11yo: why are you doing dishes with your jeans undone?
me: no sweetie. It’s; YAY MOMMY! YOU GOT THOSE JEANS ON!
the doggo pooped out a little plastic hand so now there’s some poor Barbie running around like Luke Skywalker.
Can’t. Doing hot girl shit.
*decapitates lemon gummy bears with glistening incisors
me: Pop the champagne
you: Yay! What are we celebrating?
The best part of running at 5am is the irrational, adult fear of zombies to keep you going.
If anyone needs help communicating with their teen daughter,
I am officially fluent in sigh.
11yo: What are you doing?
me: shhh. Mommy’s napping.
11yo: On the treadmill?
I told the kids they’ve stressed me out so much I burst a vessel in my eye, so they brought me a plate of cheese.
I was hoping for a clean kitchen but I am disarmingly soothed.
To everyone who mocked me for keeping my old maternity pants for so long … who’s laughing now
He died doing what he loved.
Taking a french fry off my plate.