When the doorbell rang, I almost didn’t answer it. I wasn’t expecting anyone at seven on a Tuesday night . . .
Potty training is a bitch. It should be easy, right? How hard could it actually be? . . .
JR was a precocious boy who loved to watch TV . . .
“I’m night-weaning Emeka,” my wife Anna alerted me when I met her in the park after a run . . .
All InTur would rent them was a Lada. Carlos was struggling with a sticky clutch when the tunnel’s sickening yellow glow exploded into the hostile glare of a Havana afternoon . . .
I have no toys.
I was hoping that at this stage of my life, as both husband and father, I would have some pretty cool toys. But I don’t. Instead I have four daughters, and this is why I have no toys . . .
Are you a parent going through the Terrible Twos? Did you live through them and survive? Terrible Twosdays is a place to commiserate over the unending shenanigans of your Darling Children (as the online parenting communities say). Nonfiction stories will be considered, so long as names have been changed to protect the guilty. Inspired by […]
In the final tally I’m not sure who said it more, my daughter or me.
That year from two to three was full of refusals—there was the bedtime no and the cleaning up no; no to taking a bath and no to getting out of the bath; no to getting dressed or undressed. It was the toddler version of Newton’s third law: every action demanded an equal and opposite uh-uh . . .