A friend of mine and I were comparing notes recently on the joys of parenting. He has an eighteen-month-old son and his wife is about halfway through her pregnancy with another.
He told me about how he had, until recently, held out just a little smidgen of a nugget of hope that the second baby would be a girl. You know, for a matched set.
Of course he’s perfectly happy either way.
And then we did that what-a-relief-we-don’t-have-to-ever-worry-about-parenting-teenage-girls thing parents of boys do, which we do mostly because:
- It’s universally accepted that teenage girls can be the scariest, most dramatic, complicated and least understood creatures ever, and
- We’re trying to console ourselves that we’ll never get to exclaim over tulle or teensy, embroidered flowers on denim hems in the clothing section. Shopping for boy clothing being more about reinforced knees and stuff that won’t show grass stains, than it is about fashion.
I did, however, have to disabuse my friend of the notion that parenting boys is downright easy. That’s like calling Indiana Jones a wussy because he doesn’t like snakes. (more…)
I have never been able to get in and out of a Best Buy in fewer than three hours, and without having fended off at least half a dozen sales guys and fielded offers of enough warrantees and insurance to nearly double the cost of whatever I’m buying. I’m going to go out on a limb and guess that experience is not unique to me.
I would have rather driven toothpicks under my nails than go on Tuesday, except as I was flying by on the freeway after picking up Jack, I realized he had yet to buy his brother a birthday present for his party the next day.
Colin doesn’t ask for much. He barely even talked about his birthday except when prodded, and then asked his brother specifically for a pair of gaming headphones.
We refer to the shopping mall and everything in a two-mile radius as The Heart of Darkness. That includes the mall proper, and any ancillary chain restaurants, big box movie theaters, massive sporting goods stores and other bastions of excess, harbingers of societal ruin, and brokers of chintzy, mass-produced-on-an-assembly-line crapola. (more…)