We wanted Colt to feel invested in the process of preparing for our new baby, so we brought him with us to register for a few necessary items.
We didn’t expect him to hijack the scanner for the entirety of the process, but I should have guessed.
A “gun” that shoots a “laser beam?”
And anything you scan magically arrives at your house via UPS, and you don’t have to pay for it?
When you're a teenager (or a toddler with a phone, as the case may be today) the only people who call are your parents, your BFFs, your boyfriend and maybe the occasional prank caller. But once you have your own money and an aging body, you start getting all kinds of new and interesting phone calls. I try my best to never answer the phone. I figure if someone really needs me, they'll text me, or track me down via drone or carrier pigeon. But occasionally a call falls through the cracks. In my experience, these correspondances fall under one of three categories. The Insurance Call Today I received a call from my obstetrician's office saying that all of my recent medical claims had been denied by my health insurance company - because they have me listed as a male. Interesting. I'd like to know how many males named Julie are visiting the OB? And how many of these male OB-goers are submitting gynecological claims for pap smears, urine samples and ultrasounds? Now I will have to spend 30 minutes on another phone call with the insurance company navigating numerical prompts and shouting voice commands to a robot agent. Is the robot agent going [...]
Pregnancy makes you want some weird sh$t real bad.
It started with lemonade.
But that was just a gateway craving.
Then I experimented for a while with straight lemon extract. (There’s an extensive collection of empty plastic fruit under my kitchen sink.)
Now I’m eating WHOLE lemons – everything but the peel. Sometimes more than one a day.
I’ve tried to keep my addiction a secret,
Colt’s arrival was somewhat traumatic.
An emergency C-section followed by a morphine reaction that left me hysterical and itching like a heroin addict.
I felt accomplished that we’d both made it out alive. I also felt completely insecure as a new mother.
It was my first “oxymoron” experience as a parent.
In the year that followed, a cloud of postpartum depression loomed over me. I didn’t sleep.
My husband is an elementary school teacher and has grown accustomed to kids saying naughty things.
Today was no exception.
Today he heard the naughtiest thing he’d ever heard.
A second grader told a female classmate to…ahem…
“Suck his nuts.”
Now, I write a blog called,”Potty Mouth in a Sweater Set” but…
This kid is how old…8?
You know those magazine articles where they dump out a celebrity’s purse and tell you what’s “really” in it?
Theres a $34.00 tube of lip stain, an essential oil rollerball, a sweet little notepad for writing poetry on the go. And an organic flaxseed energy bar of course!
Want to know what’s in my purse?
A lollipop stick with the goo still on it.
I used to wear thong underwear.
In fact my college roommates and I used to have thong slingshot fights at the laundromat.
Until one of them would inevitably get hooked behind the washer on a drain pipe, or hung up in the light fixture (the underwear, not the roommates).
These days, my underpants are large and roomy. (To read more about what I’m currently wearing, read My Husband is Head Over Hanes for Me.)
But I do still own two thongs.
Is that a miniature homeless man from Brooklyn? No, it's my son on Awards Ceremony Day at school. I let him walk across the stage in high waters and Paw Patrol slippers. I let him shake the hand of the principal with a skull cap on and a hoodie tied around his waist. I completely forgot about the big day. I'll admit, I skimmed through the 500 papers he brought home that week, and didn't get it on the calendar. So I didn't attend the ceremony (because I forgot) but my friend was kind enough to take this photo. When I looked down at her text message, I actually gasped. Did I seriously let him wear that to school? Of course, he didn't mind at all. In fact, he was thrilled to be wearing exactly what he wanted on such an important day. I've done this before. Picture day - Fall VPK 2014. I let him wear his favorite dinosaur shirt, mismatched shorts and lace-up camouflage boots (with safety orange laces.) Colt couldn't have been prouder to bring home the 8 x 10" reminder of my #momfail. --- A coworker of mine (a few years older and wiser) told me [...]
Some people like to go to the State Fair. Some people (me) don’t.
But I LOVE the Renaissance Festival.
Sure, they’re both dirty and stinky and you have to use a Port-o-Let…
Maybe it’s the kilts and feathers, but I just feel like the festival is a bit more refined.
Here’s a simple test to determine if you’re a fair person, or a festival person.
- Do you prefer to see humongous breasts under an airbrushed T-shirt,
These are places I hate to go – listed in order of least to most hated.
- The flea market
- The state fair
- Waffle House
- Golden Corral
The common denominators? Pickup trucks and dirty fingernails.
My husband loooooooooves Waffle House.
(He actually loves all of the places listed above.)
He likes the cheap coffee, the single-ply napkins,