Spring Break Has Changed

Spring Break Has Changed

A few weeks ago, the Buried clan went on a road trip during Detective Munch’s spring break.

We spent a few days in Washington D.C. and then spent the latter half of the week, and Easter weekend, with Mom and Buried’s family in South Carolina. Then we drove the full fourteen hours back while The Hammer battled a fever and the world’s most prolific runny nose and we battled headaches, frustration, and traffic.

Spring break ain’t what it used to be…

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Parenting Regrets

Parenting Regrets

I still remember the night I got a call from my oldest friend and he told me his wife was pregnant. I’ve known this dude since the second grade (Turkey Hill Elementary School Class of ’86 represent!) and he was the first friend of mine to become a parent. It was a big deal.

I was young at the time, and drunk at the time (and maybe other things at the time?) and I had some strong suggestions for how he should raise his child. Living the single life in Southie, having kids of my own was still a long way off for me, but that didn’t matter. I had OPINIONS.

Even just thinking about it makes me hate myself. I knew nothing. More than 12 years later, I still know nothing. Nothing except the stuff I wish I hadn’t done.

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The Perks of a Bigger Age Gap

The Perks of a Bigger Age Gap

I always wanted two kids.

And I always wanted them to be close in age — no more than two or three years — so they could grow up together and be friends. After I had my first son, my mind didn’t change, but my circumstances did. Having another kid became impossible for a few years, and the possibility of a two- or three-year age gap evaporated.

We ended up with a five-year gap. And so far, so good.

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The Blame Game

The Blame Game

In the six short years of his life, my son has discovered many new things.

From the taste of an iPhone to the joy of farting and from the delightful sound a messy belly-based raspberry makes to the ear-piercing “welp!” a knee to Daddy’s crotch can elicit, the early years of a child’s life are full of amazing new discoveries. Some of which are innocent and fun, others of which portend a forthcoming decade-plus of agita and frustration for parents.

Like Detective Munch’s discovery and immediate appropriation of lying. And, thanks to his little brother, a newfound awareness of blame.

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Have I Already Ruined My Kids?

Have I Already Ruined My Kids?

If you’ve read this blog before, you’re probably no stranger to my anxiety as a parent. If you are a parent, you’re probably no stranger to it either. Parenting makes paranoids out of all of us.

In the past I’ve written about the general stresses of the gig, and I’ve occasionally focused on my fear over my own shortcomings, and how they might affect my kids. lately, I’ve been less concerned about how my parenting might eventually ruin my children, and more worried that it already has.

Have I already ruined my kids?

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