Hive Mind

Here’s how my husband filled out a portion of Wombat’s getting-to-know-you survey for kindergarten. He was mostly just being silly, and we all enjoyed a modest chuckle over it before moving on to more traditional concerns about starting a new school (will he get bullied? will he be able to tie his shoes? ...more

Testing, Testing

Hello? Is this thing on? That was quite the surprise hiatus I took (longest in the history of my eighty-seven years of blogging, hashtag oldskool, hashtag noonecares), and although I’m 100 percent sure I missed blogging more than it missed me, it feels good to re-enter if not the [awkward air quotes] “scene” then at least the headspace where I’ve spent so much of my [awkward air quotes] “adult” life ....more

Perspective

Today is Wombat’s last day of preschool, and I’m having one of those dumb moments where I know it’s the right time to move on yet it seems like he just got started and wait! I’m not ready! slow down! ...more

Emergent

Come have a laugh with me as I calculate that it was less than two weeks between posting about letting kids live dangerously that one of my kids ended up in the emergency room to have his head glued back together. Ha ha ha ha HA. No, really, it’s okay to laugh ....more

Eleven Things

Sometimes you discover someone online and think they’re the bee’s knees, and then sometimes you get to meet them in person and they’re even better and your only improvement on the relationship would be that they didn’t live two hundred miles away. Janet is one of those people. I want to be like her when I grow up ....more

Oh, the Places You’ll Never Go!

I realize now I dished out a lot of potentially bad advice to new and expectant parents for several years–not on purpose and with sadistic, BTDT glee but because Wombat was a ridiculously easy baby/toddler/preschooler and we simply had no idea. I mean, we had an idea that he was easier than other kids in a lot of the traditional OMG-having-a-baby-is-SO-HARD ways, but we had no idea what it was like to actually parent those other kids, and now that we do, I imagine there have passed under the breaths of a handful of misguided-by-me friends some choice, grade-A words as they attempt to, for instance, enjoy a nice, calm, quiet family meal in public, only to realize much to late that yeah, nope, not gonna happen. If it makes anyone feel better, as penitence I curse my own name when we let foolish optimism override experience and good sense and find ourselves thinking we can enjoy a nice, calm, quiet family meal in public ....more

Adventure

So my dear, sensitive Wombat is filled with trepidation when forced to choose among several breakfast cereals, but throw him in a barrel and kick him down a hill and the kid’s in heaven. (It’s worth watching through the end, I promise.) The name of the place is Adventure Playground, but I affectionately call it Tetanus Park because, well, look at it. Now check yourself for splinters because you probably got some just now ....more

Parenting Myself

Wombat is a naturally confident kid who navigates most situations with can-do candor and is, within the range of my limited experience of children, quite possibly the most easy-going guy who ever…easy-goed. (Easy-went?) But, holy crap, ask the kid to make a decision–even a minor one with no negative consequences–and you can practically see his gray matter blanch in terror. Picking between a grape or cherry popsicle becomes a dramatic reenactment of Sophie’s Choice, and his mental paralysis is so earnest and intense and completely, comically out of proportion with reality that I might find it a little endearing if it weren’t also freakin’ annoying ....more

Tetherball at Thirty-five

Yesterday was my birthday and I turned thirty-five, and much in the way it takes me six months to write the correct year when I’m dating my checks, I think it’s going to be a while before I let that number sink in. Thirty-five. 35 ....more

Perishables

I don’t mind putting clean dishes away but I haaaaaaaaate loading the dishwasher. Part of it is the gross factor of other people’s leftover food, but mostly it’s that I get no thrill out of the sticky tetris of finding the perfect place for everything, when “everything” is elementally different each time I have to deal with it. Much to my chagrin, I have the gene that makes me thinks there is a perfect place for everything ....more