Walking on Legos is a rite of passage into parenthood.
Is there a day after Friday that I am not aware of? Is there an extra 24-hours in a week that is hidden away from moms like me as other parents watch and laugh at our poor ability to juggle careers, school, homework, dinner, practices, games and meets?
We encourage our children to “go out for the team” and cringe if they are cut, knowing we will have to put a band-aid on their emotions. But, what if they aren’t cut, but instead make the team to only “suit up” and never play? Which is worse?
The only time I ran as a young girl or teenager was after the ice cream truck in my neighborhood.
Anywho, I decided against my better judgement to bake cookies. My grandma used to bake the most mouth-watering treats. We’d literally would fight over her cookies. She doesn’t bake anymore, so I attempted to bake sugar cookies today. Dear heavens above, they were the most ass-tasting cookies I have EVER made!
She saw the glass as half-full – always craving the next taste of life.
Then “GROOVY DAY” comes along. Damnit. Just because I was BORN in the 1970s doesn’t mean I own shit from that decade.
Between holiday parties, family gatherings and wrapping presents (which about 80 percent are still under the tree since once they were unwrapped at warp speed, they were tossed into the “I don’t want this shit” pile) I feel like I have had about 10 minutes to myself.
Ever since I turned 37 gravity has ruined my body.
Well, the bitch isn’t fixed. In case you all missed the previous column, our washing machine (which is known as a SHE to all repairmen – hence the bitch description) took a dump nearly two weeks ago. The washing machine repairman has been here twice. He SAID he fixed it today, but he didn’t. Not… Continue reading Washing Machine Woes: Part II