The Disease of More

The Disease of More

My 7-year-old always wants more.

He wants more toys, even though he doesn’t play with half the ones he has. He wants more dessert, even when he can barely ask for it because his mouth is already full of dessert. He wants more time before bed, which he usually gets by tortuously extending the bedtime routine. All this demand for more makes me want less — less whining, less stress, less kids!

Of course, children aren’t the only ones who want more. Adults have the same obsession, especially parents.

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Your Old Man’s Money

Your Old Man’s Money

I’ve been turning into my father for years now, probably since I was born, actually.

But nothing accelerates the transformation into your parents like becoming a parent yourself.

The best evidence that I’m becoming my dad, besides increasing back pain and deepening bags under my eyes, are the things I yell at my kids about. Like money.

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Dads Have a “Mental Load” Too

Dads Have a “Mental Load” Too

Over the summer, Meredith Ethington of Perfection Pending shared a list of the anxieties that plague her – and moms in general – every day, like having enough food in the house, cleaning messes, making it to appointments on time, etc. I stumbled across “Thoughts Moms Have After A Long Day of Work” again recently, and have some thoughts of my own.

The punch line to her post is that dads aren’t troubled by such things, and only think about naps. It’s all in good fun -in the comments she included a disclaimer that her husband is great and that the list was merely meant to showcase “the mental load” women have that men often don’t – but she’s not alone.

The idea that moms are the only ones who deal with this kind of anxiety is pretty common. I beg to differ.

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The Parenting Perks of New York City

The Parenting Perks of New York City

This morning, my wife texted me in a panic because she couldn’t find her membership card to the Staten Island Children’s Museum she wanted to visit with our kids.

Later, she texted me a photo of my 7-month-old at a museum, putting some filth-ridden toy in his mouth, the goofy idiot. I texted back, both to insult my son for being a goofy idiot and to ask at which museum she’d ended up, because I knew she’d never found her membership card.

I also knew that didn’t matter. Because we live in New York City.

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I Want To Lose My Temper

I Want To Lose My Temper

My wife and I have an ongoing disagreement. (Well, we have several, one of which is about whether Moulin Rouge is a good movie (it is not), but this one is about parenting.)

She thinks I yell too much. And I know I said this was a disagreement, but I don’t deny that she’s right. I do yell too much, especially lately.

Instead of losing my temper, I need to actually lose my temper.

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