28 May

Dad and Buried Posted in discipline One comment

Party Pooper

Newsflash: Kids are stressful. They disrupt your life, and the lives of the people around them, even when they’re on their absolute best behavior. They are the ultimate party pooper.

That’s why we parents often prefer to hang out with other parents. Not only so we can bitch about the stress to someone who has had similar experiences, but because when there are other kids around, your kid has something to do rather than keep pulling your arm and causing you to spill your drink.

Also because your own kid’s bad behavior is less noticeable when he’s part of a team. There’s strength in numbers. For parents, numbers provide solidarity.

For our children, they provide camouflage.

Whining Enthusiast

I’ve written about my son’s whining before.

Of course I’ve written about it before. It’s such a large part of my day-to-day existence, the presence of the whine, the powerlessness to do anything about the whine, the desire to drink lots of wine because of the whine, that how could I not have written about it before?

But that was foolish. Because in the time since I wrote that post, things have taken a turn. And I’ve learned that whatever whining that I was, ahem, whining about back then was hardly whining at all.

Zombie Post: The Mother of All Letters

This Sunday is Mother’s Day. As if you didn’t already know. Last Mother’s Day, with my son in the midst of his terrible twos, I wrote a letter to my son in which I begged him to not be an asshole for a few hours. Little did I know that his terrible twos were nothingRead more about Zombie Post: The Mother of All Letters[…]

02 May

Dad and Buried Posted in discipline 2 comments

School of Block

When I was a kid, The Karate Kid was one of my favorite movies. If I’m totally honest, it still is. I see it listed in the channel guide and there’s no way I’m not watching the tournament.

Growing up, I was so enamored with the uplifting tale of Daniel LaRusso’s war against the neo-Nazi community of Southern California that my parents thought I might want to take karate classes. And I would have, if I hadn’t been so terrified of landing in a Cobra Kai-type school with a Vietnam-traumatized sensei who would force me to be racist and do push-ups on my knuckles.

Come on, I was like eight years old. Which I thought was a little young for martial arts. Except almost 30 years later, my son is taking them, and he’s three.

Sunday Schooled

I’ve shared my thoughts about raising Detective Munch with religion before. I’ve even discussed why he was circumcised (COME AT ME, BRO!).

But as a Catholic so lapsed the term just plain doesn’t apply anymore, I’m a little conflicted. I definitely think some of the more universal values Christianity teaches (kindness, discipline, humility) do a kid good, and despite the problematic trappings, it’s a decent delivery system for them. And yet, he’s never been to church. Until yesterday.

Growing up, I went to Church every weekend, and my parents still do. And although I’m not sure how well years of catechism and church-going and Catholic high school did me, we are currently living with my parents. And “when in Rome,” right?

So went along to Easter mass. And my son took it about as seriously as I do. Consider Sunday schooled.

Dad and Buried

Category: discipline

Party Pooper

Like this:

Whining Enthusiast

Like this:

Zombie Post: The Mother of All Letters

Like this:

School of Block

Like this:

Sunday Schooled

Like this:

Share this:

Like this:

Share this:

Like this:

Share this:

Like this:

Share this:

Like this:

Share this:

Like this: