The Toddler & The Toilet.


10849725_1565162037052276_6916118220399881664_nIt is her favorite thing. I’m pretty on top of the situation I’ve got going on over here, meaning I generally know where my kids are and I have the scissors stored in a safe location, but she still manages to sneak in there and splash with all her might. Mouth open, lovey in hand.

I am so tired of washing loveys.

I am so tired of wiping up toilet water.

Someone please tell me that this will build her immunity, and it will all pay off in the end somehow. Like in the case of a major Ebola outbreak in the U.S. — at least the one who drinks toilet water would survive it, right?


No Go.

I was gone for the weekend and it was absolutely glorious.

When my dear friend — who is due to deliver her first child next month — spotted me at the airport, she ducked underneath the railing that you’re supposed to stand behind when you’re waiting for arrivals, and we embraced in front of a rather enormous audience. There was a vague awareness of people saying AWWWWW, but we were in our own little world, off to vegan restaurants and IKEA.

I guess I have a lot of friends, but that is because I’m an extrovert and I have this weird need to connect that doesn’t make sense to the introverts in my life. Particularly since becoming a mother, I NEED TO CONNECT.

People mistakenly assume extroverts are never lonely and always feel understood, but that isn’t true for me. At all. I think it’s because I am always looking for my kindred spirits because they “get” me and I can understand them on a deeper level. I have a small number of people in my life who truly know me, know who I am, all the way down to my soul, and love me because of it or in spite of it or maybe both. Kate is one of those people, and I was so, so happy to see her.


I loved every quiet moment of my weekend away. I sat down a lot, laughed a lot, and cried a lot of happy tears. I was happy to get home last night, but I really wasn’t ready to leave my friend.

Here we are before her baby shower. Isn’t she awfully cute for a 34-weeks-pregnant person?


I felt self-conscious because I was supposed to be wearing a pair of black skinny jeans. I bought a brown pair which were identical in design and size, and they fit fine, so I never bothered to try the black pair on.

Always try the black pair on.

I couldn’t get them on my body. I ended up going with the brown leggings which are basically tights, and my “dress” or “shirt” or whatever the hell it was is pretty short. I was not comfortable with any of it, but I told myself that Kate was much more uncomfortable than I was because she is kangaroo-pouching an unborn child the size of a small pot roast … so, I kept my complaints to myself.

I returned home to this. Among other things.


When I went into Pepper’s room to get her out of her crib this morning, she was so happy to see me and I swear she said “I wuv wu.”

AND THEN, as I told her I loved her too, and I am so happy to be home but I had SO MUCH FUN while I was gone, she said “Mommy.”

I stopped talking and listened.

And that is when I heard my daughter say her first real, intelligible sentence: “Mommy no go bye-bye.”

I guess when you have three kids, you no longer feel guilty for taking time for yourself because it is a NEED THAT MUST BE HAD. If I didn’t leave sometimes, my family would get the very worst version of me, and no one wants that. No one.

When Pepper said what she said, I hugged her warm, roly-poly body close against mine and said, I’m not going anywhere.

Not today, anyway.


Pepper Remains Unimpressed.


“She’s so wrapped up in this book thing that’s going on or whatever the hell, that she didn’t even notice that she forced me to break two cardinal fashion rules. I’m wearing HIGH WATER PANTS and they are WHITE. It’s October 15, bitch.

Just get me the hell home and help me find my lovey.”

The Hacking.

The baby was growing a mullet and something had to be done.

I pondered for several days and polled a few friends who have daughters before finally deciding I could cut it myself. I have one pair of all-purpose scissors that I assumed could handle the job, and I brought them into the bathroom with us when it was time for her bath.

I don’t know how to explain what happened next without sounding completely incompetent.

I gathered up my courage, combed her hair, took aim, and began to cut. But my scissors are so dull, they couldn’t cut through her hair. I stopped and considered the situation. Would it be better to leave the jagged mess I’d created until I could acquire better scissors? I couldn’t leave her in the tub to go search for better ones. Should I forge ahead?

I always, always forge ahead.

I hacked and I hacked and the whole time it was happening I kept thinking this was a mistake, and I was a complete jackass for trying to trim my daughter’s hair for the first time with a pair of kitchen scissors. I flashed back to when Robbie gave Maverick his first at-home “hair cut” right before he turned one. Want to see what he looked like on his birthday? Of course you do.


Maverick looks depressed. I wonder why?

He was bald. I was SO UPSET. Robbie kept saying, it’s not that bad. Well, yes, it was that bad. He looked like he had cancer.

So jackass or not, Pepper and I were in this together, and eventually I chewed through the last of her mullet. The result is fine — she has a cute bob. The sides are still uneven, but I will let a professional address that issue.

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Friends don’t let friends hack hair … so if you decide to take matters into your own hands, make sure you get some good scissors first. That was the one detail no one thought to mention. And if you think I should have thought of it myself, try thinking of anything when you have a swarm of children at your feet 24/7, and then get back to me.