The Purge

I throw away my kids' art. And it feels SO good. There, I said it.

I know it may sound somewhat insensitive, perhaps even a bit evil, but let's face it, parents, kids are mass producing this crap!

Yes, my wife and I are supportive and encourage our kids to explore their full creative potential. But there is only so much room on the proverbial refrigerator door and not all of those glittery Picassos are going to get a magneted spot. Yup, welcome to the real world, kid. Space constraints. Deal with it.

Once or twice I've been caught throwing away my children's artwork in the kitchen trash. "Daddy, why is my pretty-finger-painted-rainbow-pony in the garbage?" I'm not going to lie to you, that doesn't feel good. After a few sloppy encounters I developed a few ground rules, which I recommend all self-respecting parents consider when discarding their children's beloved objects:

1. Only purge once the little ones are fast asleep.

2. Dump in the outside trash can -- what they don't see can't hurt them.

3. If your kid ever asks -- deny, deny, deny.

4. Don't feel too guilty. Remember, it's your job to keep the home from turning into a kiddie-art junk yard. And if you save everything, nothing is special.

Sleep Gloating

Our first kid was a champion sleeper. From the day she turned 4 weeks old (yes, 4 WEEKS), Eva could hunker down for a night's sleep amidst jack hammering, turbulent red-eyes, earthquakes. This kid was a sleeper. In fact, she was such a good sleeper that we found it distasteful to be fully honest with other new parents about just how many hours of shut-eye we were getting a night. I remembering faking sleep-deprivation around other new parents, so we could bond. Privately, I gloated. Clearly my wife and I were simply better parents.

Two and half years later we were hoisted on our own petard – a petard named Sami Rafaela. Beneath her golden curls and cherubic smile, was a feisty non-sleeper. For her first 2 ½ years, Sami slept perfectly fine for about 1-2 hours each night – other than that she was raring to go. And she wouldn't just toss and turn either -- she was hell-bent on taking down the rest of us with her. Not to label, but kid #2 is officially a sleep terrorist.

Kid #3, Levi is still too young to label sleeper or not. Either way God knows we're not gloating anymore.

Daddy, Do I Look Sexy?

This morning I discovered my 5 year old daughter combing her hair in the full length mirror -- not an unlikely occurence -- but today she was doing something different. She was striking what can best be described as a stripper pose.

"Daddy, do I look sexy?"

My heart stopped. Shock. Horror. Panic. Where's mom when we need her? The kid's 5 for God's sake. Who the hell taught her about sexy? Was it her trashy aunt, with those lowriders and ample butt crack? I remembered Chris Rock: while there are no grades for parenting, if you're daughter's working the pole, then you've screwed up. What did I do wrong? My sweet precious daughter -- destined to lavish attention on scuzzy men carrying wads of singles, and to tell sob stories about having a sick kid at home who needs a rare and expensive medical procedure.

So, after an excruciatingly long beat I asked, "What does sexy mean?" I could breath again. The ball at least was back in her court. She said, "Sexy like Hannah Montana sexy." Damn you, Disney Channel -- you ruined my girl! I ventured, "Have you ever seen Hannah Montana?" "Oh, at my friends' houses." Note to self: cancel all play dates. " What do you mean by sexy anyway?" I volleyed. I might not be able to win it, but I would live to fight another day. " Cute and cool." OK, maybe it's not so bad. "...and the boys all like you. A LOT." Shoot me now. In desperation, I try the old bait & switch: "Honey, you don't want to be sexy. You want to be sassy. Sassy is much better. It means you're smart and have a fun attitude and are really good at math." She isn't buying it. "Sweetie, sexy is really something for when you're older." This, oddly, makes sense to her, and she responds with a simple "Okay." I'm feeling pretty good. She smiles and says, "You mean older like seven, right?" At this point my modern, sensible, cool-but-not-too-cool dad gives way to my inner Taliban dad. "NO! No no no no. No. WAY OLDER! Sexy is for when you're finishing grad school, have published your first book, and are on your way to becoming a noble laureate. THEN you can be sexy!"