Remember those angsty years known as “The Eighties” and possibly “The Decade Following The Eighties” or even “The Decade Before The Eighties”? Because, frankly, if you remember The Eighties, you’ll remember they were loud, bossy, full of ozone-depleting sprays and makeup and really quite full of themselves.
Guess who learned to clap?
It’s like having my own personal audience all day long. And boy, I’m really impressive with cherrios in my teeth. And banging my forehead on the table. And barking like a dog. And…
*it’s only 20 seconds of this because, seriously, it’s only cute for about 23 seconds if he’s... Read more
We’ve hit a portion of time known in our circle as “the three-and-a-half-year-old” stage. ohdearmotherlivinghell. The “terrible twos”? A warm up. The teenage angst? Being foreshadowed. My mental health? On the wire.
Tuesday we had what could only be referred as “a throwback to Rambo” There was yelling, fighting, dramatic throw-downs. This all in the first ten minutes of the day. She literally turned in to a fish out of water gasping for air because, ohgodforbid, her mother asked her to wipe her own bottom. That’s right, Internet, I... Read more
I’ve been rolling around ideals about my identity for some time now. Struggling with my decision to stay at home. Struggling with the images I put in my daughter’s head. Struggling with a place for a strong, empowered woman in a traditional home context. I’m educated, I’m strong, I’m willful. I’m also a woman who cries, gets irrational and stays home to clean the house and care for her children.
I no longer think these things are mutually... Read more
The assvice, it never ends. This morning I called a preschool to request a tour. The following is based on a true story. (Perhaps loosely, but still, based non-the-less)
“What age is your child?” the lady on the phone asks.
Uh, well, that’s a tricky question.
“It is? What’s her birthday.”
Well, see, it’s not until October but she’s really very smart and she’s already in a threes class right now and I’d really like her to... Read more
When trying to figure out our events this weekend, we over-heard someone say the Washington State caucus was going on. “Caucus?” I giggle. Heh. You said CAUCUS.
No, really, I’m twelve.
I actually do care, you know, about politics. I care deeply. I have my :: ahem :: opinions and I want to voice them in a dark room or behind a closed curtain with a #2 pencil and a bubble sheet. I remember voting in my younger years, basing a huge decision like WHO WILL RUN THY COUNTRY on things like, “well, this guy has lovely hair…”
I know... Read more
I’m grateful to have so much work to do tonight. Because the Man Baby, he has the RSV. THE RSV. The Really Snotty Virus. The Runny Shit Virus. The Rotten Stupid Virus of DOOOOOOM.
I’m doing everything I can to not google “RSV and PREEMIE and NOW GIANT MAN BABY” because I’m afraid of what it’ll tell me. I’m hearing the nurses in the NICU rail OnAndOnAndOnAndOn “Don’t let him get sick” “Don’t let him get RSV” “Start praying to God now that he doesn’t get... Read more
My very observant three year old asks, “Mommy, do you wear a pull-up to bed, too?”
Apparently Super Bowl Sunday is a national holiday. Were you aware? I knew when I took my daughter to Safeway to purchase pizza, wine and potato salad (what everyone eats on an average Sunday) there were, approximately, four small nations of people in the checkout line all buying pizza, beer and potato salad.
That was my first clue.
Then I noticed our neighbors either decided to start selling used cars to suplement our outrageous mortgaged 1200 SF townhomes or else those very same people who were just in line at Safeway were now swarming around our complex like angry bees... Read more
Ever since I was a young girl I’ve been unhappy with my body. We all know the story, blahblahblah, people say things, you feel fat, you’re not fat, you think you’re fat, you diet, you get all eating-disorder, you get better, you diet, you get fat, you get skinny, you get pregnant, you never get as skinny ever ever again.
Ok, so that’s my long 22 year struggle with my weight in one very long sentence and lots of commas. (I love me some commas, don’t I?)
I’ve mentally been better since college. I’ve mentally stopped beating... Read more