Our youngest is eighteen months, right on the edge of babyhood. As much as there is to love about the baby years, there are things I will not miss.
I think you had a pretty good sixth birthday. You lost a tooth. You went snorkeling. You pet a shark.
You have suddenly become a boy. When did this happen?
In which I reintroduce you to the blog by reintroducing myself to the blog. It’s all very meta.
One video, found accidentally, during screen time. The two of them were hooked almost immediately. Now it’s all they watch.
There are all kinds of things I could tell you about today because they’re the things all parents feel when their first child starts kindergarten. But those things are more about me than you. So I won’t.
The tragedy of Robin Williams isn’t just his act of suicide. But it’s the pain that must have led up to it.
Our middle has found a word to drop into heavy rotation. That word is ‘butthead.’
I have been blessed with you three boys. If I have a mission statement as a parent, it’s this: raise good people. Maybe it’s apologetic or too politically-correct by half to say that. Why wouldn’t I want to raise good men?
Jack, our oldest, graduated pre-school last week. There was a ceremony because this, apparently, is what happens now.