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There is a specific kind of chaos that only happens when a small child needs you urgently, passionately, and for three unrelated reasons at the exact same time. It is the chaos of simultaneous emergencies that are not technically emergencies but feel like them anyway because your nervous system doesn’t speak nuance before coffee. One minute you’re attempting a basic adult task like cooking food that contains vitamins. The next minute, you’re a rescue worker responding to a lava-sofa disaster while a different child announces, with the urgency of a government alert, that bodily systems are entering DEFCON 1. This is not poor planning. This is parenting. And yet, despite how universal this experience is, parents are still quietly haunted by the idea that somewhere out there exists a perfect day . A day where the kids are emotionally fulfilled, physically healthy, developmentally enriched, screen-limited but not screen-deprived. A day where meals are balanced, routines flow smoothly, v...

There are very few things more uncomfortable in American culture than a man admitting he was wrong—especially when that man is famous, funny, opinionated, and has spent decades making a living by projecting confidence. Comedy thrives on certainty. Parenting does not. And somewhere between those two worlds sits Marlon Wayans, talking openly about raising a transgender child and narrating, in real time, what it looks like to dismantle your own assumptions without pretending you were enlightened all along. That distinction matters. A lot. Because America loves redemption arcs, but only the kind that don’t involve embarrassment, contradiction, or receipts. We prefer the version where someone “always knew,” where acceptance arrived smoothly, without friction, fear, or flawed behavior. What Marlon Wayans has offered instead is something far rarer: a public account of growth that includes denial, resistance, bad decisions, and a slow, painful recalibration of what love actually demands. An...

If you’ve ever wanted to witness a state legislature attempt something bold, ambitious, noble, bureaucratically epic, and slightly unhinged all at the same time, welcome to Ohio. Buckle up. The Buckeye State is now one Senate vote (29–2, because apparently two senators woke up and chose chaos) away from reinventing how parents, ex-parents, semi-parents, custodians, co-parents, step-parents, and the “I was just dating them during the breakup” crew navigate the emotional carnival of child custody. And they did it with a 422-page bill. Let’s take a moment to appreciate that. Four hundred and twenty-two pages. That’s not a bill; that’s a doorstop. That’s a graduate-level textbook. That’s the exact number of pages required for parents to pretend they’ve read it while secretly Googling “what does designated parent mean help??” But here we are: Senate Bill 174 , lovingly stitched together by two lawmakers who apparently decided that Ohio’s family law system needed something between a struc...

By any measure, Jacqueline Stein is the stuff of parenting fairy tales. Dream pregnancy? Check. “Fantastic” delivery? Check. Adorable 4-year-old named Alex? Check. A sudden urge to crank out siblings for the sake of a patriotic birth-rate spreadsheet? Hard pass. Stein’s decision to stop at one child is increasingly common—and not just in Canada, where she lives. From Asheville to Anaheim, more U.S. parents are deliberately going one and done , politely ignoring both Great-Aunt Linda’s “but he needs a brother” guilt trip and the Trump administration’s latest attempt to bribe people into extra bassinets with a “Trump Account” baby bonus . And oh, is that bonus rich: a $1,000 deposit into a newborn IRA, as if diapers are payable in index funds. Nothing says family planning quite like a government-issued brokerage statement that can’t cover a single month of daycare. Welcome to America’s newest culture clash—one part economics, one part mental-health realism, and one very large par...

The Race You Didn’t Sign Up For (But You’re Running Anyway) Ah, parenting. The one “sport” where everyone thinks they’re an Olympic coach. From the moment you announce a pregnancy or adoption, the unsolicited advice floods in—sleep schedules, feeding methods, early reading programs. You know, the usual nonsense about how if you follow this magical formula, you’ll produce a well-adjusted, high-achieving, piano-playing, sports-winning, multilingual prodigy. Then comes reality. Maybe your child is neurodivergent. Maybe their development doesn’t fit the Instagram parenting script. Maybe they melt down at Target because the fluorescent lights feel like a thousand tiny daggers in their eyes. Maybe they hyperfocus on dinosaurs for three straight years and refuse to eat anything but beige food. Suddenly, you realize this isn’t the race you trained for. But here’s the thing: parenting a neurodivergent child isn’t a race at all. It’s a cross-country trek where the GPS occasionally screams “re...

Let’s face it: the second someone says, “You know, being child-free is a radical act,” a nearby queer parent silently finishes their mac and cheese, sips their lukewarm coffee, and wonders when exactly living a life that includes diapers, teething rings, and chosen family brunches got demoted from “revolutionary” to “basic.” Spoiler alert: it didn’t. In case you missed the memo stapled to a rainbow flag and duct-taped to a double stroller, choosing to parent queerly in a world that still struggles to define “family” without a heterosexual framework is just as spicy and subversive as telling your mother-in-law you’re never giving her grandkids because you’re too busy being fabulous and free. And choosing either—or both, or neither—isn’t some binary gender reveal of political rebellion. It’s all radical, baby. The queerer the better. Queer People Have Always Made Families—Even When the State Said “Nah” Let’s take a little trot down memory lane, shall we? It wasn’t so long ago that...

Snarky blog by someone who still flinches when someone raises their voice Updated April 29, 2025 | Reviewed by Every Inner Child That Ever Cried at a PTA Meeting Let’s not sugarcoat it—harsh parenting is about as helpful to a child’s development as giving them a pet cactus and telling them to cuddle with it. According to a mountain of research, yelling, name-calling, criticizing, and other Greatest Hits from the "Parenting Like a Dictator" playlist don't raise well-adjusted kids—they raise adults who either need therapy, avoid it like the plague, or both. And if you’re one of those people who says, “Well, I was raised with a wooden spoon and look how I turned out,” let me stop you right there: You’re literally telling on yourself. You turned out so great you’re defending emotional warfare? Okay, champ. Let’s dive into what the science actually says before you go swearing by your own trauma as gospel. Step One: Traumatize Early, Regret Later A recent study out of B...