"If you haven’t done some serious house-cleaning with a baby wipe, I have a feeling we’re very different moms. And that’s cool. I’m #JustNotingIt"
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That Feeling When You Need to Send an Apple to School But Ponder Having a Psychotic Break Instead9/27/2018 By Annie In hindsight, it was a simple request.
Each child needs to bring a peeled, cubed apple to make applesauce in class. Certainly not one that should have resulted in me, quite literally, with my face buried in the kitchen counter, cheerful note clutched in my cold, shaking hands. I was caught in that thorny pause, you know, the one when you’re deciding if you’re going to collapse into tears of defeat or kick it into full-on rage-bitch mode. Peeled and cubed! I uttered under why breath, when my husband gingerly approached me, no doubt wondering if this was the moment everyone who knows me has been suspecting all along, the moment I actually have a psychotic break. Because all the school papers. PEELED AND CUBED! I holler, rage-bitch emerging. My husband listened sympathetically while I ranted, but… I knew. I knew the apple request was not obscene. This wasn’t a mental split. It was just a Wednesday. It was a simple request, really, well within reason of the first grade teachers. Only… it was two days before said apple – peeled and cubed – was due, and I didn’t have any apples. Not even a shriveled yellow one that had been kicking around the fridge for a couple weeks. We were completely apple-less. Procuring an apple – peeled and cubed – would require a trip to the grocery store, the nearest of which is 15 minutes away, and it was already a full 20 minutes past bedtime, and the following day was, as it always is with two full-time working parents with hour commutes and three school-aged kids, jam-packed. (And yes, that’s right, I said didn’t have an apple. Go ahead and judge me, assholes. I tried telling my tween just yesterday that apples are like “nature’s candy” and, let’s just say, it wasn’t well received. Unless, maybe you like profanity from 11-year-olds.) By Mandy
Look! It’s the bottom of the laundry bin! I literally don’t remember the last time I felt so accomplished. This weekend's gonna be lit! #momlife #stillarockstar "I hate school so much that I wish I felt empowered to home-school. But that’s not my calling. I mean I didn’t know Africa was a continent until my husband told me, soooo..."
By Layah Hitting this small drum while stressed is not only very calming for you, allowing that stress to release from your body in a healthy way, but also this sound is very calming for your annoying kids, inducing meditation and that much-needed shutting up. Plus, they can learn to catch a beat in the car – bonus music lesson!
By Annie Welcome to my class! Please take care to purchase the following items prior to the beginning of the school year. If this poses a problem for you, don’t hesitate to reach out to the school. We’re so excited to have your child for the year!! Please do respect any instances where we have indicated a specific brand. The students will share all non-labeled supplies, and it’s important to keep the quality of supplies consistent, to distribute costs evenly and to stave off my annual back-to-school hives. Thanks in advance!!!!!
Labeled Items 1 Sturdy backback 1 Five Star vinyl folder with pockets and prongs (please, no silver prongs) 1 Wide-ruled, one-subject notebook (solid color, anything but purple. And probably not orange. Yellow is… meh.) 1 pencil box (no soft cases, solid color only, please pre-test the clasp by opening and closing it a minimum of 137 times so as to be sure it will endure the wear and tear of the year ahead). Inside box, please place:
1 Art shirt (take that for what it’s worth… this is art, HA!), labeled, in a gallon Ziplock bag (must be Ziplock brand) Headphones, Beats by Dre Non-Labeled Items 4 Boxes (24) Crayola crayons 1 Box (24) Crayola colored (as in multi-color, not the out-dated, now-racist way of referring to African Americans) pencils "Everyone says you'll look back one day and wish for this time with your children. But to be honest, I'm going to look back on it and be glad they can fucking do shit for themselves."
By Annie I’ve read a lot of mommy blog posts in my day, and specifically posts that focus on the things we want to tell our children during these difficult, puberty-stricken, social anxiety wracked tween years. I know your hearts, mamas. I know you mean well, and I know talking to our kids is important, even when they won’t listen (hint: they are always listening.) But please, please stop pumping out these trite compilations that sound something like this:
Be yourself, even when it’s hard. Learn to laugh at yourself. Wearing make-up, getting your “monthly visit,” shaving – none of this is a race. Dance. Seriously, if your list includes the one-word sentence “Dance.,” just stop. Do you remember what it’s like when your skin is crawling with how much you hate every single disgusting inch of your hideous body and the punk-ass bitches at school are treating you like you’re actual weird hairy pond scum and everything you once thought was certain about life and God and your best friend and your inner self is suddenly shaking? Do you remember the white-hate fear of exposing some humiliating truth about your gaping ignorance? Do you remember the ever-simmering, gullet-squeezing rage? Dance my ass. Here is what I want to us say to our middle schoolers: I hope you learn all of the big, bristly lessons that you can only learn by living. And I hope that, when you reach the edges of your ferocity and your clawing independence, you remember the warm, cavernous wells of my love. I am here. I am here. I am always, always here. In case you’re gazing quizzically at the above photo and trying to understand what exactly you’re looking at, let us just go ahead and confirm: yes, it is a green rice krispie treat tucked into the modest cleavage of a busy yet delightfully deceptive mama. Here’s the rationale, as sent via Facebook messenger from one MOTY master to her tribe:
When you're cleaning up and you hear the kids coming so you shove the rice krispie treat you're eating down your shirt because you don't want to A. Share, B. Explain why you can have one and they can't, or C. Really interact with the kids at all during Rice Krispie Cleaning Time. It's a special time in a mother’s life. This got us thinking, the Treat Yo’ Self movement may have all the 20-something Insta-singles ‘gramming about the crystal-infused unicorn soap they just splurged on at the hipster farmer’s market or the Thai ice cream rolls they’re feeding to their French bulldogs by the seashore. But we mamas? We have a different understanding. Take a look at our most lavish indulgences:
What’s your favorite #TreatYoSelf MOTY escape? Whatever it is, we hope you enjoy it! You deserve it. More than anyone else. More than your kids for damn sure. "I'm beginning to think all the physical pain my 4-year-old inflicts on my every day is karmic retribution for the emotional pain I caused my own mother... But then I look at my other two kids, and I know that they were assholes to me in a past life, too, and I just calmly think, 'your turn now!'"
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We love our kids. They drive us crazy. We write about it instead of going insane. Archives
September 2017
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