In the last issue, we asked what work of art--film, book, whatever--seemed to best mirror your parenting life. Surprisingly, no one wrote in with MTV's Jackass, in which rowdy young men perform pointless, dangerous acts. Maybe that's just us.

Here is a selection of answers submitted by our readers.

Piggy Tails

A neighborhood dad recently explained to me that an unfortunate haircutting episode (involving a young child's blonde pigtails being lopped off by another girl, who was acting on orders from the blonde child's older sister) was giving him and his wife a chance to finally put a stop to playdates at the neighbor's house. "It's a little too Lord of the Flies over there, if you ask me," he said.

Since then I've been enjoying how much that reference applies to the gamble of leaving my three young children unsupervised. "I'm giving the children a little Lord of the Flies time upstairs," I'll explain to my sister in the midst of a lengthy phone call. In fact, right now they're Lord of the Fliesing it in the backyard so I can grab some computer time. I just assume the screams are happy ones.

--Robin Lentz, Brooklyn, NY

The Hundred Acres

By the time my sons were two and six, I found myself--to my amusement and horror--matching up family members with Winnie-the-Pooh characters: not from A. A. Milne's great work of children's literature, either, but from the knock-off Disney version on video. My youngest resembles Tigger: bouncy, happy, and heedlessly destructive. My affectionate and even-tempered husband resembles Winnie-the-Pooh in the way his well-intentioned "help" makes more work for me. Grandma, with her history of depression, identifies herself with Eeyore; and Grandpa, the retired professor, discourses like Owl. This whole train of thought started because I identified so strongly with neurotic, put-upon Rabbit. "My garden!!" he shrieks, as the other characters mess up his work.

Sick, isn't it? One member of the household, my older son, did not get matched with anyone in the Hundred Acre Wood. He has plenty of traits in common with several Winnie-the-Pooh characters, and others from literature and film, but so far no resemblance close enough to generate a nickname. Maybe that's telling me something, too.

--Anne Walton, Amherst, MA

Funtastic

My two young sons, my husband, and I are a pack of sillies; we seem to exist only for trying to make each other crack up. Even after the inevitable squabbles, what usually brings us back together is a funny face or an inside joke. Sometimes just eye contact after an unpleasant scene can send us all into a giggle fit. In title only, therefore, I have to go with The House of Mirth.

--Darsa Morrow, Portland, OR

Auto Pilot

A movie that describes my parenting life? That would be Groundhog Day, the movie where Bill Murray lives the same day over and over again, only he's the only one who knows it.

A favorite scene from my version would be "Get in the Minivan." It goes like this: The kids and I approach the minivan. They huddle by the door, as if this is the first time they've done this. "Excuse me," I say brightly, "Please move so I can open the door." They shuffle a few feet to one side and I open the door. They stand and stare into the car. "Okay, hop in," I say, less brightly. They climb in and mill about until I call, "Everybody sit down." When we get to the part about "seatbelts on," I am fantasizing that just once I could be living Mommie Dearest instead of Groundhog Day. In place of Joan Crawford's "No more wire hangers!" I would yell, "Get in the damn car!"

-- Ellen Hamblet, Virginia Beach, VA

No Redrum, At Least

Since teenhood, I've fantasized a life right out of John Irving's The Hotel New Hampshire, complete with bears, hotel living, international travel, family mottos ("life is a fairytale") and kooky family friends (minus the death and incest, of course).

In reality, our family life is more like that scene from the movie Parenthood where the wild little toddler, sporting a large metal pail, slams his head against the wall for fun. Or how about the scene where the parents are knee-deep in restaurant garbage looking for the $200 retainer belonging to their highly sensitive seven-year-old?

Better than The Shining, I guess.

--Heather Urschel-Speir, Tacoma, WA

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