I remember a Tuesday afternoon about twenty years ago. My son was three, and my two daughters were just starting to find their footing in grade school. I was standing in the kitchen, probably nursing a lukewarm cup of coffee, when I heard that specific, hollow thwack followed by a jagged, high-pitched wail. I ran … Read more
I remember a specific Tuesday afternoon about twenty years ago. My middle daughter—who is now a brilliant, composed attorney, mind you—was exactly four years old. She wanted the blue cup. Not the teal one, not the navy one, and certainly not the “baby” cup with the plastic straw. The blue one. The problem? The blue … Read more
I remember a Tuesday afternoon about twenty years ago like it was yesterday. My son, who was three at the time, decided that the blue bowl—the one he’d used every single day for six months—was suddenly an instrument of psychological warfare. He didn’t just want the red bowl; he wanted the red bowl that was … Read more