“How to Raise a Warhol” by Maggie Gale
There was an odd quietness in the house, a stillness I could only describe as beautiful.
There was an odd quietness in the house, a stillness I could only describe as beautiful.
I unload Amelia from her car seat, gather her snack and water cups, and zip them away in the diaper bag. I place her sunglasses on her face and ask, “Who’s ready for a fun day at the zoo?”
“Fortunately we got to her in time, you know, before the blaze could spread,” Jessica said.
For how many more years will you host the birthday pool party with the pizza and the cake from the grocery store . . .
As one of the more common breeds of spineless parents I am a huge fan of giving in the demands of my two-year-old. She’s an F5 cyclone of a girl full of wildly fluctuating emotions and I’m the house made out of straw.
Once upon a time, there was a brave mother and father who decided to maneuver three suitcases, one backpack, two car seats, one Pack ’n Play, and two young children—including a cranky toddler—all the way to Disneyland.
1. Enter filled-to-capacity, shade-deprived, concrete recreational area…
At three and a half, my son’s diet consists of only brown, white, and yellow foods.