A few days ago, I saw a “Presents Under $50” list that made me roll my eyes HARD and then ask my family to roll THEIR eyes, too, because my own two were an INSUFFICIENT NUMBER of eyes to roll in response. It wasn’t the general idea of presents under $50. I’m at least theoretically all for that. It was this specific list that caused the eye gymnastics. ...
Tag: MAKE IT STOP
Quick Reminder, You Glamorous, Glamorous Moms: You’re Not Alone
Hey.
So you know how you’re sitting quietly on the couch, minding your own business, next to the Christmas tree with the soft lights all around, and you think to yourself, what a wonderful world?
And you know how you’ve stayed in your short, cotton nightie all day because you have that sniffling, sneezing, stuffy head cold going around, but it doesn’t matter because no one’s going to see you anyway? You’re comfy and the ibuprofen’s working, so who even cares that your legs are prickly, your bra is God knows where, and your make-up is left over from yesterday so you’re sporting that whole strung-out raccoon look? ...
Quick Life Tip
Dear friends,
Just a teeny, tiny quick tip for you today.
If somebody says, “Hey! You look really nice today,” maybe just say thank you.
Thank you is enough.
Thank you is not as awkward as Other Options.
Thank you is socially appropriate. And, sweet friend, you actually do not need to offer an excuse for looking nice.
Maybe, for example, do not say, “Yeah, I would’ve worn my usual jeans except I put them on last night to go out, and I realized they smell like butt. I suppose I should’ve expected that since I can’t remember the last time I washed them, but it still came as a surprise. I sprayed them with perfume, which, as you might suspect, made them smell like Perfume and Butt. It really wasn’t an improvement over Just Butt, but at least it’s the smell of I Tried, you know? I wore them anyway because I was already running late, but I vowed I would not wear them again until I actually wash them because I have standards. Eventually. I have Eventual Standards. So, because I’ve put on, like, 30 pounds over the last couple years, I only have the one pair of jeans right now, which means the inner thighs are practically see-through and in imminent danger of ripping and presenting a serious social hazard. This dress is the only other thing that fits. So, ¯\_(ツ)_/¯, that’s why I look nice, I guess. My butt-smelling jeans are on the fritz.” ...
Gun Rights AND Gun Control: What If We ACTUALLY FOLLOWED the Second Amendment?
I can start this blog post one of two ways: I can either tell you I’m the proud daughter of a Marine who responsibly owns guns, in which case you’ll think I’m a proponent of Gun Rights, or I can tell you I’m a pacifist Quaker married to a conscientious objector, in which case you’ll think I’m a proponent of Gun Control.
You’d be right. ...
Me, too. But I didn’t realize it for 25 years.
Have you seen #MeToo rolling around social media? It goes like this,
Me too.
If all the women who have been sexually harassed or assaulted wrote “me, too” as a status, we might give people a sense of the magnitude of the problem. Copy and paste.
#metoo
So first I want to say, if you’ve been sexually harassed or assaulted, you’re not alone. Me, too. ...
On Sitting in the Ash and Mourning with the World
Oregon is on fire. Ash fell from the sky last night like a blizzard. We saw the sun today, a dim ball of deepest orange through the smokey sky, and I let my kids have All the Screens and Not Wear Pants because they couldn’t play outside.
I’m sitting outside now, on my back porch where I usually watch the mountain behind our house. I’m sitting outside even though my eyes are stinging and it’s like breathing inside a campfire. I can still see the mountain, but barely. The squirrels didn’t come out today. Neither did the birds. But I did, late in the day, because somehow sitting in the eerie quiet, breathing translucent air I can taste, feels like a lament that matches the inside of me. ...
Marital Strife: Your Help Requested
There’s no easy way to say this, friends, so I’m just going to jump right in.
Greg, the love of my life, father of my children, sharer of my bed, scr itchy batterer of toast, locks the door when he uses the bathroom.
He locks the door.
Every time.
Without fail.
LOCKS IT.
I know. I wish I had a way to ease the blow, too, but in the absence of that, I’m just ripping off the band aid. If you need to stop reading for a bit to catch your breath, I understand. Take your time. ...