Does It Get Better?

Does It Get Better?

“Does it get better?”

That’s the question a follower asked me, in a lighthearted panic, after I posted a meme about unruly kids.

It’s just after my often-challenging eldest son’s 8th birthday, and this idea of things becoming easier is on my mind, so all (most) joking aside, I thought I’d try to answer. (But I hate being threatened by more experienced parents who warn me about the tween years or the teen years or the unemployed-and-living-in-my-basement years, so I’m going to try to answer without doing that.)

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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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Cousin Wonderland

Cousin Wonderland

I don’t have a cousin family.

This isn’t to say I don’t have cousins, but they are older and live far away, and I’ve never had much of a relationship with any of them. It never bothered me much until I went to school in Boston, where seemingly everyone is best friends with their cousins, and I felt like I’d missed out.

My sons won’t have this problem. My brother just had a baby, and my wife’s side of the family has been pumping out kids for years. We spent this past weekend with a few of them at Dutch Wonderland in Pennsylvania, and my boys loved every minute of it.

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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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