I love my kids, I just hate parenting
Like many parents, I always kind of hoped that my kids would absorb decent human values through osmosis.
That just by being around average, decent people who enact and embody basic human decency on a daily basis – like me and Mom and Buried! – they’d eventually become imbued with those intangible qualities we expect good people t have.
But if my 7-year-old’s lack of gratitude is any indication, it hasn’t been working.
One night in college, a friend summoned me to her room.
I’d been interested in her for some time – I wanted to be “more than friends” – but up to that point, things had remained chaste. It was late, we’d both been out separately, doing whatever it is we’d been doing, and when I got to her room, she was clearly drunk.
Twenty years later, I still remember how I felt that night.
This is why “NotAllMen” doesn’t matter…
Read more about “Not All Men” Is Meaningless and Counterproductive …
No one likes to discuss politics, or religion, or gun control, or any other hot button issue with strangers or acquaintances or extended family.
But as parents, we’re often forced into unpleasant conversations in order to care for our kids, and in 2017, there’s something new I want to know:
“Where do you stand on Trump?”
I never thought I’d say this, but thank god for parenting! Sometimes, it can be a respite.
Regardless of where you stand on the Great Pumpkin President, these are some harrowing times. North Korea, neo-Nazis, Harvey Weinstein, geostorms (and also Geostorm). Things are fairly tumultuous.
We’re often told to not sweat the small stuff, but when the world serves as an enormous sauna, sometimes the small stuff is the only way to cool yourself down.
This morning, my wife texted me in a panic because she couldn’t find her membership card to the Staten Island Children’s Museum she wanted to visit with our kids.
Later, she texted me a photo of my 7-month-old at a museum, putting some filth-ridden toy in his mouth, the goofy idiot. I texted back, both to insult my son for being a goofy idiot and to ask at which museum she’d ended up, because I knew she’d never found her membership card.
I also knew that didn’t matter. Because we live in New York City.