Bragging About Your Child: Form and Technique

Sasha is now just over 2 years old, and she’s talking—a lot. “Okay, let’s go outside!” she’ll say, and once we’re out on the disgusting streets of New York, she’ll point at patches of ice and say, “Slippery! Be careful.” She just goes and goes, and what she doesn’t know how to say in real …

How My Daughter Has Ruined My Life: Vegas Edition

Las Vegas, I wish to inform you, is not an early-morning kind of town. Usually, if you’re up at 7 a.m. in Sin City, it’s because you were also up at 6 a.m., 5 a.m., 4 a.m., and all the a.m.’s stretching back to the post-meridianal hour when you first rose from your damp-sheeted hotel …

AssBob GrassSkirt, or How I Am Failing My Daughter

After our vacation in Los Angeles, Sasha returned to New York with dangerous knowledge—the knowledge that there exists a cartoon character named SpongeBob. Or, as she calls him, AssBob. She may never have watched the show with the sound on, but she knows he’s there, and that her mother will, on request, draw a picture …