Families

In many ways, a parenting prenup is the true definition of planned parenthood.

I’ve been waiting years to celebrate my undying love of all things Christmas with my child, but now that my toddler is old enough to understand the joys of the holiday season I’ve realized that there are some things about the holidays that only a parent can understand.

I'm in San Francisco today — my favorite city; it's raining.

Capitalism is too real. God dang Americans are greedy. And so are our kids. We eat, sleep and breathe capitalism, and maybe some folks will argue that’s the American dream or whatever. We've earned the right (and the cash) to be as greedy as we’d like. But I’m kind of a socialist, and I really loathe rotten kids who cry when they don’t get a toy, alas here we are. If you’re like me, this article is for you

I remember the day I met my son for the first time as if it was yesterday, instead of almost five years ago.

Fortunately, when I look back at my childhood, it was mostly happy. I had parents who loved me. I had plenty of friends. I had access to food and shelter and education and more. Yet even with all my privilege, I don't want my daughter to have the same adolescence as me.

The tumult that’s been rippling through our country has me begging the question: what do we do when we feel the defeat of a woman and the rise of a monster bearing down on us?

I told my kids if they are going to pick a substance, pick pot. Don’t buy booze. Don’t drink cough syrup. Do get high. Why? Because pot doesn’t kill people. Pot doesn’t wreck your liver. Pot makes you want to eat cookies and listen to Pink Floyd on reproduction vinyl you bought at Urban Outfitters.