The kids had so much fun throwing the bright blue bags of dog poop up on the roof that I didn’t even get angry. Then Hot Firefighter Husband had a long work stretch and the bags sat there for three days. Six of them. Full. Of. Poop. But as a special Mother’s Day present, Husband Read More
Ever since I was diagnosed with Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder as a result of living with the Pterodactyl, we’ve tried to limit the amount of time I have to deal with him alone. So when Hot Firefighter Husband’s work schedule gets all whack, I call in the A-team Sitter to assist in self-preservation. The A-team Sitter Read More
“I’m fat,” I told Hot Firefighter Husband. “I feel fat. And out of shape.” “You’re not fat,” he droned. “You’re in great shape.” He doesn’t say those phrases so much as he emits them like Pavlovian responses. That’s how often we’ve had the exact same discussion. “But also?” I continued. “I feel guilty for worrying Read More
Last week we had our first follow-up appointment with the doctor who’s Changed Everything. To recap, we went to see her in lieu of setting up a juvenile defense fund for our 8-year-old son, or perhaps building him an in-law apartment. This doctor thinks the Pterodactyl has an intolerance to gluten, a protein found in Read More
If you are alone with your three young children on a Saturday night and committed to a gluten-free, dairy-free eating plan and have had no social invitations, here’s a low-maintenance option: let your 6-year-old apply gobs of eyeliner, visit a Japanese restaurant so your kids can pretend to be almost on fire, then teach them Read More
Buddy the Plunder Wonder Dog is so smart he knows how to open toy chests. That’s not bragging – it’s just an annoying fact. Bright side: our stuffed animal population is finally dwindling, and all of our throw blankets have fringe. WINNING! But not really. Buddy is not working out the way I planned. #fuckyouifyousayitoldyouso Read More
Dear Savvy Sister, I adore my kids and would readily step in front of a speeding train or a government bureaucrat to save their lives. I do everything I can to enrich their brains and broaden their smiles. Except for my one terrible, horrible, no good, very bad secret – I hate playing kids’ games. Read More
Here’s the key to the puzzle that is my son. LEGOS. Do you know about Legos? I did not. I thought Legos were a bunch of colored blocks you connected into abstract towers, then took apart, and perhaps spread next to your parents’ bed in vain attempts to kill them. These Legos, the ones my Read More
I am 49 years old today, and ready to retire, except that I don’t have a real job. Insert annoying LOL thing here. Of course I have an occupation – ushering my little bugs through a forest fraught with predators, poison ivy and Nikki Minaj – but it’s not like I can quit doing it. Read More
I cleaned out the Tyrant’s room last week. I found an ancient bag of Cheetos, all of the missing Tupperware, 14 naked Barbies, and countless Barbie body parts. Apparently, when the girl plays alone in her room, she turns into Dr. Evil and performs amputations with abandon. A Gym Acquaintance recently told me about a Read More
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