• Humor,  Womanhood

    Shame.

    You know when you were a kid and your mom yelled at you for pulling your sister’s hair? You knew better but did it anyway. There’s no way of “accidentally” pulling your sister’s hair. You know after years into adulthood, you get the lecture by the dental hygienist for not flossing well enough? You’re ashamed because you remembered to floss but you’re also a lazy ass and don’t want to get out of the warm bed and walk on the cold tile floor. Shame. Shame on you. The index finger shake. The shame shake. The you-knew-better shake. You know when you’re driving along the road and you think to yourself,…

  • A to Z Challenge,  Humor

    The letter K.

    She came into the world with a middle finger up. The wild child. She never did take a bottle. Her toddler nickname was “the bulldog.” She wouldn’t let me feed her baby food; she had to feed herself. She refuses to “fake” smile for pictures. The kid doesn’t take shit from anyone. Scott and I can tell which daughter is walking into our room at night based off the heavy footsteps of confidence. I’m scared shitless for her teenage years. There’s only one. The letter K. Kate. Coming from a family of four kids, I knew what I was getting into with two kids. You need balance. Equality. Treat all kids the…

  • NaBloPoMo

    To Emma.

    To Emma, You are me. Ok, you’re not me me. You’re the daughter I always pictured when I was a kid. I could see you in my mind. I could see you every time I looked in the mirror at 10-years-old, 15-years-old, and 20-years-old. You had dark hair and dark eyes. You had my face. You didn’t exist, of course. Then you were born. I’ve watched you grow from a baby to a toddler to a preschooler to a 10-year-old. You’re a miniature version of myself. And here I am, at 34 years old, sitting with my 10-year-old self at Thanksgiving. You’re not a clone obviously, that’s genetically impossible. You’re better than a clone.…

  • Hunting,  Parenting

    Pink camo.

    So do you think you’re having a boy or girl? Ah, yes. The ever so popular round-about way of asking, “do you want a daughter or a son?” Let me tell you – a mother cannot feel what sex they are having. I’ve never been pregnant with a boy but I’m pretty sure a mom cannot feel a baby penis poking her. This question implies what sex does the mother want. The correct answer to this question is, “it doesn’t matter. A healthy baby.” I’m sure there are some moms out there that could care less about the sex of their child. Not me. My raging, hormonal mess of a mouth…