Hiding in a Cave

Newsletter 2022-05-03

They say that avoiding your own kids is more art than science. And by “they,” I mean “me.” If that’s true—and I don’t know why it wouldn’t be since I gain nothing from lying to myself—then last weekend was my masterpiece. My wife Lola and I dropped off all four of our kids at my parents’ house and fled to another state for a weekend of irresponsible child-free fun. At least that was the plan. Instead, our kids somehow followed us to St. Louis for part of the trip, and Lola and I ended up fleeing one more city away to hide in a cave, but only because the nuclear bunker was all booked up. It was a weekend of wine, life-changing real estate deals, and questionable arrangements with a hot tub. There’s a reason we seldom leave home.

My kids are finally at that magical age where I can ignore them for long stretches of time without worrying that they’re going to die. They can feed and dress themselves and, most importantly, can wipe their own butts. There are college kids who haven’t mastered…