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.
even when the sun is shining again, puddles still remain-- The Ripple of a Lie.
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.
Select the book that you wish to purchase and fill out the form below for any signing instructions and mailing address.
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.
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.
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
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.