Boring Can Be Fun

On a scale of "Sorry, who are you again?" to "OMG IT'S YOU IT'S YOU CAN WE TAKE A PICTURE TOGETHER!?!?" I'd say the reception to my last post was about a "Oh, um, yes, sorry, I've forgotten your name, so embarrassing... But hello, how are you?" Translation: you've been dying without me, haven't you? Aw, shucks, y'all! But I did get three--count 'em, 3!--facebook comments on my last post (one of which was from my sister who loves me) and at least 10 likes, which I take as a sign from the universe that writing is my future. It will support our family because you want to know what I have to say. You really do. Gosh, you're embarrassing me! Stop it!  ...Oh, go on. With that obvious sarcasm out of the way, I can now discuss something that will divide a nation worse than the most recent presidential election. WHY WE AREN'T TELLING OUR KIDS SANTA IS REAL Alternate title: HO, HO, NO! But first the obligator...

Dear People Without Kids: Once upon a time--or 2 years, 2 months, and 29 days ago if you're into specifics--I was one of you. Well-rested and just sitting around, casually scrolling through my facebook feed, being constantly assaulted by posts about my friends' kids. Okay, maybe not "assaulted," but there are a lot of pictures of kids. And comments about kids. And questions for "mommy friends" about "how do I know what color snot indicates I need to have an anxiety attack and immediately administer the essential oils and then race to the urgent care for BIG PHARMA meds just to be safe? Or maybe it's just seasonal allergies? idk." I wasn't too bothered by it all. I mean, some of it makes you roll your eyes. Like, okay. I never wanted to know if your kid pooped on the potty. As a matter of fact, we're all supposed to not poop in our pants. So kudos to you on teaching your kid to do what WE ALL MUST DO.  Mainly I just wondered, wh...

I'm going to go out on a limb and assume you already know this, but nevertheless: Wow, y'all! It's 2016! New year. Fresh start. Endless possibilities and boundless optimism. That's how the first week of the new year feels, right? Like, this year, IT'S MY YEAR.  Although it makes no sense, that phrase. I do not own a year. A year is not mine. I share it with however many people are also alive on the planet during this year.  Fine, sure. I know that people mean IT'S THE YEAR I'M FINALLY GOING TO GET MY (stuff) TOGETHER. Okay, that I can get on board with. Let's all get our (stuff) together this year. And how will we do that? Uhhhh... I know: Let's just wing it, like always, and see if things magically work out for us a little better than every. other. year. Solid plan? Yes.  Recap: first week of the year--feeling invincible! Weeks 2-52: back to normal. Anyway. For whatever reason, once the holidays are over and it's just cold...

Back in the dark ages  Early Aughts when I was in my early 20's, Girls' Night was such a thing to aspire to.  I went back in time and contacted myself from about a decade or so ago to see if I could get an insider's perspective on what a Girls' Night is all about. Me from 2003, take it away: Hi! I'm awkward, extra-skinny, big bangs 21-year-old Rebecca! I look 16, which sucks, because no one takes me seriously. The big bangs, total inability to dress myself well, and general awkward demeanor may have something to do with that. Old-As-Dirt-and-What-Happened-to-My-Boobs-Did-I-Have-Surgery-Rebecca asked me to talk to you about girls' night out. (Yes, even at 21, I want to use the proper apostrophe.)  Well let me tell you, I want to feel like and be perceived as the grown-up that I am! (Because, I definitely am a grown-up. Right? If you call yourself a grown-up, you probably are just that. Because 40 year olds often say,  "Hey, I'm a grown-up, and ...

You know how it is when it's the end of the day, you're ready to pick up your kid from daycare and get thee to your humble abode.  Well, you know how it is if you:  a) have at least one child and,  b) use day care.  If you have only one or none of those two things, then you probably don't  know how it is. But you're smart, and you can use your imagination to pretend you know, right? Right. Now that we've agreed that you either know how it is or you're capable of pretending to know how it is, walk with me through the rest of this story. The story that you're wondering if I'm going to actually get around to or not. And if I do ever get around to it, is it going to be worth the 120-180 seconds of your life that it took to read it? Only you can decide. Okay, okay, so, the tale I'm still not exactly telling. I'll tell it now. With no exaggeration whatsoever. As you may have surmised, it begins with me at the end of the work day, ready to ...

Hey guys, Remember when I said I was "really going to try to write more often?" LOLZ. Oh well, disappointment is a part of life. You just learned a Fun lesson, didn't you? But I'm back today to talk about.... MY BABY. Whatever, you'll live. You know how babies "belong" to their mamas? Mama is a special person to a baby. They know--they just really know , man--that mom is the one who grew to previously unimaginable proportions in order to carry a whole separate person inside their belly, then pushed the proverbial watermelon out the proverbial hole a size of a lemon.  Mama held that baby close in his or her first minutes of life. Mama gave up daily showers, sleep, and the ability to use their cognitive functions for CENTURIES (oh, weeks, whatever--feels the same) after baby was born. Mama wore a frozen diaper as an ice pack for that baby. And why? Because we love that baby. Love. LOVE. Lurve.  We feel a deeply spiritual and primitively inst...

Do you feel down? Feel like you could use a little cheer? Would a high-five set your day on the right track? If so, see me. I can introduce you to a 15-month-old gal who will gladly give you a high-five. Or two. Or ten. Allow me to give you a tantalizing glimpse at the innumerable and inexhaustible amount of high-fives that I can put you in contact with: Yesterday this tiny person with chunky thighs high-fived her mom, her dad, and the cat (who found it beneath her dignity to reciprocate). She high-fived a teacher in the hallway at school. Then she high-fived her own teacher. And her other teacher. For the duration of the day, while she was not under her mother's eagle-eyed gaze, she probably high-fived all kids in her class and any and everyone she passed. But I'm just guessing. However, once she was back in parental custody, I have it on good authority that she high-fived her teachers again (to say goodbye), air-fived her classmates, high-fived her mom again (to...

I've officially been a mom now for ONE WHOLE YEAR. While I'm not yet ready to slip on some mom jeans and cut my hair into a Dorothy Hamill ice-twirling bowl cut, I do feel ready to reflect on what the experience has been like for me. Note the words: FOR ME. My experience obviously won't be the same as everyone else's. I sincerely hope you didn't need me to tell you that. Labor and Delivery Guess what? It hurts. Like a sonofabitch. (I used bad language because that's how bad it hurts.) Contractions aren't just shortened, combined words with apostrophes replacing letters you've left out. No sir. They are also your uterus' attempt to incapacitate you as if the very Devil himself is squeezing your insides. A child who presents "sunny side up" (face up instead of face down) will bang the back of her head on your tailbone as you push making it seem as if it's truly about to snap. Guess what else? As soon as the child finally exits ...

After recent forays into the interwebs to look up 1st birthday ideas, I've discovered you can, apparently, turn your child's 1st Birthday Party into "Wedding Reception Planning 2.0."  I need someone to hold me, 'cause it's scary. All the elements of the perfect wedding plan are there. You pick a theme, which includes the perfect color scheme. The invitations have to be special and unique (they alert your guests to the theme, after all). You come up with "whimsical" details to "inject some fun" into your party. Don't forget a goody bag for the guests! Oh, and how could I forget: the outfit! "It's your big day" so you need a customized outfit special for the day! And the food? It is to be exquisite. Treats, nibbles, tastes of delight! And the most ubiquitous detail of all: the burlap banner. It is to LOOK homemade, without actually being so. In reality, you spend $38 (plus shipping) for it on Etsy. Let's break this...