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Tag: wine

I’m Pretty Sure I Invented Mom Guilt, But You Can Share

A good friend of mine posted a little video about mom guilt on Facebook this morning. A bunch of mom’s talking about the things they could take back from the day, lies they told their kids, things they wish they hadn’t said.

And here I thought I invented Mom Guilt.  Turns out that deep down, a lot of you Bitches feel like you suck balls at this gig too.

I suffer from this guilt thing a lot.  Husband works long days, and by the end of his rotation I usually feel ready to either sell my children to anyone who likes repeating themselves over and over again with no results, or literally filling the bathtub up with tequila in hopes that is a pleasant way for me to drown.

In this stupid day and age of being hopelessly busy and being pulled in 5000 directions at once, I simply cannot deal with the amount of time it takes my children to accomplish one task. Why is it SO HARD to put your fucking shoes on?   Why is that always the wrong hat?  Why can they not pay attention for long enough to put on their jacket and for GOD”S SAKE how come nobody can stand straight and face me when I try to zip it up?

Sometimes I cannot handle the random crying and drama that occurs seemingly every second without justification.  The fights about nothing.  The tattle-taling.  The whining.  The constant needing.  The mess making.

The pants shitting.

And so I do what every mother out there has done for generations.

I yell.  I threaten.  I punish.


Besides feeling horrible and making them feel horrible, that is.  I also get one step closer to needing therapy and detox and a new liver.  But that’s a whole other post.

And then I put them to bed and think “Tomorrow is a new day.  A better day.  I will be more patient and try to spend more time just hanging out with them.  All they really want is more attention.  I can do this.”

And then, the next day happens and I am so busy feeding them and cleaning up after them and doing laundry and working that time runs out again and I left with the mom guilt for another day. I never, ever, ever, feel like it’s enough.  Like I’m enough.

Thankfully, every now and again, we have a day where everything goes just right.  I put all my bullshit aside and focus just on them.  I say “yes” more often.  I let the schedule go.  I let the dishes sit.  I make all the things that are usually such a big ass deal no big deal, and just fucking let it stay where it is. We stay up past bedtime.  We get dirty and eat junk food and just never mind about all the things that really aren’t that important after all.

And it’s all ok.  Everybody is still alive the next day.

So far.

And then I feel guilty that I don’t do all that more often.

But you see Bitches.  Mom guilt is just this thing that happens when you love something so much that you set up this impossible standard for yourself.  It’s when you love something so much you can’t possibly ever do enough because there is no action that could ever possibly declare just how much you actually love it.

We will always have mom guilt because we won’t ever be done trying to give our children every single thing they need to be nice humans and smart humans and happy humans.  We have the mom guilt because even though children need to be corrected, and moms are allowed to get frustrated, we don’t want our kids to ever for one second think we aren’t on their side.

We feel guilt because we want more for them than is possible to give.  So we never feel like it’s enough.

So, chin up Bitches.  Tell a few lies that helps to avoid a temper tantrum.  Yell at them when they are assholes, because sometimes love involves teaching them that being an asshole is not a desirable endeavour. Drink the wine and vow to love them JUST AS MUCH TOMOROW  as you do today.  Not more, because that’s hardly possible.

And have a “free day” sometimes where you just lower your expectations and give yourselves a goddamn break.






Fishing Was A Lot More Fun B.C.

Have you ever tried to go fishing with two pre-schoolers?  It is seriously annoying.  Adorable at first, then totally, completely, fucking annoying.

B.C.-(Before Children, not Christ)  I was an avid  fisher woman.  I had a little sportsman canoe that I pretty much spent my entire summer in every year since I was about 8. Alone or with my lake bestie for years and years.  I learned to love the peace and tranquility.  I loved sitting there and waiting for a bird or a beaver to go by.

Sometimes we liked to crank Snow  (the rapper, not the weather condition) from our ghetto blaster and think we were the coolest fucking thing since the beginning of ever.

Once I got older and Husband was in the picture, I taught him to fish too.  He didn’t like my canoe very much, so we started using a proper fishing boat instead. He said he knew I was the woman for him when he saw me in a baseball cap, fishing rod in one hand, beer in the other, cigarette hanging out of my mouth and driving a boat.  ( There’s a statute of limitations about drinking while driving a boat right?)

Anyway, it was our thing.  We fished ALL the time.  We endured stupid dogs who jumped out of the boat to chase lures, shitty weather and hours of getting skunked.  But we didn’t care.  It was magic.

So, after 5 years of making babies and various other obstacles to getting the boat on the water, it was time to get out there.

Enter:  The Children.

The Twee Destroyer was so excited to go fishing.  We had bought her her own fishing rod last year and it never got used.  I *may* have almost lost the motor off the back of the boat on its maiden voyage and kinda fucked it up.  There also was a super long wait list at the boat fixing place so it never got back out there.

So she got up at 5 am to tell us repeatedly how excited she was to go fishing.

Keep in mind the boat has been sitting up the back of the cabin for 6 years now and let’s just say it took Husband a few hours to clean it up enough and get it ready for launch.

So, have you ever fished with an almost 5 year old and a 3 year old?

Don’t bother.

Or bring ear plugs.

Buddy lasted about 45 seconds.  And then sang us his favourite song for the next hour.  It’s called “I Wanna Go Home”.  Sometimes, just to mix it up he threw in “I’m Thirsty”  and an “I Want Something”.

Little D lasted a bit longer.  She might have actually held the fishing rod for a total of 10 minutes or so.  Unfortunately for her, her line didn’t spend much time in the water.  She kept reeling it in and bitching that there was no fish on the end.

You know that fish live in the water, not in the air, right honey?

And then it happened.

I caught a nice big jack.

And OH BOY was she pissed.

“How only Mommy catches the fish?”

‘You sound like your father, B.C.’


‘Then you’re gonna have to put your line in the water.’

And God help us all when  we released the fish back into the water.  She wanted to keep the head.  Like a trophy I suppose.  Is that weird?  Not really, right?  RIGHT?

After a 5 am wake up and a full day in the sun and on the water, there was no recovery from this bullshit.  The rest of the trip was nothing but a whine-a-thon.

So my advice is this:

Bring a lot of snacks.  And don’t plan on actually catching any fish if you bring your tiny  humans.

Also, wine.

Yup.  Fishing was a lot more relaxing BC.

I Go To Work Because Nobody Calls Me Momma There


Hats off to all of you stay at home moms.  HATS OFF.

I am 3 days into my summer “holidays” and yesterday I almost put both kids up for sale.

It is emotionally, physically and all out exhausting to entertain, mediate and keep two preschoolers alive for an entire day.   And then push repeat and do it all over again.

The morning is usually the best part.  I make a couple of chocolate milks, and shove an Ipad at each of them while we have breakfast.  I have a bath after I blog and I’ll tell you a little secret:

I started blow-drying my hair about six months ago. 

Not for my vanity, but for my SANITY.

I started using the hair dryer in the morning because it means that for 15 minutes I can’t hear them.  I can’t hear them whine.  I can’t hear them fight.  I can’t hear them at all.

If I had one dollar for every time I heard “Momma!!!!”  I would own my own private island and the kids would be the nanny’s problem. It’s so exasperating.

And anything I do in the house that doesn’t involve the hair dryer  becomes a homing beacon for the kids to come over and climb on me or shout in my ear or fight and be utter assholes in any way possible as long as they make it impossible for me to complete my task.

So I also go to work because nobody calls me “Momma” there.  And if the day comes where someone does, the vagina punching will start because I go there on purpose to not hear the “Momma” on repeat every 7 seconds.

I actually pick up extra shifts at my part time gig because it makes me a better parent when I go home.  Not full time, but just enough to get me out of the house regularly with other grownups and earn extra spending money so that I can pay for fun things for them to do in the summer.

Also so that there is plenty of wine in the fridge.  Priorities people. Know them.  Acknowledge them.

So, yeah.  When I get sick of hearing the word “Momma” and need a time out, I blow dry my hair and go mix margaritas for thirsty people.

What is your escape plan, Bitches?


Surviving The First 5 Years And Making A Bucket List



So not that I plan on dying anytime soon, but I’ve been thinking a lot lately about how the days seem to drag on, but the months fly by.  And then I think that my Twee Destroyer isn’t so Twee anymore.  Almost five years have passed since I grew that beautiful little devil and brought her wrath upon the Earth. Her wrath of charm and beauty and door slamming tantrums and the ability to maintain adorableness through ever second of it.

And I also thought how us grownups are slowly but surely starting to gain a little more freedom as the kids get older, at least in the sense that I can hire babysitters more often and feel ok about it.  They looooove babysitters.

And so do I.

Sometimes I feel bad about going out without them after we already spend so much time working, but you know what?

I’m starting to get over that.  What I’ve realized is that the first 5 years of a child’s life are the most trying thing you will ever go through.  It is physically, emotionally and mentally exhausting.  Everything about me is tired. I have one hair on my head that is so fucking tired that it can’t even stay brown.  One hair that just says “fuck it” every couple of days and turns silver.

It is also infinitely rewarding to see little bits of your influence and guidance sneak out of your babies when you least expect it.  The word “fuck” notwithstanding.  Somehow, by the grace of all things holy, my kids don’t swear.  Yet.  But when they do go to school, at least they’ll be able to use those words in proper context.

Anyway, I kinda feel like the first 5 years are like baby bootcamp.  Or like Basic Training in the army.  You spend 5 years deep in the trenches of shit with the purpose of wearing you down and making you capable of handling anything that comes your way in the later years.  You keep thinking “If I was able to do that on 4 hours of sleep per week, I can handle anything.”  And maybe I will and maybe I won’t, but at least I’ll be sleeping better.  There’s that.

So maybe I’m just foolish, but I’ve been making a bit of a bucket list of things I want to accomplish for myself, once my offspring are safely in the care of a teacher, 5 days a week, 6 hours a day.  6 hours!  Every single day!  That’s almost how long it took me just to get Destroyer dressed yesterday!  What will I do with 6 hours every single day?

I have a few years to plan still, but here is my list:

  1. Run a 10k. For reals, just to say I fucking did it.  I feel like this is a goal I can accomplish in the next year.  I’ve always wanted to do this.  Also, good preparation for zombie apocalypse.  Cardio.
  2. Get back in the saddle.  Literally.  I used to ride horses 2 times a week in my late teens/early twenties.  I miss it so much.
  3. Finally learn to play piano for real.  With actual practice.  Without interruptions.
  4. Watch Dr.Phil everyday.  Because trash tv is my vice of choice.  After tequila.  And wine.  Ok, it’s #3, but still important.
  5. Go on a hunting or fishing  trip.  Kill the things, eat the meat.  Beat my chest and drink beer with the boys.
  6. Go to New York City.  Without my children.  Grandma??
  7. Take a course.  Something totally different from what I do now.   Maybe switch careers, maybe just learn to do something new.  My brain needs stimulation!
  8. Drive the West Coast from Vancouver to San Francisco.  Because, wine country!
  9. Have a date night with my hubby every single week.  Every week, because think of it like back pay for the first five years.  Right?
  10. Nothing.  Do absolutely nothing but sit in bed and watch movies.  Eat junk food.  Order a pizza.  Sweat pants.  The best ever.

So, Bitches?  Do you ever fantasize about what you’ll you once your kids go to school?  Is this all just wishful thinking?

How did life change for you after the first 5 years?

Tell me your things, send me your lists!

I’m Going To Pass On Skinny And Focus On Happy


I have never been skinny. Even back when I starved, and exercised and teetered very closely to the world of eating disorders, I still had a big round ass and extra flesh on my body.

And now I just feel like “whatever”.

Let’s just put aside all the childhood trauma surrounding body image and all the horrible things that grownups said to me.  Let’s forget my friend’s dad laughing at me in front of a room of adults and asking me why I was so fat.  Let’s forget my friend’s mom telling me how all the boys would pass me by at summer camp. Let’s pretend that I wasn’t forced on diets by my doctor at 8 years old.

Take all that shit away and let’s be real for a second here.

I don’t have time for any other hobbies in my life right now.

And the truth is, I like to eat things.  I am so sick of deprivation.  What the fuck is the point of being alive if you can’t enjoy simple pleasures in life?  Why bother with any of the other annoying shit in my life if I can’t sit down at the end of the day and enjoy a glass of wine and a big piece of coconut brie cheese. And if you haven’t ever tried a coconut brie cheese, your life has no meaning and you need to fix it immediately.

I went out for dinner with a friend last night, and it was fabulous.  We had a glass of wine, tried new things and left content from the good company, conversation and satisfied palates.  And it all happened in the early evening, while I left Husband to put the kids to bed and felt like I could sneak away from everyone else guilt free because nobody needed anything.

During the day, EVERYBODY always needs SOMETHING. The babies need something and call for me even when they don’t actually need anything.  The phone is always ringing with somebody who wants to sell me something, or needs me somewhere.  I am always taking care of something or someone.

And at the end of the day, I don’t have the time or energy to take up a hobby like Crossfit or yoga or pinning shit on Pinterest or whatever. 

I just want to eat something delicious with a person that I like who doesn’t need me to do anything for them.

That is my greatest goal.  That is the only hobby I am interested in at the moment.

So no.  I think I’ll pass on skinny and focus on happy.  And all the ads out there that keep shoving this link between skinny and happy down our throats are wrong.  Always thinking less of yourself than you deserve is what makes you unhappy.  Not your pant size.

So I will never be skinny because not only am I not built like that, but I am not into that. I have so little free time to just sit and enjoy things that I am not going to waste it driving myself crazy.  Not anymore.

I will drink wine and I will eat food and my bouncy jugs will heave with happiness and the junk in my trunk will sway to and fro.  And you will enjoy the view and that, is that.


Getting Drunk On A Monday Night With Jesus And Some Lime Green Underpants



Do you remember that time, Bitches, when you didn’t have adult responsibilities or children or any other early morning commitments?  When you got randomly drunk on  Monday night and it wouldn’t matter?

I have this friend, (who we won’t call Cookie because it’s most certainly NOT her name), who decided to have a mini Bachelor Finale party on a Monday night.  She figured a couple girl friends would come over and they’d pig out and watch Ben Higgins cry for the one millionth time and call it a night.

And then her pal shows up in a sweatsuit onesie with a bottle of wine in her hand and some crazy looking Jesus lookalike motherfucker who was supposedly her husband.  And the next friend showed up with a bottle of sweet bubbly wine with her titties hanging out of her tank top and next things you know, everyone is drunk in the kitchen before they even start the show.

And as far as parties go, it was pretty mild.  The Jesus lookalike had the kids dancing and sing some crazy Star Wars song and somehow inspired the Destroyer to want to practice her violin at 8:30 at night.  He might not have been Jesus for real, but he performed a small miracle. Husband had the hockey game on and dutifully tolerated the chaos I had created in his house.  Only one pair of underpants were flashed and they weren’t even mine.

Anyway, everything was fine until Ben Higgins chose the wrong fucking girl.  HOW?  Worst move ever.

The other thing that happened was that it became Tuesday somehow. And that’s the real shitter.  Seriously.  Before I had to adult during the day, or parent, or be any sort of useful member of society, who cares if I got randomly drunk on a Monday night?

Well this bitch cares today.  My body is broken.  My brain is fuzzy and I feel mildly dizzy.  I have this uncontrollable urge to eat greasy food combined with the sudden urge to vomit.  It’s kinda like morning sickness but instead of blaming a baby, I have no one to blame but myself.  And the friend in the sweatpants onesie and lime green underpants.

And I think back to when I was in my twenties, when I would kill a bottle of wine before even going out at night and wonder how the hell did I survive?

I tell you one thing, I am going to buy my liver a present.  For hanging in there all these years.

And next week, I’m not getting drunk on a Monday night.


“Top Ten” Lists That Would ACTUALLY Change My Life



In my news reading this morning, I came upon this delightful piece of crap.

It’s entitled “Things you’ve been doing wrong all your life”.

I didn’t even read through all of it because you know what?  If I think about all the things I fucked up in the last two days, I would already feel like such a loser and I didn’t need any more help.

I didn’t feel the need to read one more article about all these tricks that I can do around the house which will make my life easier.  Because you know what?  THEY WON’T.

So no, msn.com, I don’t want to know what else I’ve been doing wrong my whole life.  And no, I don’t want to know how to get icing in my mouth in every single bit of my cupcake.  It’s not life changing and I don’t give a fuck.

You know what WILL change my life and make things easier?

  1. Lifetime supply of wine.  Cupcakes got nothing over wine.
  2. A robot or a midget that follows the children around the house and puts back all the shit they touch and leave lying in the middle of the floor.
  3. Winning the lottery. DUH
  4. Sleep.
  5. Nobody puking on the stairs for a whole day.  ( this has now happened three days in a row)
  6. Somebody doing as they’re told the first time I ask them to do it.  HAHAHAHHAHAHA!
  7. A whine free zone.  (NOT a wine free zone.  omg.  I can’t even)
  8. Zombie Apocalypse.  For reals.
  9. If Global Warming could go ahead and hurry the fuck up, it would make parenting in this god forsaken frozen wasteland a lot easier.
  10. Death.

I mean, does anybody ever really do these things that all these “Top Ten” lists recommend?  Who has time for this shit?

Honestly, I just want to get through a whole day where all the things that need to be taken care of get done.  Where I don’t spend half the time yelling at everyone to get their shit together or stop killing each other or at the very least stop screaming at the top of their goddamn lungs.

Is there a  list for that?

How about a list for “Top Ten Ways To Be Drunk All The Time Without Becoming An Alcoholic”?

Or “Ten Ways To Not Die Of Exhaustion By The Time Your Child Starts Kindergarten”?

Or “How To Live In A Bigger House Without Having To Clean It.”

Or “Ten Reasons your Toddler Can Survive On Chocolate Milk Alone”

Or “Ten Best Swears To Use When Yelling At Your Kids”

Or “Ten Ways To Pretend Like Your Pre-pregnancy Clothes Still Look Good On You”

And my personal favourite:

Or “10 Best Ways To Not Suck At Life”

Any of you Bitches want to guest blog for me on any of the above lists?  You’re in.



Anyone Want To See A “Snap” Of The Giant Poop In The Bathtub?



So I have this friend.  She is the girlfriend of Husband’s Bestie, so I guess you could call her my bestie-in-law.

Her and Husband’s Bestie spend a lot of time eating out.  Taking pictures of delicious food and drinks that they actually have money for and time to do.  This past weekend, she took a couple extra days off work and stayed in bed watching all the Oscar nominated movies without anybody interrupting her. 

And I guess you could say that her, in combination with the entity that is fucking Snapchat is making me feel like a real loser these days.

Every single morning I wake up to a bunch of “Snaps” from another friend in his early twenties.  They are basically a bunch of short videos of him drinking beer, slow dancing with cats and taking shots of gin. It usually includes singing of some sort of Justin Bieber song.  And not even the one I like.  I just sit there, thinking about the party I had watching HGTV and eating freezies on the couch the night before.  If I could figure out how to Snap him back, what would I take a video of?  Me drinking a glass of wine and contemplating if I can stay awake long enough to watch a full hour long drama before bed?

Maybe I should ditch the blog and figure out how to use Snapchat in order to give ya’ll real insight into what fucking goes on around here some days.

Then I wouldn’t have to describe how on Friday night I finally get the kids in the tub and they are momentarily not screaming or trying to kill one another. So I walk into another room to tidy up or something equally as glamorous when I hear Destroyer yelling from the tub “MOMMY!  Buddy pooped in the tub!”


I wouldn’t have to describe how both children were standing on their tiptoes on one corner of the bathtub.  I wouldn’t have to describe a 6 inch long turd floating in the water.  And I certainly wouldn’t have to explain to you how I momentarily had to do a double take because in my delirium I thought for a second there was a worm in it.

And MY Bestie could have just “Snapped” me a video of Buddy pulling his penis out during dinner on Saturday and pissing on the dog while I was at work.

Maybe I’m a liar.  Maybe my Snaps would be very similar to my twenty something friend.  Maybe they would be of me doing a couple of shots of tequila before throwing on gloves and cleaning up poopapalooza.  Maybe they would just be of me drunk-snuggling my dog on the couch rather than dry humping him to “Sorry” by JB.

But probably not.

I guess sometimes I just hear about single people’s and people without children’s lives and feel like my standard of fun is so completely different now and it makes me feel a little nostalgic.  It makes me feel like I need a weekend off from my life.

Is that a horrible thing to say?

Maybe I should just hate my bestie-in-law for the life she has and continue to be jealous of her movie fest and poutines and steak dinners.  It’s probably a lot easier to misplace my frustration and project my feelings of loserness onto somebody else.  It would be a lot less complicated than trying to organize a babysitter and make a dinner reservation.

Or maybe I could just invite them for dinner and bring the party home.

Compromise is everything, right?


Buying Groceries Is Making My Ass Hurt



Do you ever get the feeling that large corporations are taking over the world?  I feel like everywhere I turn, another Walmart is going up.  Where the hell are the little family owned shops in our neighborhoods where they call you by name and mean it when they say “Thank You” on your way out?

I guess right now, with Canadian dollar sitting just below the crap line and on it’s way to the shitter, and oil prices fucking over all of Alberta and therefore the rest of Canada I can’t help but be a little irritated.

When gas prices were through the roof here at 1.30$ a liter, we were told that groceries were expensive because the cost of transporting them was so high and blah blah blah.

Now, gas prices are half of what they used to be and groceries are EVEN higher than they were then.  Now we’re told it’s because the dollar is so low, so the price to import produce especially is so high and blah blah BLAH.

I guess since they can’t bend us over and rape our asses at both the gas pump and the grocery store right now, they’ll just fuck us twice as hard at Superstore.

And don’t forget the drought in California that’s been going on for a million years.  Apparently all the produce in Canada comes from California, which is unfortunate because California has also been on fire for a few years. Did anybody else notice that they are beside the ocean?  We can send people to the moon and are thinking of colonizing Mars, and Sylvester Stallone is nominated for an Oscar, but we can’t figure out a way to take the salt out of the water and use it?

You know what I think?

I think we live in a country covered in snow for more than half the year and we depend on bringing in fresh produce from places with more forgiving climates.  So the big companies (that currently own all the things of ever) know they can fuck us by charging whatever they want.  Or we could starve. Because some people hold money over ethics.

You know what we need to do?

We need to build some giant fucking greenhouses here. Huge ones.  And grow our own goddamn food.  We have a lot of space here.  We can do it, I know we can.

And while we’re at it, we’ll wait for California to run completely out of water and sell them some of ours at astronomically high prices. Water will be our new oil.  Because the price of giving you our water is so expensive and we need to earn a living.  And also because fuck you for fucking us all these years.

You know what hasn’t gone up a lot in price?

Wine. Thank God.

Because nobody wants to be poor AND sober.


Wine Is Way Better Than Jogging

Every time I consider giving up drinking wine I casually reminisce about the week I’ve had and all the retarded things my kids have done.  Then I reconsider and go to the Liquor Store.

There’s rarely a problem that wine can’t fix.

And YOU.  Stop fucking judging me, because 10 million other mommies out there feel the same way.  Don’t get me wrong.  I’m not an alcoholic or anything. At least I don’t think so.  I have usually 2 glasses with or after supper.  It doesn’t affect my ability to parent or do my job. I rarely ( if ever) drink to excess. I’m not hungover in the morning.

But the thought of giving it up sucks.

It’s kind of like asking someone to give up jogging.  They jog every day.  They’re not sore after.  It takes their stress away.  It makes them feel happy. Jogging doesn’t interfere with their life, but they look forward to it every day.  If they accidentally jogged too much one day, they would pay for it the next day.  Everything has it’s price.

But you know what?  Wine is way better than jogging.  And some days, a shot of tequila is really nice too.  Like on Sundays, when Bestie is here and both kids are finally in bed.

So you can jog or do yoga or whatever, and I’m gonna do shots of tequila on Sunday night because last week the Destroyer climbed a tree and caught a fucking bird.

You read that right.  She’s playing in my parent’s backyard when I hear this horrible screeching sound.  I look over and my almost 4 year old has climbed a tree and is slowly crushing a crow to death with her bare hands.

“LOOK!  I think he likes me!”

Jesus Christ.  Some wine would’ve been nice right then.

I drink wine because my Buddy is going through this cute phase where he tries relentlessly to murder himself.  While playing in traffic is his number one priority, he’ s also into drowning and throwing himself off tall objects.  Almost two year old boys are complete fucking maniacs.  Maybe he should do the jogging, and burn off some of the crazy.

And in all fairness, it’s not just my children’s fault.

Having a job is nice because I can afford to buy all the wine I need.  But the irony is that people are dicks too.  Not as much as toddlers, who are outright assholes most of the time, but they are full of drama and stupid behavior.   Sometimes having to deal with people who are over 5 feet tall is a real pain in the ass.

And you know what?  I am WAY wittier after a glass of wine, which makes making fun of people that irritate me that much easier.  Can jogging so that?  I don’t fucking think so.

So yeah.  I’d rather do my heart a favor in the liquid form.  And yeah  I guess I could have both, but I’m not a greedy person.  I take only what I need.

Bottoms up, Bitches.

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"We make bitter better."

David McVety

A Spiritual Shepherd's Thoughts on Faith and Family

Beating Myself Into a Dress

First a wedding dress, then a maternity dress, now I'm just trying to fit into ANY dress.

The Fat Chick Memoirs

Dealing with my Weight-Loss One Funny Story at a Time

The Science of Mom

The Heart and Science of Parenting

The Fat Bottom Bard

Waxing Poetic and Penning Tall Tales

Jeneral Musings

A personal potpourri of thoughts

Supporting Birth Diversity

Celebrating the Tapestry of Motherhood


frightfully wondrous things happen here.

An Early Start

Meet Jax a funny, kind, and smart preschooler who was a micro-preemie born at 23 weeks. Now that Jax is older, the scariness of the NICU has faded, but we're still learning how to manage the lasting effects of prematurity including chronic medical issues, ADHD, and Autism Spectrum Disorder. This is our story of love, hope, and survival.

Writings From Dr. Oolie's Pond

Poetry, Prose, and Random Thoughts

You're Wrong and That's Okay

Helping those who should really learn to help themselves...

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