i'm as upright as i want to be i also want to be this much standing up, alone we're both happy with this situation hooray i'm alone and touching nothing but gold…
For the Creative-Anxious Parent™ the world is a veritable junkyard of nightmare futures just begging to be collected-- what if my child is bullied ferociously? What if my child makes some disgusting sex party urban legend indisputably real? What if my child keeps large, seemingly-immortal snakes as pets? In developing one’s irrational, ultimately pointless parental anxiety, it’s important to integrate less obvious, more esoteric fears into one’s 2:30 am worrying practice. Here, some…
normal normal normal, everything normal here hello, it's me: normal things are happening, why don't you come a little closer and see how normal things can get…
0-1 months Capable of babbling at parents and other familiar figures Often seen speaking to a presence invisible Vocalizations come from someplace deeper and more primal than the throat Caul of silk appears around the face Soul impermanence 1-3 months Begins holding grudges and crafting crude effigies Sudden changes in breathing Minor shapeshifting…
More and more often, women today are asking themselves the important question: have I already had children? If so, when? Where are they? The most important issue facing modern feminists in today's Easy-Squeeze, public bathroom, instant timer world is whether or not women have already had children, and if so where they saw them last. It's hard enough trying to balance a career with the children you can find inside of your house. Women shouldn't…
Previously in Tommy Wallach's series of harsh criticisms of the genuine work of small children doing their best: Becky.
Alexander Hamilton: The Outsider
Reviewed by Griffin C.
I thought that Alexander Hamilton: The Outsider was amazing. I love history and anything about it, especially wars and reading about different people. Alexander Hamilton was a man of power. He was born in the Caribbean and because his parents weren’t married
I sat on a plaid flannel picnic blanket in the park, my legs long in front of me, watching the sunlight dance through newly budding trees. There was still a bite in the air, and we were the only picnickers on the grass that afternoon, but I felt I could sit there for hours, resting my cheek on the little blonde head leaning against my chest, smelling her baby shampoo.
When it rains, it fucking pours, don’t it? This was the first coherent thought I remember having immediately after learning that, due to the presence of three (three?! SHIT!) overlapping reproductive health conditions, I would probably never be able to conceive a child in any normal or natural way. In fact, according to what I knew of statistics, my odds of having a baby naturally were only slightly better than my chances of winning the…
The lie started with the birth announcement: “We are already very much in love.” This was the script; what we were supposed to feel. We were very much in love, weren’t we?
It was a hot night in July. I attached two photos—one of me with the baby, one of her with my husband, selected from the 75 or so we’d already taken with our new camera, bought especially for this event, as
1. Crisp Apple Strudels: Clearly the best thing on the list, though I have to say that the third-to-last cook we had in our Salzburg home made far better apple strudels than any I’ve tasted since. Sadly, Frau Gensler hated whistles, marching, and frogs, and she up and quit on us with no notice. It is so hard to find reliable help these days. Our last cook, Frau Jurgen, made merely acceptable strudels, though when…
The following story was written by an actual eight year old named Becky, who is now an adult (and whose debut novel comes out next year).
Tootsiroll
One day a dog had 7 puppies. Candy, Bubbles, Spot, Flower, Brownie, Bambi, and Tootsiroll. Tootsiroll was the runt. All the puppies had spots. There were 6 nipples on their mother, Apple. One day Flower went up to Bubbles. They talked and had fun. Soon…
I like to think that there are a fair amount of things about me that are notable. My refusal to wear socks until it snows. My obsessive love of cleaning out the lint trap and making tiny lists. One thing people tend to hang onto, though, as soon as they learn it about me, is that I don’t want to have kids. It’s pretty rare, apparently, for people I know to come upon a woman…
Welcome to The Toast's inaugural advice column from two disparate and imperfect persons. We are open to better names for it. Sometimes Mallory will take one, or Nicole will take one, or we'll both give it a shot. Like sleep, we will knit up the raveled sleave of care. All right, look, I read all the advice columns. I've read similar stories over and over. But now it's happening to me, which makes it slightly more important.
