Christopher Garlington

We've spent the fiscal equivalent of the gross national product of Narnia at Petco, catproofed the house and introduced it to the dogs. Now comes the hard part: naming it.

If he says it one more time, I will kill him. This is not hyperbole. I have cause, just cause, to take him out—my son, the new teenager, the purveyor of the non sequitur, the little !@#$#% who thinks this is the pinnacle of high comedy.

Framed in the window with the sun behind him like a halo, his "Legalize It" T-shirt, a tiny smear of grape jelly trailing off toward his ear and his unruly Aboriginal dome, my son says: "Oh yeah, it's Picture Day."

I have stared into the gaping, drooly maw of death. I have teetered on the brink of imminent demise. Now every day is a gift. I take time to smell the cappuccino. I live in the moment, not worrying about tomorrow because yesterday, I tried to teach my ADD daughter how to drive.

Maybe my kids won’t know how to mow grass, prune a hedge or change a tire, but they’re learning real-world skills—and I can put their allowance on PayPal.

There’s more to building a sand castle than simply fantasizing about antiques. You’re not just building a sand castle; you’re creating a legacy. Do it right.