“Synchronicity Two” by Chuck Nwoke
“I’m night-weaning Emeka,” my wife Anna alerted me when I met her in the park after a run . . .
“I’m night-weaning Emeka,” my wife Anna alerted me when I met her in the park after a run . . .
Shelley was the one who married Harvey right out of college, whose parents went into debt for the wedding, saying it was worth it—that he was worth it, they should have said . . .
Saturday night, six o’clock on the nose. Emma turns on the radio—her favorite show, her favorite station, always a Frank Sinatra number at the top of the playlist. She relishes the element of surprise, the musical finesse it takes to segue from torch songs to golden oldies that render her a teenager sunning on the beach. Nobody used sunblock back then. Sunburn let you know summer had arrived. Noxzema got you through the pain . . .
There are three types of parents of princess-obsessed toddlers: the Mortified Feminist, the Enabler, and the Dad (the latter two being frequently interchangeable). In this segment, we will explore how they might react in different situations . . .
He looks at me with woebegone betrayal in his large baby eyes. My tyrannical one-year-old son is teething, recovering from roseola. How could you leave me? say his eyes so expressively. His tiny hands reach out, appealing to me: Pick me up now! . . .
My fiancé Jeff offered up his family’s hunting cabin in northern California so I could finish my novel. No phone, Internet, or TV . . .
For as long as I can remember, my daughter asked me to take her to church. . . .
Potty training is a bitch. It should be easy, right? How hard could it actually be? . . .