Family Life

We told Finn and Lucy the truth about Santa. They are only 8 and 6 years old. Which means there will be people reading who will give me wide-eyed looks of horror. 

But here’s the thing: We’re going to Orlando for Christmas, and it felt like a hassle to try explain how Santa got a keycard to our room. 

Lizzie’s reasoning for it was, thankfully, was slightly more thoughtful. 

Continue reading

27 Nov 2017, by

Social Detox

Liz is going through a Facebook detox for Advent – she says she’s starting a little early. Which is the thing I wanted to bring up here.

But first I have to confess that I wrote that first sentence and then realized that I wasn’t totally sure when Advent was supposed to start. Or  if  the word “Advent” was supposed to be capitalized.

I’m also not completely positive what Advent is.

Look, I’m not an idiot – I know it’s around December. And I know it has to do with the Christmas season because we have an Advent Calendar. You open these little doors every day and bam – chocolate.

I use the word Advent for one reason – I’m a Christian and I’m supposed to know what it means. I’m pretty good at using the word in a sentence to sound like I know what I’m talking about. For example, if I’m walking through the lobby in church and I pass some cinnamon-scented potpourri or something, I’ll smile serenely at the person next to me and say, “Don’t you just love this holy season of Advent?”

There are times when I find myself caught up in the air using a Christian term and I realize that I don’t actually know precisely what I’m talking about. And I know that I should know, but I became a Christian in my thirties and so I have these embarrassing gaps in my knowledge. I also know that the first commandment ain’t “learn what Advent is,” it’s “Love Your Neighbor” and so I’m gonna focus on that one. For everything else I have Wikipedia.

But here’s the thing – I’m not one to actually admit that I don’t know things like that.

I, my friends, am a gifted faker.

Continue reading

24 Nov 2017, by

The Hamburger Phone

Liz and I are blessed to be able to provide for our children. Our kids have shelter from the elements and food to sustain them. I have lived in places that have taught me to never, ever take that for granted.

That being said….

I am obsessed with maintaining this tip-of-a-pyramid balancing act of providing for my kids without them becoming spoiled. Nobody wants spoiled kids, right? So the metric I use (imperfect as it may be) is the number of toys Finn and Lucy have. I would be strolling through Target with the kids and they would leap onto the cart and point as if they had spotted the white whale, their vibrating finger revealing something that they needed, please Dad! I won’t ask for anything else if I just get that!

And I, the Good Parent, would give them a self-satisfied smile and say something pithy, like “We can’t get that, honey. But! Good news! …I love you!”

I say that so much that they now mouth the words along with me, eyes rolling. They hadn’t really expected me to say yes, after all, and to their credit they would almost always drop it immediately. In that moment I would swell with pride that I had once again parried the Demon of Entitlement and poured still more Concrete of Righteousness in the moral foundation of my children.

Then, yesterday came. Yesterday I realized that I had failed wildly in this regard. That moment came when, while walking through our playroom, I tripped over an object I literally didn’t know we owned. That object was this:

It’s a hamburger phone.

I don’t know where it came from.

Continue reading

When I was a senior in high school in Jersey City, my English teacher, Mr. Delo, assigned us a project: Each of us would keep a journal every day for consecutive seven days. He wasn’t going to read it – he wasn’t some creepasaurus rex – he would just make sure we had written something.

Anything? Like, it doesn’t have to be good, just write anything?”

“Anything. It’s just to get in the habit of writing regularly.”

“What if we just, like, copy the phone book for seven days?”

Mr. Delo shrugged. “You wanna copy the phone book, copy the phone book.”

Copying the phone book turned out to be staggeringly boring. So instead I wrote. Just one single page, about what happened that day. I wrote a page the next day, and the day after that, too.

I wrote in that journal every day for the next thirteen years.

Continue reading

17 Sep 2013, by

The Beautiful Normal

It’s fall! And we’re in New Canaan, Connecticut, did I tell you that? We moved back in May after our crazy year in LA, though I’m beginning to suspect that every year in LA is a crazy year.

We probably didn’t make it any less crazy by living in Hollywood, I should add. Like, The Hollywood – and throw in the fact that driving Finn to preschool involved passing a whole lot of shops that sold things that you wouldn’t even be able to mention on basic cable, let alone want your four year old son to see, but I’ll tell you what: there are no hurricanes in LA, and for that we were grateful.

Continue reading

Copyright ©2012 Conor Grennan. Photos: Larry Closs.
Inki theme ©2009 studio:mw. All rights reserved. Powered by WordPress

Warning: substr() expects parameter 3 to be long, string given in /home/content/a2pewpnaspod05_data05/44/41485944/html/wp-content/themes/inki_2.1_custom/footer.php on line 107