Door Stoppers and School Shootings

Door Stoppers and School Shootings

Last spring, Mom and Buried found an unopened package of rubber door stoppers on the street.

In my neighborhood, people put stuff they don’t want on their front curb, and it’s understood that it’s all up for grabs until the garbage man comes. Sometimes it’s old books and DVDs, sometimes it’s random bits of clothing, sometimes it’s a gently-used AC unit or a TV or a bookshelf.

Door stoppers are not something I would have even looked twice at, and needing them had never really occurred to Mom and Buried either. But she grabbed the package anyway.

Because the door stoppers aren’t for us. They’re for our brand-new third grader.

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Parenting Travel Hack

Parenting Travel Hack

In late February, during my son’s winter break, we decided to head to Philly for the weekend. It was a great call.

Not only is Philadelphia an easy drive from Brooklyn, not only had it been way too long since I’d had DiNic’s ridiculous roast pork and broccoli rabe sandwich, not only had we long wanted to take the kids to the hyped (deservedly, it turns out!) Please Touch Children’s Museum, but the city of Brotherly Love was also the site of my first date with Mom and Buried!

Needless to say, this visit wasn’t exactly the same as the one that had launched our relationship some 13+ years ago. Nothing is the same once you have kids.

Especially traveling.

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Sorry, Annie, It’s Not Tomorrow Yet

Sorry, Annie, It’s Not Tomorrow Yet

Mom and Buried has worked in theater – musical theater – for a long time. She’d been angling to watch Annie on one of our movie nights for months, having depleted our stores of Pixar, Star Wars, and age-appropriate superhero flicks.

Last summer, thanks to “CBS Sunday Morning,” she finally had her chance!

One day, after seeing a segment about the play on the sleepy morning news show, my 6-year-old asked Mom and Buried if they could watch Annie.

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Parenthood Is a Cult

Parenthood Is a Cult

As far back as I can remember, I always wanted to join a cult.

Wait, no. I’ve always been fascinated by cults.

From Jonestown to Hale-Bopp, from the Manson Family to Scientology, the psychology of those kinds of groups – and the people who fall prey to them – has interested me.

But I never thought I’d join one myself. Then I had a kid.

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Mr. Invincible

Mr. Invincible

I’m not saying I’m a hero (I do replace the toilet paper a fair amount), but I do have some heroic qualities. All parents do.

Parenting requires superpowers. The same way emergencies case adrenaline to kick in and unlock heretofore unknown abilities when one is in danger, parenting reveals unknown reserves of strength, stamina, and, as my 7-year-old points out, invincibility.

He didn’t actually say that – he didn’t say anything, really, he just yelled “You’re the worst, I wish you weren’t my father!” but I survived that, and just a few minutes later, we were snuggling on the couch, watching a movie together.

So yeah, I’m pretty sure I’m invincible.

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