Communist Waffles!

You don’t know me, but I’m the husband sometimes mentioned on Mommy Needs A Swear Jar.  Like my bride, I am an accomplished user of profanity.  According to the Internet research I just conducted, Mark Twain once said that profanity can furnish a relief denied even to prayer.  In other words, when you’re stressed out and just sick of everybody’s shit ($0.25), nothing relieves the pressure like a skillfully crafted stream of profanity.  It’s a fitting theme for her blog.

Earlier this year we became concerned that our youngest child had symptoms consistent with autism and, after months of therapy, an autism diagnosis was made this fall.   Continue reading

The Female Crazy …

I was fifteen years old the first time I called my mother a bitch ($0.25).  My own daughter returned the favor when she was just four.

It happened on a hectic morning after I had told Anna to put her gymnastics leotard on as I was getting into the shower.  It was inside-out, so she took it downstairs to my husband, who didn’t understand why she had brought it downstairs and told her to put it away.  Caught between two mis-communicating parents and too young to articulate to either of us that she was at an impasse, she began to melt down.  Eventually my husband put her in Time Out for not listening and that set in motion a series of events that forever changed the way I view my daughters, myself and women in general.

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Friday Feats and Fails

I started the week with an overwhelming feeling of insecurity.  At first I thought it was because my blog numbers – which had been much higher the week before – were in the toilet because I hadn’t kept up the momentum from My Fat Ass ($0.25).  Then I realized, I didn’t let the momentum wither and die.  Rather, life dictated a shift in priorities.  I was stuck between wanting to write and meeting the increasing demands of my family. Continue reading

Screw the Zoo …

It was Sunday morning and I had spent nearly all day Saturday doing shit and mostly ignoring my kids so the guilt hit me square in the nose the second I woke up.  I thought a grand gesture was in order and – you know –  I’m not really sure why because no where in my “How To Raise Kids” rule book does it say anything about my obligation to entertain them with fun and interesting things twenty-four-seven.  I blame Facebook, Pinterest and my kids’ precious little faces for the ever-present mom-guilt that plagues me.   Continue reading