My husband, Jamie, is meticulous and cautious by nature and trade. He spends his days as an engineer and prides himself on being thorough, accurate, and heading off trouble. Then there’s his play time with Owen. Owen has no sense of fear. He’ll jump from anything and run head long without sensing any imminent danger… Read More Papa playtime requires protective gear
There’s certain truths of parenting, the Murphy’s Law of raising humans, that when you absolutely need things to go your way they probably won’t. Forgot the extra diaper? The baby is going to crap and play with it while he’s in the shopping cart. Your kid forgot to take their lunch to school? Today is… Read More Rock, Paper, Broken Glass
Owen and I were holding hands as we walked back to the car along the sidewalk from dropping off Nora for school. Drop-off is always hard for him and today was the first time, after a month, that he didn’t cry. He loves his sister so much but he shows it in ways that are… Read More HAVE A GOOD DAY!
I’m done hating the mirror. My dumpy forty-something ass is as done with you as I am. Stare at it all you want. It doesn’t talk back but I will. I’m a mom, a writer, an educated woman who cusses, and that woman is all out of &^%#$ to care about your opinion on how… Read More My ass and I don’t care if you stare.
Jeans on me nowadays are like what a miniature waist cincher would be on a hot dog. Pointless and kind of disturbing. My lady parts swell up enough from chafing to convince a stranger they’re lost in the Sahara with the amount of camel toe I’m sporting. This pelvis is too long, too broken, and… Read More My mom genes gave me camel toe.
I’m so top heavy I can’t lay on my back without suffocating or creating armrests in my armpits. My cleavage seems to start at my chin. (This is my super flattering selfie to illustrate.) Running feels like parts of my body are being ripped off by unseen forces. When I have to chase after my… Read More My boobs: a love-hate relationship
I was taking a walk with the kids. Which means collecting rocks, hugging trees, avoiding cigarette butts, dodging patches of phlegm (side note STOP SPITTING, it’s disgusting!), and my anxiety ratchets up with every step. Nora is running to each tree in the parkway, skipping between them, as she turns to me breathlessly, “I just… Read More “Re-weird-iss” people and other dangers.
Women who can’t find a job to support and care for their children let alone another one. Women who have been told that their baby in utero has no heartbeat. Survivors of rape. Shall I continue? Are you uncomfortable yet? How about me? A mother of two who has had two abortions. Two. Not because… Read More Not every sperm is sacred.
Puppetry of the Penis, hands down one of the weirdest, yet funniest, live performances I’ve ever seen. I remember thinking at the time that I would probably never see something quite as strange again in my life. Then I had children. Post bathtime our son likes to pull on his scrotum and contort it into… Read More Puppetry of the Penis, a.k.a. our son
Do you often feel as if (whatever screen you are looking at) is screaming back at you, “What do you believe?!” Personally, I believe in love and kindness. That is my simple truth. I hold onto the smell of my children’s hair, the touch of their hand, and the sweet bliss of them sleeping when… Read More What do you believe?
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