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The Supermarket
Daddy, when will I be a grownup?
When you go to the supermarket 14 times a week
We technically have a food shopping day. Often that day, Sunday, turns into Monday or Tuesday. Regardless of the day we go, we always wind up going back for something just about every day.1<———- CLICK ON RED BOXES
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10 Lessons from Homeschool
Here we are after 14 weeks. A logical question would be “What have the kids learned?” I will not be attempting to answer that question today because:
- It’s boring
- The answer is: Not much.
Rather, today I will be figuring out what we as parents have learned from this experiment.
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The Game
The greatest Vampire Baseball player ever Baseball field, Brooklyn – 1984
Bottom of the sixth inning, last chance for the Braves, down 7-6, 2 outs.
Playing shortstop for the Giants, the seven-year-old boy who would grow up to pretend his name is Brett Grayson, waits for the pitch. The pitcher delivers (okay, I’m lying, it was T-Ball, no one delivered any pitch). The batter crushes a ball over the outfielder’s head. The Giants outfielder, who was in the outfield for a reason (not coordinated), retrieves the ball. The batter is rounding the bases, heading for home to tie the game.
The outfielder throws the ball to me, and I relay it home. The throw is hard and high. The catcher jumps, but it goes over his head. The umpire, standing behind the catcher, gets in the way of the throw, and it hits him right in the neck below the faceguard.
And he’s out! No, not the runner. The umpire. Out. Unconscious. Coaches run to his side and attend to him.
Me: (to my father) What’s the call, Dad? Is he out?
35 years later
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The Snow Trip
When you live in a cold weather climate, you are miserable in the winter – at least I am. One way to overcome it is to convince yourself there are fun things in the winter. There aren’t. We’re just waiting for it to end. But we try.
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The Vacation
“Family vacation” is an oxymoron. Transporting a four and a six-year-old to a different country is like climbing a greased telephone pole. And even if you get a few moments of relaxation when you’re there, it is sure to be cancelled out by the process of getting them home.
Some days, though, are just weird enough to make it all worth it.
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The One Parent Weekend
My wife, Lauren, went away for the weekend with her mother, ostensibly for some R & R at a spa in Pennsylvania. She might have just gone to her parents’ house and hid there for 48 hours. I wouldn’t blame her if she did.
This left me alone with the children from Friday evening through Sunday. Expectations were low as I am a sometimes-depressed/always-lazy parent who preaches discipline, which in reality translates to impatience, yelling and finally caving to all their desires.
Lauren (before leaving): I left you four notes.
Me: I’m fine. I don’t need notes.
Lauren: Four! Read them and text me any questions.
Me: You can’t wait?
Lauren: No.
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The Concert
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The Family Trip
As summer in the Northeast ends after seemingly lasting only fifteen minutes, I will take my annual dive into the abyss that is autumn. Before that though, here is a bookend to my previous two attempts (The Dance Recital and Visiting Day) to lighten things up for summer:
We took a family trip to Hershey Park last weekend. Why, you ask? Well, a masochist would say it’s because I enjoy torture. My wife, Lauren, would say it was to enjoy family time with our two children, Liz (5) and Matt (4). An analyst would say it is a test run for the shitshow of Disney World that is coming eventually. Matt would say it’s to eat endless chocolate until he throws up. Should I stop? Okay, fair enough.
Saturday morning
A long day lies ahead. The good – Liz and Matt will be in heaven. Also good – I will get my 10,000 steps in. The bad – the heat, lines, people, germs, Liz and Matt’s behavior at numerous points, and again germs.
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Visiting Day
“You’re an idiot,” my wife, Lauren, affectionately tells me on our drive home from Visiting Day at our daughter Liz’s camp.
“Why?”
“The swimming. Tennis. Kickball!”
“They didn’t even play kickball,” I point out.
“Exactly.”
I take a cookie from my pocket.
“Where did you get that?” Lauren asks. “Did you steal a cookie?”
“Liz raves about these cookies.”
“You just had two ice creams.”
“One-and-a-half … oh, you’re not good with fractions. That’s between one and two.”
“Funny … I think I should be allowed to have an affair. There has to be a law which allows it in special circumstances like these.”
“If you do, can he at least pay for camp?”
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The Dance Recital
Today marks the anniversary of arguably the most notorious event of my childhood: the murders of Nicole Brown Simpson and Ronald Goldman.2<—– CLICK ON THESE RED BOXES FOR MY TERRIBLE JOKES
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We’re All Deformed
“Your arms are different.”
My five-year-old daughter, Liz, said this to my three-year-old son, Matt, recently.
Matt put his arms up together, compared them, then gave me a quizzical look like, Dad, is she right?
I gave an answer straight from the textbook, “We’re all different. Everyone is beautiful in their own way.”
“But you’re not beautiful, Daddy,” Liz said.
Fair point. 2 <—– CLICK ON THESE RED BOXES FOR MY TERRIBLE JOKES
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