Two weeks ago, it was my birthday. In a stroke of marital genius, my husband presented me with a large box containing an iPad, knowing that not only would I love the iPad, I would be so busy streaming videos that I would forget the kitten that I had asked for—and the stinky litter box that would have come with it.

Then we drove to the beach. He casually asked, as if the idea had just occurred to him, to use the iPad to check traffic patterns. Wait a minute! He had a bought the iPad for him via me! It was a freeloader gift, not unlike giving somebody a blender so they can make you smoothies every morning!

Or was it? I thought, watching him zip his index finger over the various electronic maps of Long Island. From now on, we would drive around the world, minus the depressing, stereotypical yet inevitable ask-for-directions fight or the fight about whether or not we had time for me to stop and use the bathroom in Hardee's. The iPad was a gift for me and us. It was the gift of being quiet, while listening to the radio.

So I stole his idea. Father's Day is coming up and I'm going to give him something that's good for him and us, books that will help us argue a little less and understand each other a lot more.