Parenting

Lifestyle

Time To Talk About It

I'm putting up a link roundup today and it's all pajama suggestions and fun reads, and...I just can't hit publish without posting this first, because pajamas are not where my head's at.

You know, I was brought up believing that guns - all of them - are bad. Nobody should have a gun; all they do is perpetuate violence; et cetera.

That's not what I think anymore; I've formed my own opinions about guns and gun owners. I can't think of a single reason for any human being to own an assault rifle, but I'm friends with many people who own shotguns or pistols, and I understand and respect their choices. They are - without exception - extremely knowledgeable about their guns, having been raised to respect them for what they are: deadly weapons. They would be more than happy to submit to a background check at any point, because why wouldn't they?

Lifestyle

The New-Parent Sex Situation (Spoiler: It Ain’t Good)

Let's talk about the post-baby sex situation, shall we? Spoiler: It ain't good. I know it; all of my parent friends know it; you probably know it. And still: it's easy to feel embarrassed - even ashamed - about how much (or, ok, how little) you have sex with your spouse once a tiny, screaming human arrives on the scene.

When sex suddenly starts feeling less like an awesomely fun pastime and more like an exhausting obligation, it's easy to wonder whether something's wrong with you.

Can we clear the air, please?

DIARY

#MomFail

I posted a video to Instagram Stories yesterday, and I'm really annoyed at myself about it. In the video, taken outside my son's piano teacher's house, I said that I had just realized that I'd forgotten to bring his piano music to the lesson for the second time in a row, and said it feels sometimes like my life is just one Mom Fail after the next. I forget the music. I'm late to pickup. I don't include vegetables in lunch (or dinner, sometimes). I love, love, love it when they're watching TV, because when they're watching TV I can breathe for a second.

The other day I ran into my friend as I was walking away from kindergarten drop-off - I'd been late, and had had to walk my son through the office (tardy slip! #momfail) - but she was later; so late that she wasn't even bothering to rush. We laughed when we saw each other - no words needed, because we've both seen each other be "that mom," the one frantically waving her arms and rushing past the horde of on-time parents walking in the other direction, yelling WAITWAITWAITWAITWAIT! while the door to the classroom shuts in our face.

Back to that video: My "I'm such a failure as a parent" video. I know that it's a teeny, tiny thing, forgetting your child's sheet music (even when you do it often). But as I dropped him off - flustered, my daughter crying from the car because she'd dropped her paper crown and couldn't reach it, hurriedly trying to explain during the second between the door opening and it closing again that it's totally my fault, I'm really sorry, I promise it won't happen again - I felt ridiculous, like a cartoon of a disheveled parent. Surely the "real" moms out there remember their child's music for piano class. Surely they don’t have to scream at their children to walk faster! in order to get them to class before the bell; surely they restrict screen time to an hour per day (weekends only!).

DIARY

About Last Night

The best words I can use to describe last night's Halloween extravaganza: Laser. Focus. These two were ON TASK.

(First, can we please note that heart sunglasses make quite the perfect addition to a Belle costume?)

Now allow me to present to you the series of "family photos" my neighbor took of us. I'm going to tell you who I think won each shot; let's see if you concur.

Crafts for the Uncrafty

Homemade Halloween Costumes Win Forever and Always

This photograph was taken in 1988, in case the crimped hair didn't tip you off.

Every year when I was a little girl, my mom would start making my Halloween costume in September. I might want to be a can-can dancer, or a character from Little House on the Prairie, or Cher (oh yes)...whatever it was, my mother would somehow pull out confusingly professional sewing skills that she apparently reserved solely for Halloween, and whip up a masterpiece of glitter and ruffles and perfection.

I am simultaneously sad about and relieved by the fact that kids these days ("kids these days"!! I'm so old) don't want homemade Halloween costumes. There was something grand - even heroic - about the fact that despite having no particular interest in crafting and exactly zero time to spare, what with her whole "being a lawyer" thing, my mother just rustled up her reserves and knocked it out of the park, year after year. And even when she didn't - my Cher costume consisted of a stretchy tube of sparkly fabric and the most unfortunate wig you have ever seen...it was still the only costume of its kind out there. It was mine. Made by my mom. I loved that.