“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.”
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 used to love sleeping in. The best part of Friday night was always the anticipation of easing into the following morning, caught somewhere between sleep and wakefulness, letting the day brighten around me.
There was so much to anticipate and there was always time. My husband and I cannot for the life of ourselves remember what we used to do with all of it.
I certainly remember always feeling like a Very Busy Person. Priding myself on it, really. …
Try this for fun: google “working mom,” then google “working dad.” Compare the number of search results for each. Perhaps unsurprisingly, “working mom” wins in a landslide.
I never expected to identify as a “working mom.” I initially thought of myself as a mom who also had a job outside the home. Or more accurately, I thought of myself as a human being who, first and foremost, needed to help support her family, but who was also lucky enough to kind of like her job.
A local mom-to-be reported that she got a little emotional while at brunch with her childless friends last Sunday.
Only days from her due date, and suddenly grappling with the enormity of her impending life change, the teary-eyed mom-to-be insisted, “I’m fine. Really.”
“Spoken like a true mom,” said her childless friends before proceeding to order another round of mimosas. Meanwhile, the mom-to-be sipped her orange juice and eyed the delicate stemmed glasses full of frothy gold liquid with a mixture of longing and deep regret.
“I can’t wait for you to meet the baby!” she said a little too…
There is something about 3 a.m. It’s the loneliest hour of the night — after last call but before even the earliest risers stumble out of bed. The streets are empty and quiet, the sky thick and black.
Nine years ago, after having my first baby, I became intimately acquainted with every hour of the night. In fact, I developed an utterly useless new skill: upon being roused from sleep, I was able to predict, with stunning accuracy, exactly what time it was. I knew by the weight of the air.
At 3 a.m., the air was at its heaviest…
The drama began after the birth of my first baby. Seemingly overnight, my breasts developed an attitude. Like a colleague who has recently been given a promotion and now thinks he’s hot shit, they became busy and distant. They had their own schedule, and they expected me to work around it.
We’d been through some drama before. All throughout high school, my breasts had remained stubbornly flat. I used to stand in front of the mirror and give them the evil eye, hoping I could make them swell through intimidation.
But when they finally did decide to perk up, I…
When I dropped off my stepson at high school, I felt eminently grateful that I was no longer 16 years old. Just the sight of all those moody teenagers, hunched under the weight of their backpacks, made my blood pressure rise.
It was the first day of my stepson’s junior year, and his first day at this particular high school. He knew no one. He had grown up over 3,000 miles away. At the comfortable age of 35, I simply could not imagine having to navigate the strange new hallways, having to meet all those strange new people. …
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.