The days of smoking in the mall, downing an Orange Julius, and watching Dr. Huxtable examine women in his basement have all come to an end.
The days of smoking in the mall, downing an Orange Julius, and watching Dr. Huxtable examine women in his basement have all come to an end.
Nebulizer? Medicine? What? What does this kid need? Even if he could speak, I might not know.
People assume we are born this way. Our Dadness starts on day one.
Don’t tell me what cool is. I know what cool is.
It’s my edible nemesis and my new daily nightmare. Welcome to fatherhood, pops.
It was normal. It was natural. It was perfect. That’s the truth.
Hey, kids are happy? Yeah? Not for long. Ice cream man is here.
The days of secret parent book-readers, class cupcake parties, and one teacher to remember for the year are over. She will never have them again. That chapter closed at the start of the summer.
The box is tossed in front of the front door, the bag is almost completely empty, and, mixed between the pieces, are squashed particles of cereal dust.
My son turns television watching into an all-out physical event.
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