy. …
Isaac is standing outside the door of a bedroom in our undisclosed vacation spot. He is clutching a pillow like it is a club. He is trying to coax his brother Eli into opening the door. “Open the door Eli! I’m not holding anything!” Much as I appreciate his attempt at stealth, it doesn’t seem …
In these troubled economic times, good wholesome family entertainment can be a difficult expense to bear. That’s why I’m especially pleased that we’ve discovered a way to have big family fun for under ten dollars. Yesterday we had friends over, and in advance I bought about eight dollars worth of half-inch PVC pipe and 90-degree …
If you’re looking for a counterweight to my usual cheeriness, you might get yourself the latest issue of Ruminate, which has my short story, “The Glass Child.” Here’s the opening paragraph: This is the blood, David tells himself. He twists open the bottle and pours its dark content into a blue plastic cup. The label …
As I bribe my children with candy to find me one of the two dozen sippy cups cleverly hidden by the baby throughout the house, it occurs to me that I have a solution for that institution remarkably like children in its propensity to lose things and then disavow responsibility for them: the airlines. After …
Dear United: Next time how about you kiss me first? Read More »
I have just come home, and Eli runs up to me. “Dad, I left you a Boxcar Children book on your nightstand. It’s your Easter present.” “Thank you,” I say. He turns back toward where he has been playing. “Eli,” I say. “Where’s my hug?” He smiles, and walks back in my direction, slowly now. …
Isaiah is sitting on the floor surrounded by books. He opens one with a crinkle of its pages and says, “Shoo-chi-joo-sho-nay-nay-da.” He slaps it shut. “De end.” He picks up another, mutters out his own version of its narrative, and flips it closed. “De end.” This goes on for some time. “Joo-sho-nay-di-shoo-chi.” Slap. “De end.” …
Last night the boys and I played a rollicking game of Sorry. It went something like this: “ONE!TWO!THREE!FOUR!ELEVEN!NINE!…” “Isaac, slow down. Count one for each square.” “Okay Dad. ONE(whack)TWO(whack)THREE(whack)…” “He’s shaking my pieces off the board!” “Gently, Isaac.” “Okay.” (whispering) “one(tap)two(tap)three(tap)…” “Your turn, Eli. “Eli… ” “Eli?” “Elijah!” “Oh.” The boy draws a Sorry card. …
I was afraid of losing our first child, even when she was healthy and near, even before we lost her. I suppose it’s natural to fear for them the way we do. It’s why we grit our teeth and force a smile when they wave to us from slippery stones in the middle of the …
A new study argues that single parents cost American taxpayers $112 billion, in the form of welfare, education, prison, and other expenses. There’s also a pernicious estimate of foregone tax revenue, as if it’s unproductive fellow citizens that cost you and me, and not a cabal of Congressmen who spend our money like drunken New …
Sunday night brought a nightmare, one I used to have as a child. In this nightmare you are awake, it seems, and you can see the bedroom as it will be when you finally do scream or gasp yourself from sleep: black and gray shadows, the soft frail light of the moon or perhaps a …
They say that the insane and geniuses are alike in that their minds make unusual connections between ideas. The good news is that I may be a genius. The bad news is that insane people often imagine that they are brilliant. Regardless, I noticed what seemed to be a common thread running through three seemingly …
I’m sitting in an airport restaurant near three men, three boisterous men drinking at 10:30 a.m. on a Tuesday. The oldest, who appears to be about thirty-five and dressed like he’s twenty, is instructing the others on the tragedy of fatherhood. “My advice,” he says, “is not to have kids. Or if you have them, …
Last night we went to The Prairie Rose Chuckwagon supper, where they feed you brisket, beans, and biscuits until you pop, and then sing cowboy songs. Caleb and Eli went in their cowboy gear: big hats, shooting irons guns strapped to their waists, clippity-cloppity little cowboy boots on their feet. Isaac had no guns, just …
I’m the designated bather in our house. Sure, sometimes the wife has to bring it, but on a daily basis, I’m the go-to guy. Okay, I lied a little. We don’t wash our kids every day. With the onslaught of summer this will have to change. These are some grubby, grimy little babies. I plopped …
My Christmas quest was simple enough: buy toy cowboy guns for my boys. Caleb and Eli have boots and hats, bandanas and sheriff’s badges. But they don’t have holsters and guns. Without those critical components, however, you’ve really just got yourself a Village People costume. We’ve made do until now with two wooden pistols that …
