The Happiness Problem

The Happiness Problem

My son turned three and half the other day. My wife threw him a little party.

Few things seem so obviously tailor-made for a Dad and Buried rant as the absurdity of half-birthdays. Unfortunately, when my wife got excited about Detective Munch’s mini-milestone, I found myself swept up in half-birthday fever myself, against my better judgment.

Despite my reservations – about spoiling the kid; about rewarding him for nothing; about the fact that his terrible threes haven’t exactly been his behavioral high-point so why the fuck should he get an extra made-up holiday right smack in the middle of it? – I helped celebrate it. Enthusiastically. We gave him a toy truck and a cupcake!

I think I’m part of the problem. I sang “Happy half-birthday” to him, for Christ’s sake.

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Blowing Off the Joneses

Blowing Off the Joneses

My kid just got accepted to what I suppose could be considered a slightly exclusive preschool. I mean, they sent an acceptance letter!

Upon receiving said letter, I sent an all-caps, multi-exclamation mark text message to Mom and Buried, announcing that “WE DID IT!”

Don’t worry, I was being sarcastic.

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