Hello, lovely readers! I’m having a fantastic day. My baby boy, the one who brings me fistfuls of leaves every day, snuggles up to me whenever I sit anywhere, and has literally written me so many love letters that we can’t keep paper in the house for more than a week, has just turned six.
What is it about boobs that gets clothing manufacturers and designers all flustered? As any woman with breasts larger than a B cup can tell you, all women’s clothing appears to be designed for small-breasted women. When I shop for clothes, I can’t just pick out anything that looks cute. Buttons in the front? Can’t wear it, unless I want to show off my bra through the buttonholes. Backless? Nope. Strapless? Sure, if I want to demonstrate my circus-like ability to touch my belly button with my nipple.
Hopefully, all of your children can name at least 1 character from a book, movie, or television show whom they absolutely adore. These are your Nemos, your Boo Boos, your Harry Potters. All of the 101 Dalmatians.
You can’t help but root for these guys. They’re so earnest and good natured. Your kids love them. You love them. Everyone’s happy.
The characters in this list, however, are none of those things.
This is going to be a controversial post. Many of you will disagree with me. Some will be offended. I’m sorry, but this just has to be said: ketchup does not belong on hot dogs.
The other day, I took my 2 boys grocery shopping at Aldi. The second we got in the car, R announced, “I don’t want to go to Aldi!”
“Sorry, Bud,” I said. “We have to.”
“Nooooo!” he wailed from the back seat. I simply drove.
When we arrived at Aldi, I grabbed my purse and my shopping bags, pulled the baby from his car seat, and stood by the open van door waiting on R. “Come on, Buddy. Let’s go.”
“I’m not going!”
“You have to,” I said.
“No I don’t!”
“Fine. Come on in when you’re ready.” A power struggle with a 5-year-old isn’t really my thing, so I walked off toward the store. And just like I knew he would, R followed me. (At a distance. He had to save face, obvs.)
Dear sexy men in the tuxedo swim briefs,
Oh, hello. Is this seat taken? Excuse my girlish giggling. I came across your photos in a Shinesty ad that Facebook dropped into my newsfeed, and I couldn’t help but stare.
My husband and I just celebrated our 10 year anniversary. Go us! To mark the occasion, we spent the weekend in a beautiful bed and breakfast on Kent Island. If you’ve never been, Maryland’s Eastern Shore is gorgeous. It’s home to several famous beaches, as well as a sprinkling of charming and quaint small towns where locals go to fish, crab, kayak, walk in untamed primeval forests, see a plethora of wildlife, pan for gold or ride a stage coach in an Old West Frontier town, walk in the footsteps of Harriet Tubman, and eat in some outstanding restaurants.
Unfortunately, this little corner of Maryland (that I am rather fond of) is…across the Chesapeake Bay Bridge.
Several weeks ago, I published an article about a woman who criticized my parenting at a Starbucks. To jog your memory, she stared at me with a petrified look of helpless horror normally reserved for kidnapping victims or people being eaten by fire ants. She might also have been the Starbucks Ambassador for Keeping Children off of Stools. (Stools, as you know, are a top cause of childhood mortality and maiming.)
I’ve always been afraid of bugs. Well, not so much afraid of as disgusted by. And it’s not just bugs
For grown-ups it’s really quite easy: Give the toothpaste tube a light squeezy. Load the brush with paste, scrub your