Here are words I wrote elsewhere

Did you forget to read my August Redbook column? Hmm.

I think you should know that while searching the Redbook site for my latest essay, I saw the headline "What to Do with Difficult Kids," and immediately clicked on it because I thought I might find helpful advice. (Not that Henry is "difficult," per se, but let's just say that our waking hours have become delightfully challenging.)

You can imagine my surprise when I discovered that not only did this column have zero advice, it was also written by me. I'm guessing the good people at Redbook are trying to bring in a little search-engine traffic, with that title. Which means I am certainly not going to click on their "Multiple Orgasm Technique" article because it's probably a recipe for cobbler. Although, come to think of it, I do enjoy a cobbler.

I especially enjoy multiple cobblers.

When you're in New York City, the best place by far to take kids is the American Museum of Natural History. Okay, maybe our kids might prefer one of those massive toy stores with animatronic characters that sing and pelt you with candy, but those establishments tend to cause adult brains to liquefy and dribble out through their ear canals. The natural-history museum is one of the few places our kids enjoy that can keep our brains nice and firm. Everybody wins!

I couldn't wait to tell Henry the plan. He would be out of his mind with joy. The last time we were at the museum, about a year before, he'd wheeled from one exhibit to the next, panting "Can I touch the giant meteorite?" and "Let's see the space show again!" and "Is that a real whale hanging up there on the ceiling? Can it fall down on us?" He had to be dragged out at the end of the day. If you're ever visiting the museum, you can still see little-boy claw marks across the floor leading out of Theodore Roosevelt Memorial Hall.

The next morning I sprung the news of our upcoming excursion on him as he dug into his granola. I waited for him to look up and beam at me.

Instead he glowered down at his cereal. "That place?!" he said. "Ugh. Bor-ing."

Here are the rest of the words. You may comment there, or, hell, comment here. Or don't comment at all. No matter what you decide, I will love you. I will love you so hard.