Sometimes I think I'm living in a movie

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I look across the room, see these two kids, and think, "It's as if they are trying to be as cinematic as possible."

She would not be happy on a skateboard, but these kids are.

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My favorite thing about my daughter's picture of skateboarders is the smiles on their faces. 

She wouldn't climb aboard a skateboard if her life depended upon it. 

Maybe this will change someday, but I suspect not. She is not a risk taker. She is not physically daring. She is cautious and precise as she moves through this world. Dainty, even. 

She has many great qualities, but climbing aboard a skateboard and soaring up and down concrete ramps is not one of them.

And yet she still can see the joy that others derive from skateboarding in one of these parks, and she does not judge them for it.

I also think it's kind of remarkable how my little artist daughter manages to capture posture and motion in her drawing, but admittedly that might just be a proud father talking.

After almost getting my wife nothing on Mother's Day, it turns out that I gave her a lot. The list is extraordinary.

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Happy Mother's Day to all the moms of the world, and especially my wife, Elysha, the best mother I have ever known.

Please remember, mothers, that there's an apostrophe in Mother's Day, meaning it's your day. Don't let anyone else's expectations interfere with your desire to do whatever the hell you want.

It's your day, damn it.

My thoughts also go out to those of us who have lost our mothers, oftentimes making this day bittersweet at best.

I know it's bittersweet for me. 

My plan for Mother's Day was to give my wife VIP tickets to the upcoming Duran Duran concert this summer. Months ago, I asked her what band from her youth would she like to see most, and she said - almost immediately - Duran Duran.

Seconds before clicking the buy button on the tickets, I decided to check with Elysha in order to confirm that we had nothing planned on the date of the concert. It's a date close to our anniversary, and I wasn't sure if our our plans would overlap the concert. 

That was when I learned that she had no desire to see Duran Duran.

Two days before Mother's Day and now without a Mother's Day gift, I panicked.

Now it's Mother's Day morning, and I still have nothing. 

Well, almost nothing.

  • It's approaching 9:00 AM and she's still asleep. This is not uncommon in our home, but I know many mother's who would kill for this. I'm taking credit. 
  • I swept and mopped the basement stairs. This is a monthly chore that I don't think Elysha even knows exists. It's a pain in the ass, and I'm pretty sure that in the eight years we have been in this house, I'm the only one who has ever done it. Doing a chore for eight years without any acknowledgement is worth at least one-half of a Mother's Day present. 
  • I emptied the trashcan and replaced the bag. I often don't replace the bag, because after bringing the garbage all the way to the can, the 14 steps required to put a new bag in the can seems inconsequential to me.  
  • I negotiated a truce in two sibling wars over toys while she slept. 
  • I bought and hid five Mother's Day cards for her around the house. Each one includes clever commentary, including post-it note warnings, a critique of domestic violence, a Clara-induced error, and a warning against clutter.   
  • I bought her five large plastic bins for her sewing paraphernalia. One might argue that this is a git more for me than her, since I'm the one who can't stand to see the sewing stuff all over the house, but these bins will help organize her stuff and make her husband much happier, so that's a double win for her.    
  • I didn't purchase a new sexy Princess Leia costume to replace the one I bought for her years ago but has apparently been misplaced since I never saw her wear it even once.  

I guess I'm not doing so poorly after all.

We'll also be visiting The Eric Carle Museum and taking a walk in North Hampton later today, and we agreed that she could just find something that she wanted there. 

It's not quite the surprise of Duran Duran tickets or the awesomeness of a sexy Princess Leis costume, and in retrospect, she's already received a lot. 

But it's a good idea nonetheless.  

Sometimes I think I live in "Leave It To Beaver"

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Overheard during breakfast:

Clara (age 7): Hey Charlie, Timmy and I are finding things in common.

(Note: Clara and her classmate Timmy don't always get along) 

Charlie (age 3): That’s great! What?

Clara: Timmy watches Shimmer & Shine, and so do I. I heard him singing it quietly, but not so quietly that I couldn’t hear. So I asked him if he watched it. He said yes.

Charlie: Wow! That’s great!

Clara: Yup. When we find things in common, we can get along better! 

Owen: 2000-2016

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I lost a friend yesterday.

After a short battle with an indeterminate disease, our cat of died peacefully in our arms yesterday.

Owen was an incredibly healthy cat until his final month, and he lived a life filled with love and leisure. Our hearts are aching today. He will be missed.

Making this loss doubly difficult was the loss that our children experienced. For both of them, this is the first death that they experienced. 

Owen's life was an interesting one.

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Though he was 16 years old at the time of his death, he only learned his name in his last year of life. 

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About ten years ago, he took a fancy to wool and began eating through Elysha's cashmere scarves and sweaters. He would eat the clothing right off your body if you let him.

One morning he sat in my lap and ate a hole in the front of my wool pants which I only discovered at school after I removed my sweatshirt. I was standing in front of the class, teaching, when a girl in the front row said, "Mr. Dicks. I can see your underwear." 

Assuming a little bit of my waistband was poking from my band, I said, "Knock it off," and started reaching around my waist to tuck in the offending bit of cotton.

"No," she said, pointing at my crotch. "I can see a lot of your underwear. Like a lot."

She wasn't kidding. It was a hole the size of a softball.

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I was putting clothing in the dryer one day while listening to music on my headphones. Once all of the clothing was loaded, I closed the door and turned the dryer on. I walked away, listening to the music blare through my headphones, but just as I was about to turn the corner and leave the room, I heard a bang. Then another. Then another. I removed my headphones and realized what was happening. I ran to the dryer and opened the door. A wet, frizzy, terrified Owen leapt from the dryer and sprinted away.

Had the music been a little louder or I had been a little faster, I shudder to think what could've happened. 

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Owen threw up a lot. He was a cat who loved to eat enormous amounts of food and then purge. He also routinely ate plastic, ribbons, paper, and a host of other items and would later (and thankfully purge them as well. It was only through the purchase of the Bissell Spot-Bot, a small carpet shampoo device that Owen was allowed into any room with a carpet.

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For years, Owen wanted to get outdoors, and it was a constant battle to keep him inside. One day he finally managed to escape for an indeterminate amount of time. When we found him, he was standing by the back door - which was made of glass - desperately trying to get back in. For a cat who took 16 years to learn his name, he learned this lesson quickly. He never tried to escape again

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Owen once caught a mouse in our old apartment and would not let it go. He held it in his mouth and made a strange huffing sound as he walked throughout the house with it. Finally, I got Owen to go into the bathroom. I locked myself inside with him and went to battle with him over the mouse, finally extracting the disgusting thing from his jaws. 

It was a battle unlike any other.

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Owen had a brother named Jack who he loved dearly. Jack died back in 2009, and soon thereafter, Clara was born. Losing his brother and suddenly having to share attention with a baby was difficult for him. He lost his mind for a couple years. His grief was palatable and tragic. It was a terrible thing to watch, but eventually, he seemed to accept the loss of Jack and find a new spot on the pecking order that was acceptable for him.

In his last few years, he became a truly sweet and tender boy.

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Owen was easily over-stimulated. Pet him for more than a couple minute and he would bite you. It wasn't a bite born from aggression but from love, but it still hurt like hell. To his credit, though, Owen never bit either one of our kids, no matter how much petting, tail pulling, and hugging they did. He bit Elysha and me hundreds of times, but he knew better than to bite a child.

Owen didn't love Clara at first, primarily due to her constant pulling of his tail and crushing hugs, but over the past few years, the two grew incredibly close. Owen began sleeping with Clara for a portion of the night, and she fell head over heels for the big boy in his last couple years, making his death even more difficult to bear. 

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Owen was an enormous cat. He weighed about 17 pounds. My friends often made fun of me for owning a dog smaller than my cat.

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Owen and Kaleigh, our dog, got along well unless food was involved.

Kaleigh is an asshole when it comes to food.

Kaleigh is 15 years old, so she and Owen grew into old age together. They weren't best friends but more like amicable roommates with occasional moments of surprising affection. I suspect that she will miss him. 

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Owen loved us all, but he loved Elysha most of all. She adopted him from the same animal hospital where he died yesterday, and they were together longer than she and I have been together. Owen was fond of sleeping at Elysha's feet every night and lying on her chest when we watched television. He purred so loudly that we sometimes couldn't hear the TV.  He would wake her up with a nuzzle in the morning and do everything possible to sit in her lap when she was sitting. 

It was a love story like no other. 

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Losing Owen was tough on all of us, but the kids have been surprisingly resilient and strong. We told them on Thursday that Owen was sick and could die any day, giving us one more precious day to love him. This was an especially difficult 24 hours for Elysha and me, and at one point, I was weeping. Clara took my hand and said, "Daddy, try to think of all the good memories we have with Owen. Tell me an Owen story and you'll feel better. Stories always make people feel better."

She's so wise and strong for a seven year-old.

Charlie doesn't understand death as well. But since Owen's death, he has said:

"Owen's gone and we can't have him back." 

"Is he gone forever?"

"What does it mean to die."

It hasn't been easy on any of us.

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Owen's last day has hard. Elysha took him outside for a final moment in the sun. The kids said goodbye as they left for school and playdates, unaware that they would never see him again. But they knew that he was dying, so these last farewells were touching and meaningful. 

In his final moments, I told Owen that I loved him, and I thanked him for all that he has given to us and our family. I've known Owen for 13 years, and he has been a friend and companion who I will always remember.

Readers of this blog might know that I do not deal well with death, and this was no exception.

Rest in peace, Owen. I hope I am wrong, and that there is a heaven, and I hope that you and Jack are there now, curled together once again.  

A fashion designer who doesn't know she's a fashion designer

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On the same day that my wife told me that she wanted to be a fashion designer when she was a little girl but doesn't have that same passion or desire anymore, she made this for our son.

The vision can change. The outcome can be different than what we originally imagined (sometimes by choice and sometimes by necessity). Childhood passions are often ignored but they rarely die.

Clara on Picasso

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Clara, my seven year-old daughter, on Picasso:

““Charlie, why don’t you draw something like Pablo Picasso? He was an artist who lived a long time ago. Even before Mommy and Daddy were born! He drew pictures of people, but he sometimes made their heads triangle shapes or put two eyes on top on each other or a nose on the bottom and a mouth in the middle. He did strange things but they still looked great. So go ahead. Draw like Pablo Picasso. You can do it. If Pablo Picasso could do it, anyone can!””

When I was her age, I still couldn't cut with scissors.

And she actually knows a lot more about the famous artist. As she helped Charlie draw his picture, she continued to teach him about Picasso and his life. 

More than I think a three year-old boy cares to know.

This is what childhood is supposed to look like

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My wife was in a doctor's appointment. 

Charlie asked the friend who was taking care of him  if he could climb up the enormous dirt pile at the adjacent construction site.

She said yes. Wisely.

My Jewish daughter understands Easter - and religion - perfectly.

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Easter morning. My Jewish children scamper around the house, searching for Easter eggs.

Clara, my seven year-old says:

"I think Easter is about thinking sweet thoughts. Soft things. That's why we get candy. To make us think of sweet things."

Clara has also told me that she plans to marry someone who isn't Jewish so she can "celebrate lots of holidays and learn about lots of different stuff and know lots of different people."

If only everyone thought a little bit more like Clara.

A little less tribal. Actually, a lot less tribal.  
A little more openminded.
A little more willing to embrace difference.

I think she might have this religion thing figured out perfectly.

My children are stars in an Instagram ad. Apparently the entire world has seen it.

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A large number of our friends - at least those with Instagram accounts - began sending us messages yesterday after having seen Clara and Charlie in a TurboTax ad. 

Rest assured that this was no surprise to us. Months ago an advertising agency contacted us after seeing a photo of the kids on my blog. After signing nondisclosures and negotiating terms and compensation, we agreed to the use of the photo in this ad.

We didn't realize the ubiquity that the ad would achieve. So many of our friends have seen it, and as if this moment, the ad has 180,749 likes and almost 2,000 comments.

TurboTax isn't messing around.  

We also decided that the compensation received would be used to pay for a weekend at Great Wolf Lodge, a place that the kids have been asking us to take them for months. We explained to them how we would be paying the trip - essentially with money they earned - and they were thrilled.  

This situation also illustrates the fundamental belief that I have in "putting yourself out there." Some day I will create a list of all the things that have come back to me thanks to my willingness to put myself out there - online, on stage, in print, and elsewhere. Unexpected, almost always positive responses from the world. 

The best worst magic show ever

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Last week I told a story for The Moth at the beautiful Brooklyn Academy of Music about the armed robbery that I survived back in 1993.

The story opened with an anecdote about a magic show that had taken place just a few days prior to telling the story. I managed to record a little bit of the magic show. Whether or not you ever hear the story, the magic show is worth a peek.    

Text and photo combo of the week

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Sent by my wife, Elysha, to brighten my day:

Playmobil Porsche dealership with Playmobil douchebag at the wheel.

She wrote "No." My heart soared.

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My daughter had to vote for her "favorite groovy expression" from the list below. She read through choices. We explained what each expression meant.

Then she refused to pick. She didn't like any of them. "I just like to dance. I don't like any of this." 

"Yes," Elysha said. "But of the choices here, can you just tell me which one you like the best?"

Clara took the marker, scanned the page once more, thought for a long moment, and finally wrote the word "No" above each list.

It was the strangest thing. Like looking in a mirror. So many times in my life, I have been asked to complete a form, fill out a worksheet, or vote on something like this, and so many times, I abstained. Attempted to make a mockery of the process. Tried to inject myself unnecessarily into the request. Rejected the attempt to put me in a box. Pushed back on bureaucracy. Refused. 

I can't describe the joy in discovering that I am no longer alone in my petulant nonconformity.