When my daughter Poppy and I arrived late to a birthday party at our local children’s museum, I was pretty amazed at what I surveyed: A room void of children and a table crowded with deviled eggs, pigs in a blanket, chocolate-covered strawberries and a floral center piece straight out of J Lo’s wedding guide.

I don’t know if it’s because I spend a lot of my time in a classroom with teenagers who shrug when I query their opinions regarding pretty much anything, but lately I’ve been craving decisiveness.

Sometimes living with an adolescent seems like a continual hostage-negotiation situation, only with tears instead of tear gas and chomping gum instead of loaded guns.

My friend Nell has always struck me as the kind of person who, if standing in line at the airport, might have told Mother Teresa to “hurry it up already.” I don’t know if it’s because she was raised in New York or survived the truth serum ’60s, but Nell never has a problem telling people what she thinks.

Soul searching and foot battery in NYC.

We’re frantically preparing for what most sober adults would consider a bad mix: full moon, fire, electronics, piles of candy bars and 15 seventh-grade girls wielding cell phones as if they were luminescent ID badges for the hormonally inconvenienced. My daughter Poppy thought having her new classmates over for an outdoor movie party was a good idea; sadly, we agreed

When I started working at the school where I currently teach, my daughter Poppy was only a few months old. Many of my new colleagues would pat me on the back and say, “You just wait ’til she comes up here.” Even though it’s a dozen years later, some of those same colleagues are still standing. But this time, their advice about a daughter roaming hallways with her father sounds a bit more restrictive.

My family and I are standing in line at a hotel in Green River, Utah, waiting for the breakfast that is included in the cost of our room. It’s just after 6 am. The four of us are bleary-eyed yet nervous because even though this buffet is free, it comes with some very strict rules.

I had attended a conference the night before and we were extending the business trip into a staycation, a day of fun and frolic at a fancy hotel only three gallons of gas from our home...

“You drove here?” our hostess asked me, a pomegranate martini delicately pinched between two manicured fingers. She was draped in a shiny gold dress straight out of the party scene in The