There’s nothing like a tragedy to make you look at your life and think, “Wow. I’ve got it really good.” I call these perspective checks, and they ground me and bring me back to reality. My reality, which is a damn good one, void of any true tragedy thus far.
Thoughts I had today, pre-tragedy:
“This is the worst” in response to traffic.
“Ugh- so annoying” in response to my pile of snail mail.
“This sucks” in response to the BlogHer conference I can’t afford to attend. Continue reading
Exhibit A: vomit grape. So the story goes, I was doing dishes, and I hadn’t heard L squeal in the last three seconds. Rule #1 of parenting: quiet kid = mischief brooding. Turns out, that little chipmunk had stored a grape in his cheek and was gagging on it. Luckily, he had positioned himself near the ottoman, so he (instinctively??) leaned over it and out came the culprit. Another rule of parenting: you think baby spit-up is gross until you smell toddler vomit. Then you realize that the baby stuff is just a cute, juicy burp. Naturally, he saw nothing wrong with eating the vomit grape (am I raising a human child or a baby bird?!), and was appalled when I threw it in the trash.
Aside from being really funny, the point of this picture was to illustrate the topic, “6 Ways I Say No to My Kid.” ApPARENTly (ha!), I’m not the first to take incriminating photos of my offspring. I truly hope this guy inspires a trend, because we all know that our kids are cute. But let’s not be liars and pretend we never see them like this. Continue reading
This photo received 23 comments on Facebook. The only other pic that had more was L’s birth photo. So why don’t more parents post similar stuff?
Before you have a kid, people tell you how wonderful it is, how time flies by, how much you’ll love your little bundle of joy. Duh, Captain Obvious.
We suck at listening. It’s seriously an epidemic. I mostly blame smart phones, but even in the absence of these (which is, um, never), we still kinda suck. By “we,” I mean adults in general.
Last week, my husband and I attended an auction. It was the real deal (ha, get it?), with the auctioneer rattling off prices, raising them, lowering them. I’d turn to my husband to ask him a question about the item. When I looked back, either the item was gone or neither of us had an idea of the current price because we’d been talking. I felt sheepish as the Polish and Romanian contractors, whose first language was definitely NOT English, would hear every price jump with no difficulty. Well, yeah, it’s easy to hear when your ears are open and your mouth is shut. Continue reading
It’s not what you think, I swear! I didn’t ruin St. Patrick’s Day because I was too drunk. Believe me, I wish that had been the case. This is a photo of me in agony of WAITING. When I say “agony,” I’m using it in the context of white people/first world problems. I should be bitch slapped for using that phrase, because most women wouldn’t consider their husbands taking them shopping as “agony.” But it was 12 hours of shopping. In the sobering cold. On an otherwise drunk St. Patrick’s Day. Continue reading
The Social Butterfly Mom 