A friend asked for parenting advice, so I walked her through my favorite wrestling holds.
My brother might be 38, but he just figured out he can control my television with his phone, and he is absolutely using that power to bug the shit out of me.
We need a marketing campaign to teach the Crayola people what “washable” means
I can’t believe I gave up my best sleeping years to raise children.
My daughter (5) just said she can’t wait to be fat like me so it’s easier to float.
My daughter invented a game she calls “cellphone.” I have to pretend to be a stranger, while she plays herself and just tells me about her life. For hours. She enjoys this game considerably more than I do.
A friend took a picture of me that made me look younger and thinner, so she’s my wife now.
Authors, for the love of all things, let your protagonists sleep sometimes.
I convinced my daughter (5) that the Roomba is her pet robot, so now she cleans him and feeds him. This is my greatest accomplishment as a parent. It can only go down from here.
“Terrible twos” is such a misleading phrase. It makes it sound like other ages are better.
Thought it was real sweet that my daughter (5) gave me a hug in the store until I realized she was trying to steal my credit card.
Am I religious? Not really.
Am I praying nobody else pukes tonight? Lord yes.
I hope the hot young mom across the street stops mowing the lawn soon. I don’t want my husband having any inappropriate thoughts, like I might start doing yard work.
Let’s play doctor. You tell me about your chronic pain, and I’ll stare at a laptop the whole time, then recommend you lose weight.
My neighbor with a toddler is over here telling me what life is like with one kid like I got my children in a 3-pack.