I know that they’re kids and we should give them some grace. They’re learning and figuring stuff out and all that. But that doesn’t make them not liars. It’s what they do.
I remember lying constantly when I was a kid. About stupid crap. I didn’t even need to lie and yet there I was, telling all the lies in the world. I remember my mom talking to me about trust and how it is so hard to rebuild when it’s broken. I was maybe 6 years old and even then, my only thought was,
Well, I have told a LOT of lies and I am 100% positive I could not make it long enough without lying to fully rebuild trust. So I guess this is how it’s gonna be.
Then I put my nose to the grindstone to become a better liar because nothing’s worth doing if you don’t do it well. I may not have listened to my mom about honesty, but I heard her when she yammered about a solid work ethic. (Thanks, Mom!)
I am now a mother. My daughter is 2 and not old enough to lie. This is great except when I ask her things like “Who do you love the most,” and she yells the dog’s name with way too much enthusiasm.
My son is almost 5 and is getting his toes quite wet while testing the waters of what he can and can’t get away with. The lies aren’t constant, but they’re frequent and low quality so I know when he’s trying to get one past me.Continue reading →
I went back and forth over taking the kids with me to the Women’s March On Washington. I thought it would be important for them to experience and neat for them to say they were there when they are older. But I also knew that August would have a tough time with the crowds and noise and Halligan would hate being in the carrier or stroller all day because I couldn’t risk her bolting. So I left them at home with Adam while I bussed to DC with my sisters.
We saw so many families with small children. Even though I knew I made the right decision in leaving them home, they were on my mind the entire day. I asked Adam to keep them up a little late so I wouldn’t miss saying goodnight since we left before they woke up this morning.
I am sleep deprived, more so than usual. The hours available for sleep have gotten shorter lately. The time I actually spend sleeping has been impeccable at being frequently interrupted by either my own tossing and turning or my children waking up with complaints like, “My toes hurt!” Each night is one or the other. Sometimes both. Who needs sleep?
I feel close enough to newborn levels of exhaustion that I am ready to move our plans for another baby eight years further into the future. Maybe by then, I won’t feel so tired? Or I’ll have been tired so long that I won’t notice.
The last week has been especially full of events that are both exciting and energy-sapping.Continue reading →
Adam wrote this recently, but he is without blog and this was too good to not share. So I’m posting it for him and also beaming at how talented my husband is. I don’t post a lot of political stuff here, but that’s how good I think this is. Whenever he writes, I bug him about starting his own blog. Please join me in bugging him.
Clerk: Welcome! What can I do for you?
Customer: Saw your ice cream shop here and thought I’d stop in. I’m dying for some ice cream!
Clerk: Well you came to the right place! We have two flavors here today: Make America Great Again, and Stronger Together.Continue reading →
As far as being able to follow a recipe and it usually yielding edible results, I consider myself a decent cook. I like to make a big breakfast on the weekends. I like to bake, especially this time of year. I like cooking for lots of people. And I haven’t found something that I straight-up can’t cook *toots my own mediocre horn.* But something I don’t really attempt is writing my own recipes because I do not understand that shit. I’m super jealous of people that can because you guys are fancy as hell.
However, I do love to get my Italian-grandma on occasionally (I can say that because I have an actual Italian grandma) and throw a dish together, recipe be damned.
I’m not someone that can look in my fridge and see what I have and throw something amazing out of left field onto the stove. But I can do some shit with Italian food. Pasta is my safe space. I know pasta. Pasta and I were college roommates and stayed connected for life. And the pasta dish I can most get down with is a baked ziti that isn’t a baked ziti anymore. Confused? I get that a lot.
Since I’ve already told you that I’m crap at writing a recipe, I’m not going to write you a recipe. But if you know how to make a standard baked ziti, which is just sauce and pasta and cheese and sauce and cheese, I can tell you how to make it better.
While participating in #NaBloPoMo, I will be doing a few weekly themed posts so I don’t have to think so hard some days. Happy Saturday Swears, folks! Today’s theme is near and dear to my heart because it’s in my stomach, kind of.
Going through your standard arsenal of swears can get a little boring. In my youth (which is over and dead and buried,) I experimented with various ways to liven up my expletives.
Tried them in another language, but then no one understands how mad you are at your cable company and everyone should understand how mad you are at your cable company.
Attempted to create a few of my own, but that’s basically like trying to make fetch happen. Fetch is never going to happen. Continue reading →