My Mother’s Day.
Diary, August 8: The Shrug Days of Summer
I’ve reached the point of summer where all I do in regards to parenting is shrug.
For that time of your life when wearing a bikini is a distant memory
My Mother’s Day.
Nat and I threw a baby shower today for our friend Jessie and her husband Marco. (Apparently, as this is their third, it should be known as a “baby sprinkle.” I did not know this was a real term? How am I even a real woman?) Baby showers (sprinkles?) aren’t really my thing, but…
I was in a meeting last week and I looked down at my blazer (because blazers = profesh!) and noticed it was COVERED in dog hair. And maybe some dried yogurt stains. And maybe some dog hair actually IN the dried yogurt stains. And I kind of laughed and took it off and threw it…
That we could go bike riding. Actually, I have always kind of forgotten about this. Because Sam never really rode a bike. He’s always been the tallest kid in the room and by the time he was mentally ready to ride a bike, he was too big for the bike for his age group (for…
I’m going on a week-long work trip, by far the longest I’ve ever left my little family and am feeling a variety of feelings (“feeling a variety of feelings” — how is that for good writing?).
I want to set fire to my entire closet. I hate every single article of clothing I own. All my shoes. My socks. My underwear. Everything.
What if we aren’t secret alcoholics but instead are awkward people, desperate to make a connection?
At drop-off this morning my friend/neighbor/fellow daycare parent mentioned to me that there was a contestant on Survivor who reminded her of me. “Kelly something or other?” she said. It piqued my interest as, well, I had no idea Survivor was still on and aren’t you ever curious what you look like to the outside…
“It’s from a mix.” This is something women always say when they bring a baked good to some sort of something (pro-tip on motherhood: we’re always bringing baked goods to some kind of something) and it’s not homemade. “It’s from a mix,” women say, in the same, low voice as someone admitting they have an…
I got bit and want spring.
In which I go to the doctor.
Meth house or just my kids’ dark, dark room?