For how many more years will you host the birthday pool party with the pizza and the cake from the grocery store . . .
As one of the more common breeds of spineless parents I am a huge fan of giving in the demands of my two-year-old. She’s an F5 cyclone of a girl full of wildly fluctuating emotions and I’m the house made out of straw.
“Let’s not think about it,” was what he kept telling her. She knew he might kill her. She knew too much.
Once upon a time, there was a brave mother and father who decided to maneuver three suitcases, one backpack, two car seats, one Pack ’n Play, and two young children—including a cranky toddler—all the way to Disneyland.
Norman drove towards his home town of Sycamore, Missouri. It was about sunup on a Sunday. He had been driving for many hours.
Two minutes. Are two minutes too much to ask? Two minutes to talk with a grownup without having to worry about you? But no. I take my eyes off you for two lousy minutes and next thing I know you’re huddled under the slide, sobbing like somebody stole your cupcake.
Transcript from a fun day with Dad . . .
We are driving home from dinner at a friend’s house one evening when our four-year-old, Sawyer*, who loves music, spontaneously breaks into song. “I gotta big butt, I gotta big butt . . .”