I love my kids, I just hate parenting
A few months ago, I joined that Sarahah site, via which people can send you anonymous messages (hmu: username dadandburied, duh).
I was expecting to get mocked and hoping to be praised. Unfortunately, I ended up getting asked heavy questions, like the one in the photo: do you enjoy being a dad or do you wish you were free?
Um, both? It’s a paradox.
A couple of weekends ago while we were visiting my parents in Connecticut, my oldest brother made a cameo after work.
He’s a sixth-grade teacher and he’d just finished his school day, so he stopped by our parents’ house to say hi to his nephews and grade some quizzes before heading home. I was working at the kitchen table and amidst my typing and his red-pen scribbling, I suddenly heard him say, “98! Way to go, Mia!”
He was genuinely happy that she had done well on his quiz.
Teachers are amazing. Arming them is idiotic.
Read more about Arming Teachers: This Is the Best We Can Do? …
Last spring, my wife’s sister and her boyfriend came to join us on our trip to the beach, and they brought their kids.
Except they aren’t *their* kids. Not yet, at least.
They’re foster kids.
Parents spend so much time teaching our kids the dos and don’ts of proper behavior that we seem to forget that we need to adhere to the same rules.
We want our kids to grow up with empathy and compassion, acceptance and generosity and more, but we often go around practicing the exact opposite, particularly when it comes to our interactions with fellow parents.
Can’t we all get along?
Last week, in the wake of President Trump’s 5000th example (“shithole”) of why he’s both the worst president of all time and one of the worst people on earth, I posted a few “political” posts on Facebook and Instagram.
Almost immediately, I got jumped on for violating a make-believe oath I never took about only using my accounts to provide an escape for strangers I’ll never meet.
Please allow me to not apologize.