Really, I do keep an eye on my kids. My son is just a spider monkey. #PlacesIFindLiam
In this new age of older sex and even sex with new and different women (post-divorce) we've got a whole new language of love to figure out.
Several years ago, while on a family vacation, my then eight-year-old daughter decided it was time to get her ears pierced.
I am alone in a hospital room nine months later. Dana and our unborn child were just carted away by a swarm of doctors.
By Rebecca Blue. Not knowing yet if it’s even possible for us to have a child, I imagine discovering we couldn’t would feel a lot like this.
By Andrew Cotto. I told her I’d lost my son. She reported a missing child into her headset.
By Joe LaBracio. Let me take a moment to vent about two of my favorites, two that infuriate me to no end: the clueless parent at the park and the infuriatingly entitled parents who—when they fly—shirk all responsibility for their children and subject the rest of the cabin to their bratty, undisciplined kids.
What I felt more than anything as I was riding my bike home that day was I have failed my 6- and 3-year-olds. I have put them in harm’s way. I’m a bad dad. I’m in a position to be laid off because I’m not a serious person. I dabbled in writing rather than fully committing to my software engineering career.