Everyone is full of advice for new moms and how to take care of yourself while still cherishing your time with your baby. But seriously? Fuck that bitch in that article who said to let the dishes go.
By Layah Everyone is full of advice for new moms and how to take care of yourself while still cherishing your time with your baby. But seriously? Fuck that bitch in that article who said to let the dishes go. I'm stressed as fuck this morning waking up to this mess, and that doesn't even include the disgusting counters. "Let it go" my ass. Let's leave that to Elsa and her millions little people followers.
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By Annie
My second grader, Iris, came home from school with a blank trifold poster board and a set of directions. Her class was participating in a reading fair, and each student had to select a book and graphically depict its essence on the poster while highlighting main points like characters, setting, problem and solution, and favorite part. It was a month-long project culminating in the fair, complete with refreshments and prizes. A true celebration of reading. Iris, whose teacher recently described as "that cool kid in the corner who loves wizards and always has her nose in a book," was thrilled. And, as a writer, former English teacher, and self-proclaimed picture book connoisseur (What? I took grad classes in children's lit! I presented on gender roles in picture books at a conference!), so was I. Until I reached the last bullet point on the instruction sheet. The one that said, "Go to Pinterest and search 'reading fair posters' for ideas!" Let me begin by saying that I understand that the second grade teachers had good intentions, that they included this pointer as a cool, current suggestion for how to kick start the project. I'm not saying these specific women are bad teachers. But, the suggestion made me sad nonetheless. If there's one thing that I hold truly sacred about children, it's their imagination. Children are fantastically, generously, intrinsically equipped with imagination. Even the ones who struggle at school. Even the ones with learning disabilities and behavioral issues and austere living conditions and lack of support. Children have imaginations that are incomprehensible to us, that open doors and skies and skulls and candy wrappers. Can we just trust that? Can we all just leave inspiration boards out of their homework assignments while they are seven and still breathing fairy dust and hearing sleigh bells? While they still believe in everything that matters? But, curiosity got the best of me, and I decided to look on Pinterest just to see what was out there. I searched "Reading Fair K-3," and my vague sorrow for our evolving culture turned into something visceral and personal. By Scarlett My husband and I are lucky enough that we are both stay-at-home parents. Any single parent that has to take care of the kids the majority of the day will probably think this is a great situation. And it is... Except when we are with both our kids at the same freaking time.I mean, what?!? We chose to live the way we do so that we could spend every precious moment together as a family: Mom, Dad, big kid, and little kid. But guess what's been happening with all of this attention? Our kids are starting to fall apart. Tantrums happen. Screaming, shouting, "You're a meanie!!" happens. Even our happy little 10-month-old baby picks up on all the love and happiness and togetherness and throws it on the ground.
By Mandy
Motherhood is largely about acceptance. Accepting your new body, accepting the utter lack of adult stimulation, accepting the constant chaos of your once-tidy home. Why not extend this que sera sera mentality to Baby's moods? When she's feeling angsty, defiant or surly, embrace it! Style Baby according to her moods, and she'll understand that she has your full blessing to rock the fuck out if need be. By Annie When I walked in to find my three-year-old son naked and hovering in a deep warrior pose over the Baby Alive toy potty, I was mesmerized. Be disgusted that he is peeing on a toy? Or impressed that he has such uncanny aim and control?
Potty training is a bitch, mamas. Take your victories where you can find them -- however miniature. By Layah If you want to light a fire up your partner's ass about setting that vasectomy appointment, just catch a 24-hour stomach bug. Puking every few hours and being completely out of commission for just ONE entire day is enough to remind him how fucking terrible it would be and how much you ALL would suffer if you became unexpectedly pregnant again.
Luckily, kids are germ farms, so skip the hand washing after that trip to the library this winter and you're sure to end up with a nasty virus soon! Happy puking! By Mandy MOTYs, aren't you sick of seeing all those selfies from your younger, thinner, single friends who haven't had kids yet? I sure am! It's the same thing every Saturday night...I'm at home folding laundry and wearing yoga pants and those hotties are all dolled up and posing with martinis. Well, mamas, you too can get in on this "sexy selfie" action! You just need a has-been party girl like me to tell you a little secret... Clinique makes a lip color that looks amazing and sultry on EVERYBODY. It seriously looks fantastic on every skin tone and coloring. It's called "Black Honey" and it's the best lipstick ever. I've worn it since high school, and it never disappoints. You're going to trip out when you first see it in the tube because it looks way too dark but its transparent sheer gloss matches the natural tone of your lips. Here's a peek at my recent selfie while wearing "Black Honey." Disclaimer: If this beauty tip doesn't work for you, too bad! A true MOTY hardly has time to perfect her own look, let alone care about yours. An inspiring mantra originating from the late-80s self-help classic by the same name is, "Feel the fear and do it anyway." Give your kids the foundation of courage that will enable them to take risks and reap invigorating rewards! It's never too early to teach children this mind-altering life lesson. Especially when they do stupid shit like this. And especially if you are drinking your morning coffee and can't be bothered to get up.
By Annie Dear Principal,
Last week, my husband picked our seven-year-old daughter up from school to find a note stuck to her back that read, "Kiss me I'm legal!" Naturally, he ushered her through the hoard of Frozen backpacks, salted snow boots, and restless energy, and straight into your office. After all, someone had just put a very inappropriate note on our young daughter's back. Perhaps you remember this encounter? Though maybe you don't. The flippancy with which you met this complaint indicates that it's not something you spent much time considering. You said you could take a closer look at the handwriting but that there was little action you could take since we didn't know who had written the note and attached it to our child. Ultimately, you weren't quite certain what we wanted you to do. What do I want you to do? For starters, I want you to be upset that a student in your school thought it was funny to make a sexually based joke about a seven-year-old girl. I want you to be alarmed and disheartened and maybe even disgusted. I want you to deeply consider how a young boy's early male authority figures influence the man he becomes and the way he treats women, and I want you to evaluate your role in that delicate process. I want, later in your day, for you stop in the middle of whatever mundane evening task you are doing and think, "We need to be kinder to each other." I want an incident like this to ignite a fire in you, to remind you how critical it is to open the bullying dialogue with your students and to reopen it often and whenever they need it. I want you to tell them, "I don't know who did this, but this is not who we are. This is not the way we treat each other inside these walls." Because the way you respond to these minor offenses dictates the freedom with which these young people will explore their darker impulses and petty peer-pressured "jokes." What do I want you to do? I want you to acknowledge the diverse and nuanced set of actions you could take to impact your students' mindsets, rather than give one smartass kid one isolated punishment. I want you to understand that words are actions and your responsibility is to use them with steadfast authority and invigorating compassion. Dear Unknown Peruvian Lady,
You saw me walking down the sidewalk. I must have been quite the sight. There I was, waddling under the 22-lb weight of my 9-month-old that I carried in my Ergo, his white, chubby legs kicking erratically. Behind me, a light blue grocery cart filled to the brim with my groceries. In one hand, I carried 4 more grocery bags. And in my other hand was interlaced the hand of 4-year-old son, who was on the brink of tears because I wouldn't buy him a McDonald's ice cream cone on the way out of the incredibly busy grocery store. I would stop every 15 or 20 steps to shift the bags and kid from one hand to the other. I looked up, towards the intersection...such a long intersection...took a deep breath, and kept walking. My son loves jumping over the cracks in the sidewalk so he doesn't break his mother's back, but every time he did it, he would jerk my arm down, killing any equilibrium and momentum I had going. I repeatedly yanked my hand away from him to put the binky back in my crying baby's mouth. 3 more blocks to go. I felt like crying. The traffic noise was overwhelming and the smell of the dark exhaust from the filled-to-the-brim buses was making me lightheaded. The bags were so heavy, my kids, such a burden. I cursed at myself for thinking that taking two little boys for a first visit to a foreign grocery store in a foreign country was a good idea. The green man stopped walking and turned to red. I stopped, shifting my bags yet again to the other hand. My older son was a few steps behind me, complaining that his legs hurt and that he didn't want to walk anymore. I shot him the meanest, most evil glare and just turned my head to look at the long intersection. My son started pulling on the back of my shirt, crying. I closed my eyes and tried to find my breath. In and out. Easy does it. And then the pulling stopped. I opened my eyes and turned around, a small wave of panic rising in my chest. Next to Desmond, I saw you bent down on one knee, talking to him in Spanish. I walked over and heard you telling him to be a big boy and that you would be so happy to help him cross. You looked up at me with a big, "I've-been-in-your-shoes-sweetie" smile and I nodded my head and said, "Muchisimas Gracias, Senora." You grabbed his hand and walked him through the intersection, talking to him the whole way across. To me, it was as if you were walking on water. My son is cautious, to say it nicely. On his best days, he won't look at any stranger to say hello to them, on his worst, he growls at them. So, the fact that he wasn't running away from you and letting you guide him down the street left me speechless. And then, as soon as I had caught up to the two of you, you raised his little hands, kissed his knuckles, and left. I stood there, dazed almost, as I watched you walk away, going towards the other side of the intersection where we came from. Your kindness gave me the strength, sweet lady from the street, to make it those last three blocks home. Thank you, thank you, thank you. *I took inspiration from my fellow MOTY, Annie, who is an amazing writer and wrote a similar letter to the guy who gave her kid a cookie in the supermarket. I also wrote this as part of A Cup of Joe's Winter Survival Guide. If you tend to suffer from SAD, give this a try. Write a love letter to your tribe and tell them how wonderful they are and how much they mean to you. It really will make you feel like the luckiest person in the world. End of sappy post.* |
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September 2017
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