{"product_id":"reasons-my-kid-is-crying-isbn-9780804139830","title":"Reasons My Kid Is Crying","description":"\u003cb\u003eA glimpse into the tribulations of parenting that is part documentary, part therapy, and completely hilarious.\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003e \u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003eIt all started when busy father Greg Pembroke posted a few pictures online of his three-year-old son, mid-tantrum, alongside the reason his son was crying: He had broken his bit of cheese in half. In \u003ci\u003eReasons My Kid is Crying, \u003c\/i\u003eGreg collects together photos sent from parents around the world, documenting the many, completely logical reasons why small children cry.  Among them: “I let him play on the grass” . . . “He ran out of toys to throw into his pool” . . . “The neighbor’s dog isn’t outside”.  The result is both an affectionate portrait of the universal, baffling logic of toddlers—and a reminder for burned-out parents everywhere that they are not alone.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003ePraise for ReasonsMySonIsCrying.com\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003eOne of the Top 8 Favorite Tumblrs by E! Online  *  The most viral blog on Tumblr in 2013 – Yahoo\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e“Couldn’t be more hilarious.” –Good Morning America\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e“Reasons My Son Is Crying makes parents weep…with laughter.” –Today.com\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Totally cute (and totally relatable).\" –Mashable\u003cbr\u003eGREG PEMBROKE is the father of two sons (and the husband of one wife) from Rochester, NY. He works part time as radio advertising copywriter three days per week and stays home with his young sons two days per week.1\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003egreat expectations\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eLike tiny Bond villains with very \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003esmall and insanely specific goals, \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003etoddlers have great expectations for \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ewhat life will bring on any given day. Disappoint them at your peril.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ehe couldn’t take the gumdrop pass.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eit wasn’t raining inside.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ehe climbed into the dishwasher.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ei wouldn’t let him crawl into a 400°f oven.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ei said the sponge is not food.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ehe can’t eat his dad’s phone.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ewe wouldn’t let him drag his new bookshelf into the living room.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eshe wanted to tear up my twenty-­dollar bill.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ei asked her to please stop licking the bottom of her shoe.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eshe wanted to be a princess.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003edispatches • from • the • front • lines\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe great thing about kids is that because they know so little of the world, everything is new and exciting to them. Recently my son and I were having a great time wrestling on the floor, laughing and giggling—­a perfect father-­son moment.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThat is, until he started staring at my hands. I guess he had never noticed my knuckles before. He hated the look of that weird, wrinkly, bunched-­up skin—­and started tugging on it, demanding that I “take it off.” When I explained that it just wasn’t possible for me to rip off my own knuckles, our fun-­filled afternoon wrestlefest turned into the eighth sobbing fit of the day.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ewe told him that he was too young for beer.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eswimming in the dog’s water bowl wasn’t as fun as she thought it would be.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ehe got stuck.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ethe neighbor’s dog isn’t outside.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ethe dog would not sit still long enough for him to eat her tail.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ehe ate his peach, then got mad that his peach was gone.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e2\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003erecipe for disaster\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eParents know that nutritious, homemade meals are necessary to make sure that your kids grow up healthy and strong. Toddlers know that mealtime is a broccoli-­filled Thunderdome where only the strongest, smartest, and fastest will survive.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ei made him chicken nuggets—­aka his favorite meal.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ehis instant oatmeal was not, in fact, instant.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eshe demanded a new fork. now she wants the old fork back.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ei wouldn’t put salt on her apricots.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eher popsicle was cold.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ei let him drink his smoothie in the car.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ethis teddy graham lost its head.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ewe thought he might like to try peas.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ei took the glass of red wine away from her.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ewe had to put the cupcakes we were making into the oven to bake.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ethe last piece of banana fell out of the peel.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ethe banana is over.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ehe wanted me to put the crust back onto the toast.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ei told her that i had to wash her face after dinner.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ea fly landed near him.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ei told him to stop stuffing his supper down his pants.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003edinner was not served quickly enough.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ereasons • why • i’m • crying\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI asked him to stop using his spoon to catapult his peas across the table, one by one, like in a medieval fortress siege.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI politely asked him to stop sitting on his brother’s head.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI wouldn’t let him stick a garden hose down his brother’s pants.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHe happily invited me to “feel his sleeve.” I did. He immediately lost his mind and said, “NOOOOO! NOT WITH YOUR HANDS!!!”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI secretly suggested we get ice cream by spelling the word to my wife—­and was immediately busted by the three-­year-­old, because I-­C-­E sounds exactly like ice cream.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ehe was trying to put his underwear on his head. i helped.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e3\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eno shirt, no shoes, \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eno tantrum\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eFrom the earliest of ages, toddlers develop a fashion sense all their own. They have very strong opinions when it comes to their preferred wardrobe—­and comfort is king. Why wear jeans when you can wear “soft pants”—­or better yet, NOTHING AT ALL! From their shouts of I can do it myself while hopelessly lost inside their turtlenecks to their endless battles against shirt tags of all types, clothing your toddler is such a struggle that you find yourself seriously considering moving to a warmer climate.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ehe didn’t like this monkey outfit.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eshe didn’t want to be a sailor like her sister.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ei recently took up knitting as a hobby.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ewe had him try on his new sweater.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ei told him he didn’t need that band-­aid anymore.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ei took off his winter coat when he got home.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ehe didn’t like any of the forty-­six pairs of swimsuits i offered him.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003edispatches • from • the • front • lines\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eOne of my wife’s biggest complaints about having boys is that there just aren’t as many “cute” clothes for them as there are for girls. But she perseveres, scouring stores in search of outfits that will make our boys look like the most handsome prep-­school gentlemen you’ve ever seen.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThose outfits are pristine, unworn, and hanging in the closet.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAnd in their place? Pajamas. At all times. We secretly hope that, when our boys grow up and perhaps get married, they’ll be wearing beautifully cut suits, dazzlingly shined shoes, and elegant ties. But the smart money is on Buzz Lightyear pajamas with rocket wings.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eshe took off her sandal, then couldn’t put it back on.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ei wouldn’t let him go outside in daddy’s shoes.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ehe wants to wear his brown shoes.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ehe wants him to wear his yellow shoes.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ehe took off his shoes and socks. his feet are now cold.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ehe wanted to wear socks and flip-­flops.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ehis train derailed.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e4\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ee.t. . . . \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ethe exasperated toddler\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAs newly arrived visitors to our world, children are seeing everything on our planet for the first time. Our advanced technologies confuse and enrage them. Zippers are their vicious metal-­toothed foes. Light switches are tauntingly placed far above their reach, and universal remotes are covered with hieroglyphs that must somehow be decoded before Elmo will appear. Yes, the world can be a confusing place for all of us—­but especially so for a two-­year-­old who thinks Newton’s Third Law has something to do with figs.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ethe diaper is gone.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ebuzz lightyear’s knee is bent.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ethe modem stopped flashing.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ei wouldn’t let him electrocute himself.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ethe slide is not slippery enough.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ethe dog was in the way while he was trying to push the chair.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003et. rex’s jaw is not big enough to bite this lego-­man’s head.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ethe remote-­controlled car he was driving drove away.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ereasons • why • i’m • crying\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWe saw a dragonfly. My son reacted like he was being attacked by a pterodactyl.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWhy do those we love most try so hard to gouge out our eyes with Matchbox cars?\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eDespite my repeated pleadings, he has successfully hidden his water cup from himself again. Does that make him the winner or the loser of this game?\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eMy three-­year-­old is super, super helpful . . . as long as the task at hand is opening all his brother’s birthday presents—­and not sharing them.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHe gave his Slinky Dog toy to his little brother. His brother happily accepted. CUT TO SOUL-­CRUSHING REALIZATION THAT HE NOW HAS NO SLINKY DOG TOY.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eher dad is stuck in the computer.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ehe put himself in time out for no reason\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e5\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eif you can’t do the time\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eToddlers are forever pushing their boundaries—­and your buttons—­to see just how much they can get away with. Transitioning from caregiver to crime stopper is all part of the job. You make up the rules as you go and you try your best to enforce them, but the minute your back is turned . . . \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eit was time to take a nap.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ewe told him the bathtub was not a bed.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ewe explained that she had to put on her swimsuit to go into the pool.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ei told him the toilet is not a toy.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ehe pitched his toys down the stairs for the thousandth time and i said he had to get them himself.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ehe threw his dinner on the floor and now he wants to eat.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ehe wasn’t allowed to finish eating the diaper cream.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ei wouldn’t let him drive his cozy coupe down the basement stairs.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ei told him he couldn’t run until they said “go!”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eshe’s not allowed to eat garbage out of the garbage can.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ereasons • why • i’m • crying\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eMy two-­year-­old boy opened the door while I was on the toilet. Then my wife and three-­year-­old came in and we watched as he opened his birthday presents. This is not how I imagined my life would be.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAn eventful day: my two-­year-­old took a toy screwdriver from the toolbox, walked behind me, yelled “Get him!” and started shivving me in the neck, like in a prison riot.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHonest admission: My dinner tonight consisted of 100 percent leftovers from my boys’ plates. And beer.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAt the last second, I stopped him from drinking the cup of milk that he had successfully hidden in his toy box for at least two days.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI suggested that maybe the ketchup was best left on the plate—­not spread evenly across the table, the chairs, his face, and his brother.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ewe stopped him from eating this roll of toilet paper.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ei asked him for a high five.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e6\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003elost in translation\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eOne of the joys of parenthood is the passing of wisdom between the generations, the gentle flow of conversation between parent and child. Unfortunately there’s no Rosetta Stone software for “toddlerese,” so miscommunication seems inevitable. . . .\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ewe told him that he looked very handsome.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ei said we had to clean the cake off her.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003edispatches • from • the • front • lines\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eRecently, I tried to teach my three-­year-­old a joke while we were driving:\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Why did the chicken cross the road?”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“I didn’t see any chickens.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“No, I didn’t either, but just SAY there was a chicken who was crossing the road. . . .”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“[Concerned] We would hit him with our car!”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“No, okay, what if there was a chicken who wanted to cross the road and there were no cars coming.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“He would FLY. Can chickens fly, Daddy?”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Well, no. Hmmm. Maybe, for short distances? I’m actually not sure—­”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“LOOK DAD . . . A HORSIE!”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eIt’s a work in progress.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eanother kid wanted to know what toy he was holding—­and i told him.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ei asked him what he wanted for dinner.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ei offered him his favorite smoothie.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ei offered him the phone so he could say hi to mommy.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ei pretended my hand was a phone.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ehis teacher said “no” . . . to someone else.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eshe bit my finger. i said “ouch.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ei refused to put my own hair in a ponytail.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e7\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003epull-­ups and let-­downs\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eKids know exactly how they want their world to work. They have a precise course of action—­a battle plan they follow to the letter as their day unfolds. Tragically, they’re utterly unable or unwilling to explain this game plan to their parents. Even the smallest of deviations from their top-­secret to-­do list is unacceptable. One wrong move, and you’ll unwittingly unleash some of the most unexpected, unpredictable, and unreasonable face-­down-­on-­the-­ground flare-­ups you have ever seen.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ei gave him peanut butter on a spoon instead of on my finger.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ei left her home while i went to the store to buy cupcakes.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ei went to the bathroom without her.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003edaddy didn’t want a bathroom audience.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ewe asked him if he was ready to go get ice cream.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ehe didn’t want to hold my hand while walking home from day care.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ewe signed his cast.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ei wouldn’t ride with her (i am 6'4\"; it’s not physically possible).\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ewe threw him a party and invited all our family and friends.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ewe turned on his favorite show the minute he asked us to.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ei went to the mailbox, located one foot away from the front door.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ewe told him we couldn’t afford a color television.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003epart two\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ehis aunt wouldn’t let him play with this ax.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e8\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ewe are family\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eNothing brings a family together like the introduction of a new baby. The minute that precious bundle of joy arrives home from the hospital, swarms of aunts, uncles, and grandparents arrive—­eager to shower these little angels with their love and affection. This doesn’t always go as planned.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ehe wanted his picture taken, but not with daddy.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eshe didn’t want to share the pool with nana.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ei let go of his hand to show his grandma how well he could walk.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ewe told her she had to take off grandma’s glasses so that she could see.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003edaddy thought it would be fun to take him to a pool.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ehis uncle gave him a hug.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ehe couldn’t carry the breakfast up to daddy on father’s day.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ehis skype chat with grandma and grandpa froze.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eshe didn’t recognize daddy in his contacts.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003egrandma wouldn’t let him spill his ice water all over the table (and her lap).\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ereasons • why • i’m • crying\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eIt’s 85 degrees and he wanted to wear long-­sleeved fleece pj’s and a blanket. I said that he might be hot. He vehemently disagreed.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWe arrived at our fifth toddler birthday party in the past two weeks . . . and realized that we had left the gift on the roof of the car. Classic.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI suggested that maybe we shouldn’t put our books, toys, and toothbrushes on top of the toilet. I know! Crazy talk.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI wouldn’t let him take off his diaper and “go commando” while jumping on my bed, directly over my head.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eSometimes, I stay up wondering what I’m going to step on next in my bare feet. I bet either a grape or a dinosaur. Hopefully not a triceratops.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ehe didn’t want to share his leg hole.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e9\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003esibling rivalry\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eSiblings are the best friends we never asked for. It’s no wonder that the source of the greatest joy and pain in the lives of toddlers comes from the people on the planet who they are genetically closest to.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ewe told her that she was going to have a baby brother.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ehe wouldn’t share his water.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ei thought we could take a cute “big brother–­little brother” picture.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003edispatches • from • the • front • lines\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eLike most parents, we have extolled the healing virtues of kisses for all manner of injuries over the years, from bumped heads to scraped knees. The other day, I heard my older boy crying. I ran into the bedroom to see his little brother hitting him in the head, and then immediately kissing it to make it “all better” . . . and then hitting him again. After turning my head so they couldn’t see me laughing, I tried my best to explain that it didn’t work quite like that. . . . \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ehis brother doesn’t understand what “personal space” means.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eher brother sat down.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ehis sister blocked his kick.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eher sister caught a fish.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ethey got caught between the speaker and the couch.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ei told them that i loved them both equally.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eher sister gave her a kiss.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eher brother said she could go first. for a shot.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003epart three\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ehe doesn’t like the grass.","brand":"Crown","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":46303286165733,"sku":"NP9780804139830","price":15.0,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":false}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/1842\/7735\/files\/9780804139830.jpg?v=1767735487","url":"https:\/\/k12savings.com\/products\/reasons-my-kid-is-crying-isbn-9780804139830","provider":"K12savings","version":"1.0","type":"link"}