With few exceptions, I would posit that we all want to be successful. It’s not often that someone proclaims, “I would love to be a failure!”
Of course, the question is how does one measure success? It’s true that we need to know what race we’re running, but we also have to understand the cold, hard truth that we can’t have it all. No matter how far you lean in, it’s simply impossible.
“You don’t have kids with the intent of retaining a clean house. Kids are sources of chaos and disorder. Get over that fact. Where does that disorder come from? It’s because they are experimenting with their environment. Everything is new to them.”
— Neil deGrasse Tyson
When I was younger, I had a vision for the way my home would look when I was an adult.
It would look like something from a Michael Mann film — all chrome and steel with clean lines and large windows. And it would be pristine. There would be nothing out of place.
“Remember the last new firework you saw? I’ll save you some time — you’ve never seen a new firework. Same show every year, and every year you all act impressed.”
—Danny Jolles
I fucking hate fireworks.
I don’t hate them because of the environmental cost or how they scare animals and people with PTSD or how they celebrate things that don’t always deserved to be celebrated.
I hate them because they’re completely overrated. I hate them because they’re dumb and pointless and redundant. Most of all, though, I hate them because of everything that is involved in experiencing the supposed magic of colorful explosions.
The tears burst from my nine-year-old’s eyes as she blamed herself for the ramifications of a global pandemic that has lasted for three years. All kids go crazy for Christmas, of course, but my daughter is certainly in the highest percentile of Santa fanatics, so having her holiday plans dashed was especially difficult.
I thought I was good at managing my time, but having children has made me so much better at it.
That may seem counterintuitive. After all, children suck up all of our time. The moment they finish eating a meal, they’re asking for snacks. They need diaper changes and baths. They’re constantly pulling you somewhere to color or play or read to them. They need to be driven to practice and doctor appointments and friends’ homes. They create an incredible amount of dirty dishes and dirty laundry. They make the house look like it’s been ransacked and looted. They are agents of chaos.
“Having a two-year-old is like having a blender without a lid.”
— Jerry Seinfeld
This is a dispatch from the war. I’m writing this from the trenches, in the heart of the conflict.
After what has felt like hours of intense battle, the rebel soldier has deployed her ultimate weapon, the one that is unleashed when all else fails: standing in the center of the kitchen, screaming at the top of her lungs as droplets of saltwater jump from her eyes.
What could have caused such a reaction? What did the oppressive totalitarian government do to the people to cause this emotionally-charged attack from the rebel?
Amid all of the reactions and gifs and videos on social medial today, it was a single tweet of thirteen words from a man and writer that I respect that struck me the hardest.
My second child, my second daughter, turns two today.
My first, the oldest, is an eight-year-old that acts like she’s 14, and since there is such a large gap between number one and number two – for a very, very, very, very good reason – the past two years have been a refresher course in infant and toddler life.
The Passion of Christopher Pierznik 