Barton and Scout play this bizarre game called “I Can’t, I’m Working Now,” and it cannot be healthy. And it’s probably an indication that we need to re-evaluate our parenting. (And by “we” I absolutely mean “Barton” needs to re-evaluate his parenting, obviously.)
The sad, depressing game is literally played as follows:
Scout goes and gets her hot pink Minnie Mouse “peter” (her word for computer) and sits down with it in her lap.
Scout calls out, “Daddy! Ask me if I want to play with you!”
Barton says, “Hey Scout, will you please play with me? Pretty pleeeeeease?”
Scout screams back, “NO! I can’t! I’m WORKING RIGHT NOW. And I have to go to my office!!!” Then she storms off to her “office” (underneath the kitchen table) and furiously pounds on her plastic laptop, all the while giggling hysterically to herself.
Read MoreTo the wide-eyed expecting moms who have no idea what they’re in for; to the brand new moms who have only scraped the tip of the iceberg of the mama emotions; to the moms knee-deep in tears and fears and scary-strong love and paralyzing worry and snot and drool (your kids’, not yours, hopefully) and all of the foreign feelings you’re trying to wade through for the first time in your life—listen up: it’s all normal. And it’s all okay. Whatever “it” is for you, just remember you’re not the only mom feeling it. (Write that down, you guys. Maybe even tattoo it on your body somewhere inconspicuous?)
Every meltdown, every crazy thought, every doubt, every gut-wrenching fear, every irrational worry, every embarrassing mishap, every tear cried into your pillow at 3 am when the rest of the world is sound asleep and every #momfail under the sun. It’s normal. You’re normal. And oh yeah, you’re doing great. (Don’t even try to argue with me on this one, got it?)
Read MoreMamas to be: ever wonder what a day in the life of a toddler mom looks like? That’s pretty ambitious of you—let’s just start with simply a morning in the life of a toddler mom, shall we? An entire day might have you rocking back and forth in the fetal position and we don’t want to be responsible for any mental or emotional breakdowns you may experience from reading our site.
And to all our toddler moms out there reading this nodding in silent agreement (or not so silent agreement, yelling out “hell YES” every other line, we want to give you a virtual fist-bump and a vat of wine—we’re in this circus act together.
Read MoreWell. Let’s just get right down to it, shall we?*
*Editor’s note: I used to try and begin my writings with a clever line or amusing anecdote that I’d somehow tie back into the end of the piece, making everything come “full circle” and leaving everyone smiling and nodding their heads wistfully. But if there’s one thing moms don’t have time for it’s cutesy intros- we need hard and fast facts with no fluff and a few curse words here and there. So jumping right in, because I finally have 47 seconds to myself!
Four months after delivering Talley Rose is the first time I’ve chronicled life as a mom of two. It’s taken me a full four months to write this for several reasons. First, at the risk of sounding cliché, adding another child to my roster means there is no time for thoughtfully and eloquently transcribing all of my complex feelings on motherhood in neat little lines of size 12 font. There is also no time for any semblance of real conversation with your spouse, basic personal hygiene or eating food at a reasonable pace. (I now have to either inhale my meal in seven seconds, or take one bite every 45 minutes. These are my only options. There is no in between.)
Read More(Originally posted in early 2017)
Truth be told, I am barely capable of deciding what to have for breakfast—and experience immediate, soul-crushing regret as soon as I’ve chosen the scrambled eggs instead of the avocado toast —so I’m not sure why I’ve been entrusted with the task of deciding what to do with my entire life, especially now that I’m a mom.
Lately I’ve been grappling with the quest of finding “The Perfect Scenario” that seamlessly and beautifully merges my #momlife with my #regularlife, if #regularlife is even a thing at this point. When you have a 20 month old wild animal under your roof and you’re 25 weeks pregnant with a pretty rough pregnancy both mentally and physically (an entirely separate post, coming soon!), #regularlife as you knew it takes a little hiatus (and by hiatus I mean it says “peace the F out, crazy lady! I’m not sticking around for this shit show!”) and you’re left with a surplus of hormones and a lack of wine, trying to fit together the confusing bits and pieces of it all but usually just feeling like you’re failing miserably at every aspect.
Read More(Originally posted in early 2017)
Truth be told, I am barely capable of deciding what to have for breakfast—and experience immediate, soul-crushing regret as soon as I’ve chosen the scrambled eggs instead of the avocado toast —so I’m not sure why I’ve been entrusted with the task of deciding what to do with my entire life, especially now that I’m a mom.
Lately I’ve been grappling with the quest of finding “The Perfect Scenario” that seamlessly and beautifully merges my #momlife with my #regularlife, if #regularlife is even a thing at this point. When you have a 20 month old wild animal under your roof and you’re 25 weeks pregnant with a pretty rough pregnancy both mentally and physically (an entirely separate post, coming soon!), #regularlife as you knew it takes a little hiatus (and by hiatus I mean it says “peace the F out, crazy lady! I’m not sticking around for this shit show!”) and you’re left with a surplus of hormones and a lack of wine, trying to fit together the confusing bits and pieces of it all but usually just feeling like you’re failing miserably at every aspect.
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I’ve been fighting several internal battles since becoming an adult. For example, how long is it socially suitable to remain on my parents’ cell phone plan? Am I really expected to understand abstract concepts like insurance policies? Is it alarming to anyone that I don’t own an iron or ironing board? Do I really have to put on pants? As in like, ALL the time?
But recently, the biggest question mark I’ve had looming over my head is this: at what point is it no longer acceptable for me to listen to hardcore dirty rap music?
First let me supply some brief background info. My most favorite genre of music in the whole entire world is what I like to call dirty rap. Like, true gangster rap. The harder, the better. I guess you could say I like to go HAM on a daily basis when it comes to my musical preferences.
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