Tiefpreis
CHF18.00
Auslieferung erfolgt in der Regel innert 5 bis 6 Wochen.
Kein Rückgaberecht!
In the spirit of his wildly popular With the same brilliant wit and hilarious realism that made <Love Poems for Married People< such a hit, John Kenney is back with a brand new collection of poems, this time taking on the greatest "joy" in life: children. Kenney covers it all, from newborns, toddlers, and sleep deprivation, to the terrible twos, terrible tweens, and terrible teens. A parent''s love is unconditional, but sometimes that button can''t help but be pushed. Between back to school shopping, summer vacations that never end, the awkwardness of puberty, the inevitable post-college moving back in, and more, a parent''s job is never done, whether they like it or not.
One of Fredericksburg Free Lance Star's Best Books of 2019 
“Packed full of laugh-out-loud poems that are all too relatable if you are married with kids—or just married.” –The Washington Post
“[A] hilarious look into parenting.”—TODAY 
"Kenney's sweet, funny poems about the banal and everyday—too-true nods to the intimacy of sharing a bed with someone without touching at all, or the nothing-speak of corporate communication—make great presents for spouses, friends, and work wives." —Vanity Fair
“Often profound, often hilarious, Kenney captures what it's like to raise a human being from the ground up.”—*Cleveland Scene
“[*Love Poems for People with Children] will be immediately relatable to all parents and a much needed laugh. So the next time you're hiding out in a public restroom, like the subject in one of the poems, give this book a read.”—Parkersburg News & Sentinel
“Perfect as a stocking stuffer for that soon-to-be-parent or the already-a-parent-I-never-realized-how-good-my-hair-looked-unshowered-for-four-days on your holiday list....These little gems make life glow a little brighter.”—Fredericksburg Free Lance Star
Autorentext
John Kenney
Klappentext
In the spirit of his wildly popular New Yorker pieces and the New York Times bestseller Love Poems for Married People, Thurber-prize winner John Kenney presents a hilarious new collection of poetry for people with children.
With the same brilliant wit and hilarious realism that made Love Poems for Married People such a hit, John Kenney is back with a brand new collection of poems, this time taking on the greatest "joy" in life: children. Kenney covers it all, from newborns, toddlers, and sleep deprivation, to the terrible twos, terrible tweens, and terrible teens. A parent's love is unconditional, but sometimes that button can't help but be pushed. Between back to school shopping, summer vacations that never end, the awkwardness of puberty, the inevitable post-college moving back in, and more, a parent's job is never done, whether they like it or not.
Leseprobe
My six-year-old got hold of my phone
 
My apologies, Reverend.
 
My six-year-old
 
got hold
 
of my phone
 
and sent you
 
142
 
poop emojis.
 
Please know
 
that this in no way
 
reflects my opinion of you
 
or the Church.
 
(Although it does make me wonder if there is a god.)
 
To my father-in-law, Lou.
 
No grandparent should ever receive
 
a GIF of Fabio not wearing pants
 
dancing suggestively
 
with the words
 
Let's get it on!
 
I was sure I had deleted that.
 
To my boss, Gary.
 
Did you happen to receive a photo
 
of a baboon's ass
 
with a note reading
 
Found this picture of you?
 
I sent that one.
 
If there were a job interview to have children
 
The interviewer might say
 
I see here that you want children.
 
And you might say, Yes! I'm ready.
 
Great. Are you happy in your marriage?
 
Very. My wife is amazing.
 
Good for you. Just a couple of questions. When's the last time you went to hear live music?
 
Two weeks ago. Last-minute thing. Saw a jazz band.
 
Last time on a plane?
 
Paris, I think. Yes. We went to Paris for four days.
 
Did you sleep on the plane?
 
Yes. It was an overnight flight.
 
Did anyone throw up on you at any time?
 
No. Of course not. Why?
 
Did anyone on the plane wake you suddenly by screaming in your face?
 
What? No.
 
May I ask about the frequency of your sex life?
 
Average, I guess. Five or six times a week.
 
How wonderful. I'd like you to take this paper from me. Do you feel anything?
 
What the hell . . . what is this? It's sticky and it smells.
 
Do you like that feeling?
 
No!
 
Don't be alarmed but I am now going to pour this large glass of orange juice on your pant leg.
 
Jesus Christ! I can't believe you just did that.
 
I'm going to make a very loud, annoying noise in your ear. Tell me if you enjoy it. Ahhhhhhh!!!!
 
What the hell is wrong with you, man?!!
 
Mister Simpson, I have some bad news for you.
 
Who will be the first to get up?
 
3:42 a.m. and the baby is crying.
 
Again.
 
Who will get up first?
 
I know that you
 
know that I
 
am not asleep.
 
I'm just faking.
 
But I also know
 
that you know
 
that I know
 
that you are faking.
 
Because like me
 
you have developed the qualities
 
of an Academy Award-nominated
 
fake sleeper.
 
Who will break?
 
And then you say
 
If you get up, I'll show you my boobs.
 
Done.
 
Quiet time
 
Late now and light low.
 
Stories read, time for bed.
 
Dad, you whisper, why do sumo wrestlers wear diapers?
 
No one knows, buddy. Shhh.
 
Why does the emperor stand behind the catcher?
 
Umpire, pal. Not emperor. Shhh.
 
What happened to the boy who cried wolf?
 
He grew up and works in real estate. Go to sleep.
 
Sleep finally comes.
 
For me
 
briefly.
 
I wake with a start
 
move like a cat
 
head to the door.
 
Wine time.
 
Dad?
 
(Shit! Dammit! Little bastard!)
 
Yes, buddy?
 
In "Rock-a-bye Baby," why is the baby on top of a tree?
 
Because he wouldn't go to sleep.
 
The baby fell out of the tree?
 
He did, yes.
 
And the cradle fell, too?
 
The whole thing. Crashed to the ground. I won't lie, it was bad.
 
Why do we sing that?
 
Because it teaches us an important lesson.
 
What's the lesson?
 
Be quiet or we put you in a tree. Shhh.
 
My breast-feeding breasts
 
I know that to you
 
it might seem like it
 
would be fun for me
 
to have my
 
boobs squeezed
 
as I unpack the groceries.
 
It's not, though.
 
I'm not feeling sexy.
 
And they're sore
 
and full of milk
 
for our baby.
 
Also
 
Look at those jugs
 
is not what I want to hear
 
from you right now. (Ever?)
 
And may I add
 
that there is a time
 
and a place to touch them.
 
And that time was not
 
at your uncle's wake last week.
…