I have a post up this week at Love Isn't Enough - a website for anti-racist parents. You can go check it out here. I talk about my love for Jon Stewart. And then segue into racial defensiveness and explorations of white privilege. You know. My usual schtick. And is it just me or is privilege impossible to spell? Why do I want to put a "d" in there every time. Why? . . .
the new “mom jean”
I am gonna pull from the vault for my post today, since I don't think anyone wants to hear about my slow decline into madness at the hands of four children in a small hotel suite. I was thinking of this old post as I went on a quick trip to the mall yetserday, and walked into Urban Outfitters, which was my favorite store for a long time. My love for this store has abated as of late, following a progression that goes something like this: In high school, I discovered the store in a . . .
the series of unfortunate events
There were a few incidences last week that set into motion our current vagabond existence: The Rat On Monday morning, Jafta woke up early to use the bathroom, and we suddenly heard him calling for help. Mark ran in to find Jafta staring at a rat in the toilet. THE LID HAD BEEN CLOSED. I can't decide which part of this story is more bizarre: the fact that this rat somehow swam up through the plumbing, or that fact that my husband's solution was to flush the rat back from whence it . . .
abatement
abatement (noun) - the removal of something that has been found to be a nuisance Yesterday morning we got the results of our asbestos testing in, and it was positive. In a very, very negative kind of way. The bottom line is that we now have to have our flooring and drywall removed by an abestos abatement team, during which EVERY SINGLE BELONGING in our home will be removed and placed in a storage pod. Because of a load of two towels. As an added bonus yesterday I also discovered that my email . . .
Project Mom Casting Submission
Project Mom is making a show about moms. Moms who blog, specifically. This my submission tape, artfully shot in my hotel room while Karis was napping supposed to be napping. Because seriously, it's been movie material around here, right? Either that or I'm being punked. . . .
the exile
Yesterday afternoon we moved into our second cramped two bedroom hotel suite, which is our home-away-from-home for the next few days. Weeks. Crap, maybe months. I am still trying to wrap my head around the fact that the water from one load of laundry has done enough damage to displace us as our house is torn apart and put back together. We are waiting on results from some asbestos testing, which will reveal whether or not our furniture has to be put in storage while our drywall . . .
hotel rage
If you have children, and you've stayed in a hotel, you know what I'm talking about. You lay everyone down to sleep. Except that, unlike home, you are all in the same room. If you turn the tv on, the kids will not sleep. If you speak, the kids will not sleep. So your only option is to sit quietly in the dark. For the better part of an hour. Just sitting there. Quietly. Waiting for that moment of confirmation that everyone is finally asleep, so that you . . .
a tale of two towels
This afternoon I stuck two towels in the washer and started the cycle, with the intention of adding a few more items to the load. I got sidetracked in the living room with one of the kids. Twenty minutes later, I walked back down the hallway to find a puddle. My first instinct was that it was pee. But then I noticed it was all over the hallway, and that the baseboards were swelling. I started to grab towels but noticed the water led into the bedrooms as well. I walked into the boys bedroom . . .
demolition mom
Since Kembe came home from Haiti, we've been playing a bit of the musical chairs with our sleeping arrangements. We have tried every combination imaginable. The girls have their own room, but India has the occasional night terror, which wakes up Karis, which results in a situation Mark and I lovingly refer to as "Girls Gone Feral". It is usually resolved by bringing one of the girls into our bed so they can at least scream it out in separate rooms. Then the boys - I . . .
debbie downer
This week, our OC Family vlog (because video log is just too hard to type) is about stay-at-home-moms. I think I was feeling a little punchy the day I filmed this - because instead of telling some funny anecdotes about diapers or sippy cups, I decided to basically overshare my existential angst about my life as an introverted and overwhelmed mom. In case you can't tell, I'm the whiny DEBBIE DOWNER with botched bangs and a kitchen in need of some drywall patching. . . .
- Newer Posts
- 1
- …
- 429
- 430
- 431
- 432
- 433
- …
- 499
- Older Posts
