Squashed Hopes

     I made squash for the first time today. It didn’t go as I’d hoped. Now I will pause while you compose yourself from the eruption of laughter that ensued upon connecting the title of this post with the content. 

     The kitchen is not my natural habitat. My natural habitat is a trendy downtown loft apartment, lounging on a blue velvet sofa drinking sparkling wine bought off an eye level shelf in the grocery store. If I’d remained childless my diet would probably still consist of the two major food groups: thai take out and styrofoam cupped pasta with powdered food-alternative flavoring. I was totally cool with not being very domestic, it was an important piece in my arsenal of adorable idiosyncrasies, along with watching boring old Audrey Hepburn movies and talking about how repulsive I found any activity where heels weren’t appropriate. You know, cool, modern, downtown girl stuff. Very Carrie Bradshaw. 

Autonomy for Moms in 30 Minutes or Less

Being a full-time mommy at home puts you into a strange time vortex. I still remember what it felt like to work full time with a baby, and I frequently find myself marveling at how busy I feel as a stay-at-homer. The vortex feels especially pronounced and indescribable when people ask what you've been up to lately, and time stops while you have a conversation with yourself in your head,

Facebook Birthday Posting Guidelines

Ah, the Facebook birthday message - the new way for family, friends, past co-workers and people who never talked to you in High School to make you feel special. As someone who recently had a birthday IRL and on FB, I’d like to share the following insights:

        1. When someone writes “happy birthday” and nothing else it is basically the Facebook birthday version of the middle finger.

The Problem with My 28th Birthday

     I turned 28 on Monday. I spent a lovely day with my kids and my darling mother who traveled all the way from civilization to see me and make my birthday special. She brought me sweet gifts she knew I’d love, helped me to celebrate, not feel too lonely, and showered my children with treats, toys and love like only a grandma can. I should just stop writing now, but that’s not my style, and neither is having perfectly enjoyable birthdays. Instead, my birthday is a cautionary tale about high expectations.

     Most of the time I’m pretty content not being the most important person alive,

They can't all be good days.

     I woke up in a bad mood today. Despite going to bed at 9:00 last night, I hardly slept. Sometime overnight my usually comfy (albeit crowded) bed morphed into a lumpy sac of potatoes and my pillow into lava rock. Co-sleeping with my 6’2” husband, 3 year old and 8 month old doesn’t help. The baby had one of those nights where she needed to breastfeed not several times a night, but actually sleep attached to me, preventing any movement on my part lest I move her and elicit a window rattling howl. This night was heavy on the tossing and turning for everyone (imagine our bed as a rock tumbler with 4 rocks ranging from 20 to 210 pounds), and even included some sudden Rottweiler-like jaw clamps mid-nursing from 2 needle-like baby teeth. The moment the ethereal morning sunshine peered through my curtains, I heard the birds sing and longed to stretch my arms over my head and savor the magic of being alive, but instead I buried my face in my pillow and thought “Ah, %&$!.” 

No worries, I hate personal space anyway.