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Jingle Hell

Later this week, Michael and I will have our five-year anniversary, and a week after that, Eliot will turn four. (Yeah, go ahead and do the fucking math, Smugley. We were in love, that socially acceptable form of insanity.) So what that means is that after several years of catastrophic missteps, this year we have…

Swine flu changed everything

When it comes to flu shots, as parents, Michael and I are THOSE PEOPLE: the ones who refuse to immunize their children. Now granted, we’re not THOSE PEOPLE, the whole hog, total anti-vaccination nutjobs who think an MMR is behind autism and back fat and low credit scores, or that the Hep B immunization is…

If you touch a hair on her head. . .

With Eliot, I had few sentimental attachments to her babyhood — it was as though infancy and each stage after was something to be endured and raced through on the way to the next (presumably easier) stage. Baby clothes and toys were packed away, bottles were sanitized and stowed in boxes, the Co-Sleeper folded into…

Ladies, kindly STFU already.

As most people close to me know, I have a verrrry testy relationship with marriage. Some aspects of deeply trouble me: its religious foundations, its patriarchal history of a woman being ceded by one man to another, even — I’ll admit it — its permanence. For me, marriage represents a certain end to a narrative…

Tink’s Box

As any new parent knows, a volume switch on a toy is your best friend, because musical/speaking childrens’ toys are categorically obnoxious and the sole variation in how desperately a toy makes you want to jam an ice pick in your brain is how SCREAMINGLY it wails the alphabet, or “Old MacDonald,” (and Christ, do…

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