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Cry Me a River
My wife and I have five kids. We started with three boys and then, once we'd officially learned the basics, went on to have twin girls. I thought I knew how to parent, but going from males to females was like going from basic math to trigonometry.
I …Read more.
Cat Craze
I have a confession to make. I am afraid of cats.
I'm not afraid that they'll attack me or sneak up in the middle of the night and suffocate me (as they have been known to do to babies for centuries — look it up on the Internet).
I'm afraid …Read more.
Money to Burn
Yesterday, over my morning coffee, I read in my paper that parents in New York City are all atwitter because tuitions at most private schools are just about to creep up past the $40,000 mark. I stared at the story for a full minute before it hit me: …Read more.
Tweenage Dream
Like almost every other American household this year, our home ended up after the holidays with a lot of new electronic items. I got an iPad. It was one of those gifts you don't know you want until you have it. Suddenly, I could check my email and …Read more.
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Now, Don't Be Alarmed...The other week, I had to go out of town on business for a few days, some of which were school days, and some of which fell on the weekend. I had to pack at the last minute, but as I was throwing together a bag, I remembered to run over and set the alarm clock for the next couple mornings so my wife could get the kids to school on time. I'm not the kind of guy who would even hint that women don't handle gadgets well, at least not the kind of guy who's stupid enough to do it in print. (Women readers, when offended, can be mean. Really really mean.) But my wife is not particularly comfortable with technology. This past year, I wasn't able to answer my phone in time when she needed to change the ink in our printer at home, and came home to find it in two pieces on the floor. She enjoys TV, but cannot turn ours on (or off) without help. Every time I hear her shouting "this @%^$* TV is too complicated!" I'm always afraid I'll get there too late, and find the remote embedded in the flat screen. Leaving my wife alone in a house full of technology is like leaving a ... (You know what? I'm just gonna stop right here. I'm probably already in enough trouble as it is.) So when I had to leave, one of my prime concerns was making sure that she didn't have to set the alarm clock. My alarm clock is one of my prize possessions, not so much because it's nice (it is), but because I actually understand how to work it — in the dark. I can reach over and read the buttons like Braille letters without interrupting my rapid-eye-movement sleep, and have timed each minute of a typical morning so that I can take maximum advantage of the snooze cycle. (I average five snooze button hits per morning.) The alarm clock was a Christmas present two years ago. It has great megabass stereo sound, and can play and charge my iPod. I never do any of those things, but am proud of the fact that I could, if I wanted to. No one touches the alarm clock except me. Sunday, coming back after long travel, I'd forgotten all this.
"You," she said in loving tone, "have to promise not to be mad!" I stopped on the steps. Those words are never good, and my mind always reels with the possibilities whenever I hear them. "Before we can go to bed," she said, "you have to find your alarm clock." I frowned. I would have expected "reset" or "adjust" the alarm clock, or maybe even "plug in" the alarm clock, but not "find." I refused to take another step before I had a full explanation. The clock worked like clockwork Thursday and Friday mornings, she said. But it also went off on Saturday morning, a morning she planned to sleep in. Try as she might, she could not get it to turn off. She even tried unplugging the alarm clock, but because of the backup batteries, she was unsuccessful. She then did the only thing that makes sense — or at least made sense to someone who was half-asleep, and wanted to remain fully asleep, on a Saturday morning — she grabbed the alarm clock, ran down the stairs, and hid it someplace, someplace far from our bedroom where it could blare all morning without disturbing anyone. Then, she ran back upstairs and went back to sleep. Now, hours later, she remembered the alarm going off, she remembered banging on the buttons and she remembered jumping out of bed to fix the alarm once and for all. She did not, however, remember where, exactly, she hid it. We spent the next half-hour looking under piles of clothes, behind couch cushions and even in the basement. Finally, we woke up our daughters to ask them whether they'd happened to see an alarm clock that didn't belong where it was. One of the girls smiled in recognition and told us we should look in the downstairs bathroom. Saturday morning, she explained, she'd woken up to find an alarm clock blaring under the covers of her bed and, not knowing how to get it to turn off, had hidden it under the towels in the bathroom. The apple, it seems, had not fallen all that far from the tree. To find out more about Peter McKay, please visit www.creators.com COPYRIGHT 2009 CREATORS.COM
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