.SOMETIMES RAW.

Happy birthday! As we wish you another year of joy and prosperity, we also acknowledge that many in the world are less fortunate. So, in lieu of a gift, a donation has been made in your name to several worthy causes.

We donated in your name to a charity that gives laptops to endangered wetlands. What they do is whip MacBooks into swamps and hope that the algae and duckweed somehow benefit from the Wi-Fi. It’s a bad idea, but their logo of a frog sitting on a detached keyboard like some nightmare lily pad is pretty cool.

Also, we donated fifty hammers to a nonprofit that forces the president to build houses then knocks them down, so he has to start over. It’s all in good fun, though. They even let him see his family sometimes.

But there’s more. Ever heard of the Red Cross? We donated a big blob of congealed blood to their headquarters. It’s blocking all their cars, but imagine what they can do with it once it melts!

Speaking of noble medical causes, we pledged 40,000 Euros in your name to the World Heart Association. We told them you’re good for it, so you better not stiff them. Seriously. They have a guy with wide knuckles whose name is Knuckles. His go-to move? Roundhouse kick.

Of course, money isn’t everything. We also signed you up for an eight-month stint as one of those dunk-tank clowns who amuse children. Only, instead of water, this tank will have scorpions. But they’ll be perfectly harmless once they’ve had their stingers removed, a duty we also signed you up for.

The office supplies we stole from your home were sent to a charity that teaches disadvantaged kids how to write wrong. The staff is tirelessly committed to making the children believe that Ps are Ds, commas are little hooks for words to hang their coats, and vowels are a CIA hoax.

A subtraction has been made in your name from the local convenience store at gunpoint. We know, your first instinct will be to change your name to avoid prosecution. Don’t. It would be disrespectful to our gift. Plus, somebody’s taking the fall for this, and after all we’ve done for you, it sure as hell won’t be us.

A donation has been made in your name to the Zoo to help them buy a hippo that walks around on hind legs and punches walls. If such a hippo does not exist, we’ve included instructions on how to breed one. They’ll need two super aggressive hippos, plus a bed with silk sheets. Knuckles will be on hand to ensure no one mutes the slow jams.

We have founded our own charity and made a sizable donation in your name using some of the convenience store funds. Our mission? To send a second Mars rover up there to knife the first one and make the whole thing look like an accident. We’re giving it a bag of space drugs to plant.

You’re probably wondering why we’ve given so generously in your name even though we’ve only just met. Well, now we’re donating to a charity that says we don’t have to answer that. It’s a free country, and if we want to tail a random stranger for weeks without their knowledge before walking into their backyard birthday party, that’s no one’s business but ours.

If you didn’t want us here, you should have made your fence taller and more slick.

This will not stop until you donate to Habitat for Embarrassment, a new organization dedicated to humiliating you, specifically. Next week they’re having a banquet where a boys’ choir sings about you not being able to do a handstand yet. They’re hosting a 5K where all the runners have vowed never to have sex with you. They raffled off the chance to kick you with a big shoe.

Anyway, nice to meet you—have a great night. Also, we will be donating your other presents to the trunk of your car, then donating your car to ourselves.

See you at Christmas! Until then, have an awesome Birthday.

Hey there. Do you know what gentle parenting is? The gently parented child, the theory goes, learns to recognize and control emotions because a caregiver is consistently affirming those emotions as real and important. The parent provides a model for keeping one’s cool (yeah right, try that dumb approach with three kids in the car on your way to a 10-hour road trip), but no overt incentives for doing so—the kid becomes a person (and you insane!) who is self-regulating, kind, and conscientious because they want to be, not because it will result in ice cream and chocolate (damn, this usually works!). Gentle parenting represents a turn away from authoritative parenting. Authoritative parents may use time-outs and groundings (roundhouse kicks), for example, which are discouraged by their gentle counterparts. I mean, c’mon, right? So, you know I like jokes and love to make people laugh. These jokes (in bold) are pretty flat but I like them. And below, are gentle parent responses that ruined them. Enjoy!

What are the strongest days of the week? Saturday and Sunday. The rest are weekdays!

But they also have their own strengths, and they should be proud. For example, Friday is good at being casual, and Tuesday is good at tacos. Can you name something Monday is good at? No? That’s okay!

How many tickles does it take to make an octopus laugh? Ten tickles!

Only as long as the octopus is fine with being tickled. Remember, we should always respect the boundaries of other people and cephalopods. How would you feel if someone tried to tickle you when you didn’t like it? Not very good, right? So next time you encounter an octopus, be sure to ask before drumming your fingers along its slippery body.

Want to hear a joke about construction? I’m still working on it!

And that’s no problem. We don’t have to get everything right on the first try, although I bet that can be frustrating. Do you feel frustrated right now? I do. Let’s take a deep breath and count to ten, and then you can help me finish my construction joke. It’s going to be hilarious.

How do you make a seven even? Take away the S!

But honey, it’s not okay to take things from others. How would you feel if someone stole one of your essential parts and then made a joke out of it? Whoever took the S from seven should go over to seven, return it, and say they’re sorry.

What do you call it when a snowman throws a tantrum? A meltdown!

Wow, that snowman has some big feelings. I wonder why he acted that way. I bet he feels sad that spring is coming and that he will soon cease to exist. I sure would be. I think the snowman would feel a lot better if he paused and did a mindfulness exercise—perhaps noticing the sensations of the soft wool of his hat, the warmth of the sun… and never mind, he’s gone.

I bought a thesaurus, but all the pages were blank. I have no words to describe how angry I am.

Whoa, let’s pause here. Can you help me name my emotions? That’s right, I’m mad. What else? Confused. Annoyed. Good. Thanks, buddy. I’m sorry I scared you—I just really wanted to use this thesaurus to find the right words for my construction joke. But even grown-ups get angry sometimes. We’re all learning.

Why was six afraid of seven? Because seven ate nine!

And sweetie, it is a perfectly normal reaction to be scared when your friends cannibalize each other. Six doesn’t have to talk to seven anymore if it doesn’t want to. It’s also acceptable for six to be sad about nine, and it shouldn’t be afraid to cry. I bet seven would really benefit from therapy too—he’s been having a tough time ever since someone took away his S and made him even, but that’s no excuse to get even. It’s important to be kind.

One day at the bank, an old lady asked me to check her balance. So I pushed her over!

But you know what? It’s not nice to push older people like that. Do you know what happened next as a natural consequence? I got arrested for assault and thrown into prison, which is a lot like a time-out except it smelled like old pee, and I had a cellmate who was there for… uh, let’s just say “wrongfully tickling an octopus.” The nice judge set a timer for ninety days to let me think about what I did. On the plus side, I finally had time to figure out what Monday is good at—easy New York Times crosswords.

Want to hear a construction joke? I’m no longer working on it.

Okay, here goes. How do you move a sleeping cow from a building site? With a bulldozer!

Thanks for laughing, kiddo. You’re the best.

It all happened four years ago: I was having one of those no-good-very-bad periods. Parenting felt hard and heavy. My job had many challenging moments. My domestic load was ridiculous. My phone buzzed and dinged and rang. I was forever in the car, or at work schlepping somewhere or another. Everything in my life, even activities I’d once enjoyed (dinner with a friend, a phone call) felt like an obligation. 

In the midst of all the overwhelm, of course, I had entirely forgotten about myself. The things I counted on to keep me sane — relaxing evenings reading, regular swimming and workouts, the occasional nap — had completely dropped off the schedule. Until one day, when I sat down and my back went into total spasm. For days I could barely sit or stand or walk. 

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We all have internal signals that tell us when the load is too damn much, don’t we? We get migraines, feel anxious, don’t sleep, lose touch with loved ones. Thanks to a decades-old injury, my alert has always been my lower back, and it’s a frighteningly accurate gauge of when my life has become overloaded, despite what my mind tells me (You’re fine! You can handle this! Don’t be lazy! etc., etc.). When the pain starts to last, or I can’t walk or drive or stand for long periods, I know I’m in trouble.

This particular episode took weeks to recover from — weeks in which my life had to be stripped down to the studs. Once I got back on my feet, I resolved to change something in my life. I began — drumroll, please — My Year of No.

Friends thought it was a joke. “You mean your ‘Year of Yes’? 

“No, no!” I’d say. “I’m saying no to absolutely everything.”

The looks I got! “Isn’t that sort of, I don’t know, sad?” 

How could I explain that it was the opposite of sad? That it was, in fact, a liberation?

What is that old adage about self-care? Don’t build a life you feel the need to escape from. This was my attempt to start again from the bottom. I felt committed to building a life I could actually live — without my body falling apart.

Let me be clear: obviously I didn’t say no to everything. I still had to work, parent, make dinner and do the laundry and pay the bills. I needed to schedule dentist appointments and take the kid to the pediatrician.

But I noticed something that might be obvious to those who aren’t people-pleasers or the default parent who opens all those emails: it turned out that a lot I’d assumed was required was blatantly not. 

Like:

That acquaintance who keeps inviting me to dinner that I don’t really connect with? That’s such a nice invite, but we’re so busy right now! 

Those emails asking for parent volunteers for the classroom/school/sports festivals? Ignore for now. 

The ‘can I pick your brain’ emails asking me out for coffee? I’m not available this month but let’s check back later in the year.

Of course, it’s not black and white. Our lives are complicated messes, we love and loathe different things, and this shedding of duties will look different for all of us. And I still participate in the world. But I do so in more considered ways.

Because here’s the thing that I knew somewhere deep inside: all those nos lead to more room for yeses. Yes to baking a friend’s birthday cake. Yes to hosting a drinks party (I have the energy!). Yes to helping an elderly neighbor with dinner — I happily sent the kid over with bowls of soup and chilli for weeks.

I also have room for more yeses for me. Yes to Pilates and Yoga in the morning. Yes to midday naps when needed. Yes to taking on writing and a new book project.

It turns out that the nos help me get closer to my own internal compass, to my core values. My point is that, once I clarify the traits I value, I can work to make sure my actions align. It is my way of reminding myself that I am beholden to my family and my friends, but also, most importantly, to myself, and to my own body.

Have I gotten pushback? Not much, to be honest. My guess is, in part, that the people and things I am saying no to are people and things I was holding onto for the sake of friendliness or likability or expectations. Will these people be bummed if we don’t do dinner? Maybe! But maybe (and this can be hard to admit) I’m allowed to care about my own desires, as well as theirs.

Some days I do have the wherewithal to do more. But, after decades, I’ve realized that it’s the small, thoughtless yeses that pull me out of balance, that tip my life too far in favor of everyone else’s requests. They remind me that I chose this mantra wisely, and that I use it not because I am trying to be difficult, but because I am saving room for another yes. Always save room for the yes.