My toddler, Leo, spent forty-five minutes trying to put a cowboy boot on his head last Tuesday. That was my first clue that his second birthday party needed to be a “First Rodeo” theme. Being a dad in Denver means I take three things seriously: safety certifications, local craft beer, and making sure my kids…
The pink glitter is still wedged into my floorboards from the October 14, 2024 bash I threw for my niece, Mia. I teach third grade here in Houston, which means I usually have a high tolerance for chaos and sticky fingers, but fourteen three-year-olds in a living room during a humidity spike is a different…
I stood in the middle of Piedmont Park on July 14, 2024, holding a handful of plastic shark tails and wondering where my life went wrong. The Atlanta humidity was thick enough to chew, and my niece Maya was turning twelve, an age where kids are too old for cartoons but apparently just old enough…
My classroom floor usually smells like a mix of industrial-strength lemon cleaner and damp sneakers, but on April 12, 2025, it smelled like victory and smoked brisket. I had eighteen five-year-olds vibrating with sugar-induced energy in my Houston living room for Caleb’s birthday, and the humidity was sitting at a thick 94 percent. My hair…
I stood in the middle of my living room in North Atlanta, sweat stinging my eyes and a half-inflated purple balloon limply hanging from my mouth like a sad grape. It was March 14, 2024, exactly four hours before my daughter Maya’s 6th birthday party was set to begin. I’m a single dad. I’m also…
Rain pounded against my kitchen window in suburban Portland last January while my six-year-old, Sophie, twirled in her tattered Elsa dress for the fourteenth time that morning. She wanted a “Frozen” bash, but my bank account was still recovering from the holiday season and a surprise plumbing bill that cost more than my first car….
I stood in the middle of my kitchen in Midtown Atlanta last March, surrounded by three rolls of industrial-strength aluminum foil and a very disappointed ten-year-old named Leo. It was March 14, 2025, and I had promised him a “Galactic Emperor” birthday bash that would put the local planetarium to shame. My brilliant plan involved…
My living room looked like a NASCAR infield exploded in a sea of black and white checkers last October. It was Leo’s fifth birthday. Seventeen five-year-olds in a suburban Portland house while it’s pouring rain outside is a specific kind of brave. Or maybe just crazy. I had exactly forty-two dollars left in the “party…
Last Tuesday was a total wash in Portland, with rain hitting my windows so hard I thought the glass might actually give up. My youngest, Zoey, was turning five and her only demand was a “muddy puddles” party, which is basically code for a Peppa Pig obsession that has taken over our entire house. I…
My kitchen smelled like blue raspberry syrup and failed expectations on the morning of June 12, 2024. I was hunched over a counter covered in sticky sapphire stains, trying to figure out how a single dad in Atlanta could throw a birthday bash that didn’t look like a discount bin exploded. My son Leo was…
