Dear the Internets,
I have a situation.
A dire situation.
And I need you.
PLEASE HELP ME.
The thing is, my teenage son’s room smells terrible.
TERRIBLE.
Or, in French, which is the language of high drama, his room smells TERRIBLE.
ÉPOUVANTABLE.
EFFROYABLE.
Now, before I had a teenage boy child, I heard other parents talk about a teenager’s room smelling bad. It’s not like this is a surprise, you know? It’s just, I assumed they meant body odor. ...
My dad had open heart surgery, and then my kids started puking. Of course they did. Of course they did. Because illness waits for no one, as parents everywhere know, and I did not have the time or energy for pukers this week. Nope; illness waits for no one, and it’s certainly not going to book a time on the calendar that’s convenient. ...
I read a terrible article yesterday titled 10 Women Christian Men Should Not Marry. It made me crazy because it was so full of judgement, teeny, tiny boxes in which to shove women (and God), and proof texts, that poorest form of theology which makes the Bible into a rule book instead of an epic love story and makes a mockery of Jesus’ life and the way he championed people again and again. ...
When Abby, my oldest, was a toddler, she couldn’t get enough Sleeping Beauty in her life and watched the Disney movie, the way toddlers do, over and over and over again – and over again – slamming her sippy cup on the TV when I failed to rewind the tape in the VHS player with a speed that met her expectations. Oh, Modern Mamas with your instantaneous DVD magic! May you never know the pain of prolonged rewinding. ...
I asked my nephew to get his hand out of his pants, and he replied with ill-disguised disdain, “Not yet, Auntie Beth. I’m playing hide and seek.” So, you know. My bad.
Look. Boys hold on to their penises, folks, starting at age zero, and you can complain about it all you want, but they have to do it. There’s a biological imperative at play, obviously, because no matter how many times you tell a boy child to get his hand out of his pants, it ends up back in there. And if the boy is naked? Well, then penis-holding is essential, really. Crucial. A sacred responsibility. ...
We need to clear a little something up.
It’s my fault.
I should’ve known.
But I wasn’t thinking about explaining myself when I opened my big mouth and blathered on, and, well, here we are in the middle of a misunderstanding.
On March 8, as part of our 40 Days of Lent: 15 Minute Projects series, I posted this “before” picture on Facebook, ...
My husband has stopped responding to texts from me while he’s at work.
So my husband’s solution is to walk around with his penis goiter and tell people he’s just happy to see them? Um… no.
I haven’t heard back from Greg since I mentioned I’m a Penis Goiter Coveter.
I’d feel bad for Greg – I mean, no one goes into marriage thinking you’re getting a Penis Goiter Coveter for a wife – but marriage doesn’t always turn out the way you think. The person you marry changes. And they make new discoveries. And, well, sometimes Penis Goiter Coveting is part of it. This is what For Better OR FOR WORSE means, Greg. ...
