It’s Okay To Be Bored

Picture yourself in a small white house, in a pink room with white wicker furniture, lying on a bedspread covered in a signature 1990’s rose pattern.  You are 7 years old.  Your best friend can’t come over this weekend, you are sick of the same old toys, you’ve been staring at your ceiling fan for 20 minutes, and you are bored out of your little mind.  You walk into your parents’ room and desperately proclaimed, “I. Am. So. BORED!”

Then, she looks at you.  The classic Mom look, her gigantic glasses reflecting back at you with a confident smirk.  She knows exactly what to say.  “If you’re bored, I’m sure I can find something for you to do.” Continue reading

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Mother Of Two

Isn’t it weird how we’re always in some specific phase of life that we don’t exactly acknowledge until it’s passed?  That sentence felt complicated.  What I mean, though, is kind of complicated.  Okay, so right now, I have two kids, right?  Yes.  Yes, I do.  I am aware of that, but because I am going through this right now, it’s hard to appreciate it.  There are the little moments when Jack is sweetly talking to Juliet that I can stop and step outside of myself and see that I am so lucky.  These are moments I’m sure I’ll have to remind myself of when they both get a little older and start liking each other a little less. Continue reading

I Had A Baby So I Wrote This On My Iphone

My relationship with coffee has changed so much in the past few weeks. I’ve seen all these cliche mom posts about wine and coffee, but once you pop out a second kid something inside of you wants coffee 24/7. It’s just like the SNL spirit animal skit. We instinctively chop off our hair, drink a LOT of coffee and develop a taste for wine. I mean-I haven’t yet wanted wine *vodka cran girl*, but it appears to be my closest goal.

I have two kids, a minivan, and strong opinions on vaccinations. I am a 19 year old child in a 31 year old mother’s body. And it’s weird as hell. Continue reading

HANGRY! (And Other 2nd Pregnancy Symptoms)

Oh, I’m sure other women experienced severe hanger in their first pregnancies, but not me.  This second one has been different in so many ways.  I also need to clarify that I, myself have experienced hanger many times without being pregnant, but this hanger is different.  This hanger WAKES you up at 4:30am and forces you to mindlessly chug cinnamon apple sauce out of an old hot-chocolate-stained coffee mug.  Then, you lay there and think about how you had a cheeseburger and fries at 8 o’clock last night and there is no way you should physically be this hungry right now.   Continue reading

Letters To Jack-Letter One

Dear Darling Little Munchkin Nugget,

I’ve been writing these blogs for over a year now and hoping that one day, you’ll read them.  I figure you won’t care about them much at all until you either have a family, or I’m gone.  I realized today that I’ve yet to really acknowledge my reason for writing.  It’s you.  I don’t want to forget these moments with you.  I’ve already forgotten about thirty percent of my high school class, my friend’s house phone numbers, and how much it cost to fill my gas tank up in 2002.  I don’t want to forget the person you are right now.  At two years old, we have a very different relationship than we might when you are thirty, so I want to remember each relationship perfectly. Continue reading

My Husband Is Weird

This morning, as I was clearing the counter off, I asked Rick while picking up random items, “Is this trash?”  (It’s super weird the things that AREN’T trash, so I’ve learned to ask.)  Anyway, today, he says, “I always write trash on items that are trash.  If it isn’t marked, it isn’t trash.”  Obviously, I don’t have to tell you that this idea would be absolutely ridiculous.  Choosing to write “trash” on something takes more time than throwing the trash in…the trash-but Rick is a man of his word.  I watched him from the living room as he finished the last of the milk, opened the drawer, pulled out a permanent marker, and wrote “TRASH” on the milk jug, setting it back on the counter.  All while complaining that it’s not easy that he has to write “trash” on all of his trash.  I guess the point of this little story is to let you know that my husband is weird.  Like…really weird.  He’s so weird that I am in awe of the creativity required to carry out this weirdness in a hilarious manner.  IMG_3195 Continue reading