Welcome to parenthood. Your refrigerator is now a graveyard of your kids’ half-finished drinks.
Me: *Does one 30-second Google search for giraffe pictures to use in a joke I’m texting someone*
Pinterest email: HERE ARE 48 BOARDS OF GIRAFFES YOU MIGHT ENJOY BECAUSE YOU ARE OBVIOUSLY A GIRAFFE FANATIC
I’m no psychic, but I can tell you that your kid is never going to finish that half-eaten cup of ice cream you put in the freezer.
Welcome to parenting. Here is your collection of markers that have run out of ink, which you will inexplicably hold onto for a minimum of 2 years.
My daughter’s principal made a surprise visit to every 5th grader’s house to hand out “class of 2020” bags, t-shirts, and beach towels.
Let me tell you, you haven’t lived until you’ve stood in your doorway braless in pajamas chatting with your kid’s principal.
Welcome to homeschooling. Your house has 847 pencils in it, yet your child can never find one.
[Considering whether a recipe is easy enough to attempt]
Recipe: First, finely chop—
Me: I’m out.
Oh, your kids sit down and eat dinner? That’s cool. Mine perform interpretive dance in the kitchen while their food gets cold.
Parenting is basically just punctuating every conversation with various commands:
“Yes, I like your picture. Put on your shoes.”
“My favorite color is yellow. Finish your breakfast.”
“No, fish don’t snore. Go brush your teeth.”
My kid in a house made of snacks, lying on a bed made of snacks, wearing clothes made of snacks, while eating a snack: “Can I have a snack?”