Last hair donation. Might as well help others and make something of my yeti-ness.… Read More Can I have your hair?
The over share. That moment when your child ups the ante, tilts your world, and calls you out. When all the self-esteem boosting, the positive parenting, the talks about “using your words” and “speaking up” comes around to bite you in the ass. Or, in this case, my uterus. It was an average Wednesday in… Read More Real names for real stuff.
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 don’t want to be here today. I don’t want to be anywhere. It’s too hard to be a mom today. It’s too hard to do this in my internal solitary confinement any longer. I wish I wasn’t myself. I wish I was that mom. The mom society expects me to be. A mom who… Read More The mom paradox: internal solitary confinement
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
“Mama, you said a bad word.” My mind raced through all the muttered curse words I thought she hadn’t heard that day. The mouthed or spelled obscenities shared with other adults in her presence. Fuck, she can spell and read now, dumbass! I swallowed the mammoth knot in my throat along with my pride, trying… Read More Good words, bad uses