This is a blog about attempting to make your own humans (and failing miserably at first, but eventually succeeding), parenting, marriage, working mom life, aging parents, and being an imperfect human.
I have picky eaters. Not your average picky eaters, either. My kids put most toddlers to shame. It’s my biggest insecurity as a parent, it stresses me out, and it sucks. I’m not taking it lying down any more. This is the beginning of our family’s journey to help my kids have a normal (hell, I’d settle for semi-normal) relationship with food.
You’re better off telling someone you enjoy kicking puppies than admitting that you let your baby cry it out. When did we start crucifying moms for putting their own sanity and well-being first once in a while?
I would never have guessed that stopping to chat with an old fella one summer day would be the beginning of a wonderful friendship. A tribute to my oldest and most uplifting friend, who taught me the value of perspective, gained after nearly a century on earth.
After nearly a decade with my husband, I realized there are several ways I’m different now as a result of his influence. Does that mean I’m losing pieces of who I “really” am in his strong personality? Or is it just evolution for the better?
My husband has been away overnight 102 times in the last year. As my very first overnight trip away from Squeak approaches, I’m looking forward to evening the score. But my husband is calling in reinforcements, and I’m not happy about it. AT ALL.
It all started in 1994, when I took an extremely unpleasant trip to The Sooner State, one that I’ve been trying to forget ever since.
I’ve given up a lot of things since becoming a mom. Like sleep, and sanity. You know, normal stuff. But I also gave up a long list of things without a second thought. And I wasn’t sorry to see them go.
Due to kidney failure, my 94-year-old friend has less than a year to live. Even more surprising was how he reacted to the news.
Do you ever feel like you might just lose it? (Face it, moms. We all have those moments.) So why don’t we talk about it? This is me, mid-meltdown. In all its ugliness.
I always thought that “building your family” and “raising your family” would feel pretty much the same. Now that I’m done building mine, I’m realizing it’s very, very different.