“Why do moms make all the plans and dads just follow directions?”
My six-year-old daughter asked me this astute question during a time in my life when I was very much wondering the same thing. I don’t recall my answer; clearly, it was not profound.
On that particular morning, we were packing for a camping trip. I had made a massive list and had been working steadily since 7 a.m. gathering various items into various piles, pausing now and then to ask myself why in the world I continued to operate under the stubborn illusion that camping was “fun.”
I got catcalled the other day. My walking companion and I passed by a man, who may have been in his 30s and who may have been drunk at 2-something p.m. He brightened up considerably as we passed, let out a low whistle, and said something about “fine young ladies.”
I found catcalls in my 20s and 30s annoying, at best; the rare catcall in my 40s is simply amusing. But this time, I wasn’t laughing.
This time, my walking companion was my nine-year-old daughter.
She doesn’t look nine years old. Most people guess at least 12. With warm brown…
Let’s get one thing straight up front: I couldn’t care less about your teeth.
I know you’ve been told I’m a magical little pixie who lives for nothing more than flitting around the planet night after night to collect hard bits of dead human tissue from under children’s pillows in exchange for cash.
I take no delight in your dead human tissue. In fact, your teeth gross me out and I wish you would stop offloading them on me.
Contrary to popular perception, I’m no lithe, smiling Disney fairy. I’ve got frown lines, my back hurts, and I’m perpetually grumpy…
It was the summer of 2015 when I first glimpsed the apocalypse.
June — which in Portland, Oregon is often referred to as “June-uary” for its brisk temperatures and dreary drizzle — instead shimmered in a haze of heat. Our lone window AC unit was not equipped for the grim procession of 90+-degree days, and neither was my nine-month-pregnant body.
Maybe the heatwave was just that: a heatwave. I wanted to believe it, I tried to believe it. But I knew better.
Five weeks after my son’s birth, we took an over-ambitious roadtrip to Southern Oregon to share a lakeside…
Dr. Amber Woodburn, LMFT, LP, has surpassed Esther Perel as the country’s highest earning marriage counselor, with a reported net worth of over 100 million dollars. Based in Tampa, Florida, Woodburn charges up to $25,000 for a single 45-minute session. She is currently booked 18 months out.
“When I started my practice, I tried everything I was taught in school,” said Woodburn. “You know, like giving couples tools to improve their communication skills and validating each other’s feelings and practicing active listening and all that jazz. …
There is a generation of parents still reeling from Frozen. Feeling, perhaps, a little sheepish about letting our kids get so caught up in the hysteria and wondering how, in the twenty-friggin’-first century, this particular story ended up dominating their childhoods.
Don’t get me wrong — there’s a lot to like about Elsa, particularly when compared to the Sleeping Beauties, Cinderellas, and other damsel-in-distress princesses of my childhood. Elsa is kind of prickly, a total badass, and entirely uninterested in meeting Prince Charming. I’d definitely have her over for dinner if she promised not to turn me to ice.
When my daughter started kindergarten, I breathed a sigh of relief. For years, I had been worried that she would be The Bad Kid, the one who was incapable of following The Rules. I imagined the whole class seated in a perfect ring at circle time, while my daughter darted wildly around the fringes.
I needn’t have worried. She took to school immediately. For an extroverted, active, sensory-seeking child, the school was a haven. The hallways were large and sprawling, the air buzzing with shouts, school bells, and slamming locker doors. School was her space to shine. …
If you’ve been putting off self-care, there’s no better time than the end of the world to prioritize some me-time. Follow these simple tips to nourish your mind, body, and soul:
We know, the apocalypse is kind of stressful. That’s why it’s important to focus on being intensely aware of what you’re sensing and feeling in the moment. Don’t attach meaning to the rapidly approaching flames. Accept them without judgment. Take deep breaths. Just remember to breathe through your nose.
A strong core helps you maintain balance and allows you to move in any direction. When the fire is encroaching…
Dear Santa, the letter began.
I do want some presints but I olso want to travl forword in time with my best friends and I want to have strat here like them. I olso want my skin colr to be like them which is peech. Don’t wry thay will want to do it to. I also want freckls on my cheeks. From Z.
I read the note with slow-growing horror. Last year, my daughter had asked Santa for a unicorn, wings that would actually make her fly, and $90,000. …
If NO, congratulations! You may not be totally screwed. Please proceed to question 2.
If YES, you’re kind of screwed. You will find that about half of daycares and preschools inexplicably close around 3 p.m. And public school lets out even earlier. We don’t get it, either.
If NO, congratulations! You may not be totally screwed. Just remember that “normal working hours” do not include anything before 9 a.m. or after 5 p.m. If your answer is still no, please proceed to question 3.
If YES, you’re totally screwed. …
I write about motherhood, feminism, race, and the end of the world. Aiming to make you laugh, cry, and want to punch something. Top writer in Parenting, Humor.