No matter how sexy you once were, you will be rocking granny panties and old lady bras before you even hit the midpoint in your pregnancy. Take it from me, mamas, just five short years ago, I was a Hollywood show girl.
By Mandy
No matter how sexy you once were, you will be rocking granny panties and old lady bras before you even hit the midpoint in your pregnancy. Take it from me, mamas, just five short years ago, I was a Hollywood show girl.
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By Annie
My Henry has two sisters, loves playing dress-up with their princess costumes, has a full-time working mama and father who was raised entirely by women (so much so that he had pet gerbils named Sugar and Spice). Naturally, I assumed I was going to raise the most thoughtful, forward-thinking, perfect gentleman. Then BAM! In one morning, this kid:
At least he's using proper terms like penis and vagina? Oh buddy. By Annie When my daughter Iris was in preschool, her best friend was an introverted tomboy named Lauren who loved dinosaurs and the color green. When Iris found out that girls could marry girls, she announced that she was going to marry Lauren and adopt "a China baby." Aside from from hoping the ready acceptance of an alternative lifestyle balanced out the cultural insensitivity of the term "China baby," I didn't give the news much thought. It was clearly an expression of affection for the first non-family member she ever really clicked with. Now, a few years into her elementary gig, Iris is experiencing her first real infatuation. She's star-struck with a woman who works in my office, though they've never met. Not that I can blame her -- this woman is more or less the pinnacle of what every fiery, dreamy, explosively creative eight-year-old wants to be when she grows up. She's an adult, but she's obsessed with Harry Potter and E.T. (and has tributes to those obsessions worked into the sleeve tattooed up her arm). She listens to One Direction, dyes her hair electric red, mothers a brood of guinea pigs, skates with a roller derby team, and works as a graphic designer -- which in a kid's mind means she pretty much draws for a living. Plus her name is Ash, which is splendidly tough sounding and cool as hell. Iris's interest in Ash began shortly after I started this job, which was a big shift for our family as I went from a part-time adjunct instructor with lots of flexibility to a full-time working mama with an hour commute and the responsibility that comes with being the sole breadwinner for our family. In an attempt to help Iris wrap her turbulent mind around my new life, I pointed out a milk display when we were grocery shopping. My agency does the packaging for this local dairy brand, and I thought she might get a kick out of it.
"See that milk?" I asked. "The one with the cows? My friend designs those." Iris rushed up the the dairy case and peered closely, in awe. "One of your friends draws these cows?" She was impressed. "Who?" "My friend Ash," I said without thinking. I left out the fact that the cow itself had been drawn years ago by a professional cartoonist, and that this quiet coworker who I only sort of knew really just Photoshopped and resized it. Details. By Mandy Before I was a mother, I always found toddlers watching TV to be a little disturbing. You know, the vacant eyes, the unnaturally still bodies. I vowed never to let my own child watch television until she was at least preschool age. And as recently as this autumn, when my sweet Sofia was 18 months, I still had literally never once tuned the TV on for her. But then, you know, winter happened. And in the toddler universe, winter is a whole new ball game. Stay warm, mamas, and enjoy that uninterrupted cup of coffee! A dark, bracing winter morning is no time to delve into your disappointment in yourself as a mother.
By Annie
During a week that already involved my husband traveling out of state, a three-day migraine, an unexpected and medically inexplicable period, getting my face scratched up trying to drag three kids to three doctor appointments, a computer glitch that made me lose hours of work (on a tight deadline), and a tire blowout on the freeway at night in 16-degree weather, my toddler randomly decided to stop sleeping. Just stop. The first night, she stayed up until 11. I fretted and sighed a lot. The second night, it was 2 before she finally drifted off. We watched Blue's Clues and I begged her to sleep. Last night, I just said, screw it. By being awake at this hour, you're choosing to enter my world, kid. We hung out with Manhattan's finest til we both drifted peacefully off to sleep. Or, as peacefully as one can be when watching New York's most heinous crimes unfold. By Layah
Do you have trouble getting your toddlers to eat anything besides processed carbs and the occasional banana? Breaking news, mamas, this one simple trick will leave them feasting on high-protein, vitamin-rich, clean foods. Watch and learn: Step 1: Buy nice food and place it on a table or counter top, or even in the refrigerator. Just make sure it's barely within reach of toddler hands. Step 2: Loudly state that said food is for adult company and that you will soon be arranging it on a lovely serving dish. Step 3: Leave the room. Voila! By Scarlett
"Mom, can I have a peanut butter and jelly sandwich?" My son Des looks at up at me. "Sure!" As I smear some sugar-laden peanut butter on white bread, I second-guess my decision. Shit, I shouldn't have agreed, I think as I watch him snarf it down. I have some perfectly good baked salmon that I could have insisted he eat. "Mom, can I watch one more Ninjago?" "But you've already watched three episodes. No more." "Awww, please mom? Please?" I think about all the things I could do that don't require me to have face time with my son -- washing dishes, writing emails, having a cup of tea without any other person touching me -- and choose to let him watch yet another episode, feeling like a huge pushover. By Layah Dearest little hooligans,
I’m sitting outside your bedroom door. I hear you two. I hear your breathlessness as the bedsprings creak under the weight of your continuous jumping. I hear pages being ripped from our favorite books. I hear a loud bang, but since there is no screaming, I don’t rush in – your tough little asses are just fine. I hear the giggles and the shrieks of joy. I consider all the objects that might have caused that bang, and decide it was the humidifier. I KNOW what is going on in there, and I have something to tell you… You think you are so silly, so sly. You know you are mischievous even though you are ignorant to the etymology of the word – I see the glimmer of pride in those beautiful blue eyes when you are caught in the act. Every damn time. Let me tell you some things you don’t know… I have plenty of towels to soak up the basketball-sized puddle you left on the carpet when you threw the humidifier across the room. I just bought a 3-pack of scotch tape that will stitch up those books you tore to shreds. I can pick up the pillows, the blankets, the sheets, faster than you can throw them. We have more wipes in the basement – make it rain, babies! Make it rain! Even at your tender ages of one and two, you fully understand that chocolate can make everything right in the world again. WelI, babies, I have full access to that dark brown magic elixir in the metal basket on top of our craft-covered kitchen island. And I ain’t afraid of a couple extra pounds. |
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September 2017
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