“Eli, you are sweet.”
“I know. I’m sweet to eat. You should eat me up, Dad.”
I make a munchy tickly face as I walk over to where Eli is painting a wooden toy truck for his brother, a truck destined to be opened and soon forgotten because it is not one of Eli’s toys, and hence holds no interest for Isaac.
“But don’t really bite me.”
I bury my face in Eli’s neck and poke his pudgy belly. There is squealing and giggling. And he tastes better than anything I’ll get in my stocking.
This is How You Heal the Wound
The Subdivision
On the Virtues of Peeing Outside
Imagination destruction
The Things We Build
Our Love Affair With Fairs
Curse of the Greedy Copyright Holders
Boy, the Scout Handbook Keeps Changing
Ya Gotta Have (Real) Friends
G.K., Santa, and Me
How Can I Teach My Kids to Work?
Intelligence Designer
Elective
The Glass Child
Name
The Grace I Know
Coming Apart
Uninterested
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