Every time a lie is told, a raindrop falls. 
When the lie is revealed, a thunderstorm rages.  When the lie is repaired, a flower appears. 
Yet, even when the sun is shining again, puddles still remain-- The Ripple of a Lie.

This children's book is geared for ages Kindergarten through 3rd grade, when lies or half-truths are told on the playground and spread like wildfire.  It includes a section with games to talk to your child about the consequences of lying.

Ordering Instructions 

Select the book that you wish to purchase and fill out the form below for any signing instructions and mailing address. 

The Ripple of a Lie
by Paul A. Stankus
Price: $10.00
Dad Desperately In Need of Training Wheels
by Paul A. Stankus
Price: $15.00
First Name:
Last Name:
Address 1:
Address 2:

Welcome to the Books page, where you can order personalized copies of my book, Dad Desperately In Need of Training Wheels, as well as read sample content.

Costs for the personalized book are $15 + $4.00 Shipping and Handling and can be paid by PayPal.  On the ordering form below, please fill out who what the inscription should read. 

Sample Content

Life with an Infant
For those of you without children, your mind starts playing tricks on you when you have gone for several days without sleep.  Imagine what happens after several weeks of the same pattern?  At one point I thought I looked like William Hurt in the mirror, but was quickly disabused of that notion.  You learn very quickly that spell check is your friend, and that if people are asking you to repeat things, it’s only because what seems to be making sense to you, is coming out as completely garbled and rambling to the outside world.

In this environment, I found myself one evening sitting at the dinner table trying to eat a bowl of spaghetti with one hand, and with the other, attempt to keep the rocking swing still rocking, while keeping the pacifier in his mouth.  (One day soon he will hopefully learn cause and effect -- but for now it is just a surprise when the pacifier pops out.)  Problem is the batteries were just starting to die on the portable swing, having been used so much over the last month.  Every time I set the auto-rocker rocking, and attempt to wolf down a couple of bites, either the rocker would stop rocking, or the pacifier would fall out, resulting in a very LOUD demanding wail that needed immediate attention to.

Now, I have never been accused of being light on my feet-- I can walk down the sidewalk and fall off the edge—so it should come as no surprise that juggling complex feats of eating and timing the reinsertion of a pacifier into the mouth of a screaming infant swinging back and forth in a chair sends me into a spastic, uncoordinated fit.  I straddled the chair, trying to feed myself with one hand and time the asymmetrical herky-jerky swinging motion with the other.  Every time I tried to guide the pacifier, I would miss his open mouth or smush it into his closed mouth causing him to cry more.  Finally, with one last effort and the grace of a greased bulldozer, I lunged for his open mouth wailing at full throttle, and in mid-thrust, realized that I had pushed too far.  The supports of the chair skid out from under me and instead of successfully inserting the pacifier, found the hard tiles rapidly advancing on my face--much to the bemusement of Candice who had been watching the whole scene bug-eyed and giggly from the chair next to me the entire time. 

Presence of Toddler Stress Disorganizer
...Soldiers call this crippling fear of the next attack ‘Post Traumatic Stress Disorder.’  Parents call it ‘Presence of Toddler Stress Disorganizer.’  Either way, the causes and symptoms are the same:  Crying out in the middle of the night, heart racing, sweating, reliving the moment earlier that day that you dove a millisecond too late to save your wife’s favorite crystal bowl from shattering into million pieces while you re-rolled the entire roll of toilet paper that had been unrolled in the bathroom, that happened when you were mopping up the milk jug that had been tipped over trying to pour milk into the bowl of Cheerios. 

Website Builder provided by  Vistaprint