I am a bit biased, but this book is one of my personal favorites. Raschka illustrates the bond between fathers and their kids. He shows all the fun and wonderful activities kids and dads do Side by Side. The beautiful artworks are balanced by the bold Aetna typeface. Thanks for the tribute to dads.

Lizzie Widdicombe writes in The New Yorker:

What are we doing to our children? We fret, we helicopter, we listen to the wrong people. We pore over transcripts of two-year-olds chattering and turn ourselves into amateur statisticians. But, ultimately, many of the outcomes aren’t in our control. And that’s a problem that all the data in the world won’t fix.

Thomas’s beautifully written text sends an inspiring message to children about nature. She encourages children to explore “a wide and wonderful world out there.“ Christopher Silas Neal’s splendid illustrations are a perfect companion to Thomas’s writing.

The writing is OK, but the illustrations by Seng Soun Ratanavanh is simply gorgeous. The colors, the Crayon painting, the characters, and the scenes are bursting with life. Get it for the illustrations.

This book is not my personal favorite, but my seven-year-old and three-year-old sons love it. Donaldson’s rhythmic patterns allowed my kids to complete the sentences when reading together. For example, when I read, “I’m scared! I’m scared!,” my three-year-old would complete, “I’m terribly scared!” In addition, illustrator David Roberts includes a mouse in every page to give the kids the opportunity to find him. It’s a fun book to read together, but it could also be over-read. My three-year-old makes me read it with him every night.

Wanda Sykes’s comic style reminds me of Chris Rock’s. Not Normal, her latest Netflix Special, has a few jokes similar to Chris’s. For instance, her Vicks’s solution to cure everything was like Chris’s Robitussin. The word “glistening” was used in her case to keep her kid from being ashy and in Chris’s case was about Jermaine Jackson. The one joke that shared the most similarity is that everyone needs a Black friend. I am not saying Wanda stole Chris’s jokes. They just have similar style and subject matters. Nevertheless, Wanda’s special is pretty hilarious. The most memorable line is that, “Everyone is different, but everyone is equal.” I also agree with the title of the special. The Trump presidency is Not Normal.

Last Thursday, a brief storm splat one of the branches of an oak tree in front of our house. Both pieces hang down to the ground. I wanted to cut down the entire tree, but Đạo and Đán begged me to save it. I called a tree service, but it won’t be available until next week. I decide to do it myself.

My workplace had no power; therefore, I didn’t have to go to work on Friday. I climbed up a ladder to cut off the lower half of the branch that was still hanging down. It fell off and scratched my face. Luckily it didn’t strike me and make me fell off the ladder. Saturday, I did more trimming and cleaning. Sunday, my brother-in-law and I tried to pull the upper broken branch off, but we were unsuccessful. The weather was extremely hot so we gave up and let it hanging.

Sunday, a couple of men came by and asked if I wanted them to cut off the broke part. I wanted to cut off half of the branch. They wanted $500. I negotiated down to $300 because I knew it was a quick trim and would only take them half an hour. They left, but then came back 20 minutes later agreed to do the job. I gave them $320 after they completed it.

I am glad I paid them to do it. Even though it only took them half an hour, it would be too dangerous for me to cut down half of a tree. It might fell on my house, on my neighbor’s house, or worse, on me. The two days of work made me realize how hard it was to do the job myself. I also got a good exercise out of it.

Total cost: $320

Last Saturday, while visiting my mom in Lancaster, Pennsylvania, I took my baby Vương out for stroll. As I was enjoying the beautiful morning sunshine and breathing in fresh, manured air, my wife called. I picked up my iPhone 6 Plus and it slipped off my hand. The screen hit the concrete and smashed.

I took it to the Apple store in Park City to have the screen replaced. The cost was $150, a young Apple technician told me, and I agreed. I also let him know that I had been experiencing “ghost touches” in the past few weeks. I explained that the phone was having a mind of its own. It opened up apps all by it self. When I listened to music, it would jump to the next song randomly as if it doesn’t like the song I had selected. Typing had been extremely awful since I had done quite a bit of blogging on the phone. He understood and said, “The experience must be really frustrating. Let me take it to the back to take a look.”

Ten minutes later, he came back and told me that the touch screen would be hard to repair; therefore, Apple would replace it with a brand new iPhone 6 Plus with the same specs as my current one. The cost is $150, which was the price for replacing the glass. I was in disbelief. It was too good to be true. Of course I agreed. Then he did the final diagnostic on my current phone and it failed. The phone needed to be sent to Apple’s repair center for further testing. It would take three business days. See, it was too good to be true. Fortunately, he loaned me an iPhone 6 while mine was sent out.

Three days later, I received emails and a phone call to let me know that a new iPhone 6 Plus was ready for me to pick up. In addition, Apple gave me a 90-day warranty even though my old phone was already 5 years old and had no warranty beyond the manufacture. I had my new phone since Friday and just loving it. It does everything I needed. I am glad that the Apple guy didn’t try to sell me a new iPhone X because I was not going to drop a grant on a phone.

I was thinking of getting a Pixel 3A because I enjoyed Google’s user experience. Unfortunately, its hardware sucks. I loved my Pixel 2, but it died on me one day and I still owe Verizon $200 for the dead phone. I tried to contact Google online, but it required the phone’s serial number, which I could not find since I can’t even get the phone to start up. I gave up and went back to Apple.

Eleven years together and we haven’t killed each other yet. Not because we don’t want to, but because we want to kill our kids more. Dark joke? I know. Besides food, sex, and alcohol, humor gets me going. My wife is going to kill me for real after she reads this post. As long as she doesn’t divorce me, I am fine dying in her arms tonight.

In all seriousness, the kids are the glue that keeps our marriage together. Without them, we might not lasted this long. We struggled in those early years trying to figure out what we wanted out of our relationship. What was in it for me? Once our kids were born, we shifted our focus. Our marriage was no longer just between the two of us. We had additional responsibilities and we had to hold up our end of the bargain.

The past few years had been more on the up side. We fought less and appreciate each other more. We talked less and listened more. We complained less and communicated more. Most of our issues had been solved because we were being completely honest with each other. We need one another to keep this ship from sinking. We can’t let it go down because we have so much on the line.

This year has gone by so fast. Although I am not big on celebrating anniversaries, they give us an opportunity to reflect on our time together. Eleven years aren’t short if the marriage isn’t working. Maintaining a marriage is not easy. It needs some TLC (tender loving care). Luckily, our kids would tell us to show our affection toward each other like a marriage couple should.

Eleven years together and our bond is still strong. I thank her from the bottom of my heart for sticking with me as we take on our journey through life together. It hasn’t been easy, but we made it.

Đán woke me up at four in the morning because he wanted some ice-cold water. I went downstairs to get him ice water and he already went back to sleep when I came back. I, on the other hand, had trouble getting back to my sleep.

I woke up around seven o’clock with a sleep deprivation. After breakfast, we headed out to school. We were already a few minutes late and I could not find a temporary spot to drop the kids off. The only spot available was a space that didn’t fit my entire minivan. I ended up blocking a bit of someone’s driveway. No big deal. I just needed to walk Đạo and Đán across the street to their school and I would be out of the way.

Just as I got out of the car, someone honking and yelling, “It’s my driveway.” I told Đạo and Đán to wait for me at the corner while I moved me car. As I pulled out of his driveway, the guy turned back. We both rolled down our windows. While I said to him, “I am so sorry,” he yelled back at me, “You’re a fucking asshole.” I also turned back to check on the boys and to find a space close by because Xuân was also in the car, but still no spot available. Fortunately, a mother who walked her kids to school saw what happened stood next to Đạo and Đán to keep an eye on them. She told me she could walk them across the street for me. I thanked her and told the boys I love them.

As I drove off, I wondered why people are so mad these days. Did he have to curse at me for such a small inconvenience? I didn’t care that he called me “a fucking asshole,” but I was upset that he used that language as the kids were walking to school and my three-year-old son was in the back seat.

As I needed to calm myself down, Xuân started to complain that he was hungry and that he wanted chocolate coin. I told him that I did not have any chocolate coin with me and that mommy will get some later. He was not giving up. His demand escalated and I was about to lose it, but I stayed calm and explained to him that daddy is a bit upset right now so please be good. To my amazement, he listened and switched the subject. He asked me, “Daddy, why did the worm die on the sidewalk?” I explained to him, “He must had left the soil to the concrete. The heat was so hot and he did not get any water; therefore, he got dehydrated and died.” He replied, “Daddy, I want to buy him some milk, feed him some phở, and give him some Gatorade.” It was such an expected response.

In contrast to the angry white man, Xuân’s kindness put a smile on my face and relieved my tension. That was what I needed to get through my day. We walked to his class together and I escorted him to the playground with his teachers and classmates. He was a bit sad when I left, but he knew daddy had to go to work.