I love my kids, I just hate parenting
It’s happened. The toddler has finally gained enough balance to make running possible.
And now running is all he ever does or wants to do.
The title of this post alludes to exorcism, but if he keeps this up it’s more likely I’m gonna need my last rites.
A few weeks ago I got wind of something called “Blogger Idol.”
It’s an online contest run by a couple of insane, obviously bored, objectively wonderful people in an effort to publicize and award some of the best blog writing on the internet.
This is the second year of the competition and after submitting an audition explaining my blog and why I’m the greatest, I find myself among the 13 finalists. Unfortunately, now I’m forced to write an assignment every week in an attempt to outlast the other 12 contestants and win it all.
Like “American Idol” itself, advancement relies on a combination of judges impressions and fans, votes. Which is where you come in.
When my wife and I moved in together, one of the first things we did was get a cat. (The next 500 things we did were have arguments about what we would name the cat.)
The cat and I were best buds. The cat and my wife were frenemies. The cat and the world-at-large were chilly acquaintances. The cat and my son? Unfortunately, they never had a chance to get to know each other.
Now that he’s getting a little older, that’s something I want to correct.
A few years ago, in this blog’s early days, I watched a documentary called The Business of Being Born and posted a review. The movie was a one-sided piece of propaganda designed to terrify women away from hospitals and into the arms of a doula. I don’t have any problem whatsoever with the concept ofRead more about Zombie Post: Attack of the Home Birthers[…]
For the past few weeks, we were in the middle of a move, which is no picnic under the best circumstances and just about impossible with a toddler underfoot. So, in order to get everything done, we shipped the kid to his grandparents’.
It worked out well; we were able to pack up and relocate a lot more quickly, and no miniature humans were injured in the process. We even got to go to dinner once or twice without needing to wrangle a psycho into a highchair.
Little did we know that while we were taking care of business, our son was being turned against us.