Top 10 Reasons Why I Love My Son

Top 10 Reasons Why I Love My Son

Weeks ago, I wrote a facetious post about why I hate my son. Despite the title, it shouldn’t have taken long for most readers to realize the post wasn’t about hating my son at all, but was actually about how he’s changed my life and why that’s okay.

But since there are so many literal-minded people out there who got upset at the suggestion, facetious or not, that I hate my son, and also dislike the fact that I put such language out there for him to one day discover, I thought – even at the risk of over-boarding on cheese – I should lay it out as sincerely as possible.

I mean, it is his birthday after all!

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Parents Can Have Fun Too

Parents Can Have Fun Too

So Snooki had a kid. *Sigh*

Look, there are plenty of people out there who have kids that maybe shouldn’t or maybe don’t want to – maybe don’t even mean to – and end up being great parents anyway. So I’m willing to give this “maybe” the benefit of the doubt. At least for a while.

After all, it’s not my business to judge Snooki’s parenting, and honestly, I have little interest in thinking about this thing you call “Snooki” at all.

Unfortunately she’s already said something that goes against everything this blog stands for. And I don’t truck with that.

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Mobility is Overrated

Mobility is Overrated

We’re all so impressed by mobility these days.

Our favorite technology is all about portability and size and convenience. We have the Internet in our pockets, computers on our wrists, and borderline-Skynet in ridiculous eye-wear that makes Geordie La Forge look hip. All your computers are belong with us, all of the times.

I’m due for an iPhone upgrade this fall but I’m scared the 6 will be too big for my delicate BUT LARGE ENOUGH, LADIES! hands. This from a kid who grew up playing Oo Topos on a huge box monitor with a data tower bigger than my three-year-old. I haven’t had a desktop computer in around 15 years.

Until now.

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Top 10 Reasons Why I Hate My Son

Top 10 Reasons Why I Hate My Son

Having kids is not all it’s cracked up to be.

For one thing, you have a tiny human being in your house. This is almost as bizarre as having an animal in your house, but at least animals have fur.

All my son has is tons and tons of drool.

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Not My Kid, Not My Problem

Not My Kid, Not My Problem

Large groups of toddlers make me very uncomfortable. Simply surviving the tornado that is my own (almost) two-year-old is a daily workout. When there is a group of these creatures underfoot, my blood pressure goes through the roof.

I’ve written about the struggles of keeping my son in check when visiting a friend’s home, but today’s post is not about my kid; it’s about everyone else’s.

My kid gives me enough stress. If it’s not my kid? It’s not my problem.

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