My two-year-old’s favorite word these days is doo-doo.
She’ll tell friendly store clerks that that is her name.
She’ll cry for us in middle of the night. I hongry, she’ll say when we get to her crib. What do you want to eat? we’ll ask. Doo-doo, she’ll say, before dropping back to sleep.
March 9, 2016 | Ben Berman
My four-year-old and I were recently walking to the playground when she noticed a picture of a young girl, not much older than her, hugging a dog.
Aww, she said, what a cute puppy.
I didn’t have the heart to explain why a picture like that would be posted to a telephone pole, and so I smiled and continued walking when she started to sound out the letters in bold on top of the poster.
January 13, 2016 | Ben Berman
Last night, my two-year-old spent the evening dropping fistfuls of fried rice from her high seat while singing Humpty Dumpty had a great faaaaall!
I probably should have intervened – taken her bowl away or redirected her. At the very least I should have stopped making sound effects every time the rice hit the carpet.
But as a poet, I’ve developed the ability to detach myself from my parental responsibilities and view my kids, instead, as adorable little metaphors.
November 11, 2015 | Ben Berman
My four-year-old is in the living room, playing with magnetic building blocks. She is as focused as I’ve ever seen her, paying as much attention to shapes as to colors, aesthetics as to structure.
But I don’t have a story until I have two stories, wrote Grace Paley, and along comes my two-year-old. It’s as though she’s just finished watching Donnie Darko and is convinced that destruction, too, is a form of creation.
October 14, 2015 | Ben Berman
Twice a month, we feature our favorite literary links. As ever, we promise: You’ll laugh. You'll ponder. You won’t get any writing done.
From The New Yorker, Bee Wilson writes on the simple joy of reading about meals of others: