House Guest.

Yesterday I had the pleasure of being the “House Guest” over at Housewife Plus, a blog written by a kindred spirit named Sarah. She lives in Maine, her husband builds boats, and she. is. hilarious.

Every Monday, Sarah hosts a House Guest and I was thrilled to hang out over there. She even used the word “y’all” to make me feel at home. Check it out here!

Like what you see? Don’t forget to follow her on Facebook and Twitter! She’s going to be famous one day and you’ll get to say you discovered her when. Just saying.

This Is What It Means To Be A Mother.

Today I am over on Toni Hammer’s site Is It Bedtime Yet? talking about the time I got stuck in a sports bra. Don’t you want to read it? OF COURSE YOU DO! This one has nothing to do with sex and there is no bad language, so have at it. (You can read it by clicking here!)

I met Toni because she is one of the talented authors in Scary Mommy’s Guide to Surviving The Holidays, and her straightforward humor made me like her right away. Her blog is awesome and honest — go check it out, and tell her I sent you!


Covered up with little people.

When Christians Curse.

What happens when a person (me) who calls herself a Christian (I am) uses inappropriate language in print?

1. Upon seeing herself in an actual book, she screams “HOLY SHIT!”

2. She burrows under the covers, fearing judgement from those who will read it. Her husband coaxes her out with coffee and scrambled eggs.


3. Her husband also finds her bio with the rest of the authors, and points out the irony of the F-word being in the same sentence with “loves God.”


4. They laugh. And cringe. But mostly laugh.

The language. The admission of drinking. The brutal honesty. Is this “Christian?” Some would say no, and I accept that. I was raised a third-generation Seventh-day Adventist, surrounded by wonderful, warm, God-loving people who did not drop F-bombs. I’ve never heard my mother use inappropriate language, and I myself don’t use it out loud that often. I’m thankful for my conservative upbringing, because I do believe in God and I do hold my children to a high moral standard.

I also drink wine at night after I have prayed with them and tucked them into bed.

I try my best not to scream expletives around them, ever.

I sometimes fail at this.

But you know, some people get my writing and some people don’t. That is totally okay. I do not expect everyone everywhere to agree with me or love what I do. I understand if there are people who think I’ve gone off the deep end or turned my back on my upbringing, although both of those assumptions are incorrect.

You know what is a virtually impossible achievement? TO MAKE EVERYONE HAPPY.

I realize that there are lots people out there who don’t want to read my work, and I get that, because I am also very picky about what I read. We are all different and we like different things. That’s a good thing! I embrace diversity. I also know that thinking too much about the opinions of others is the quickest way to kill creativity. My one big rule is this: if my husband is not okay with it, then it doesn’t get published.

I guess my point is, I refuse to allow the fear of judgement to hold me back. This is the one thing I have in common with Taylor Swift. That, and the fact that we’re both very, very white.

This — my writing — is me, in honest form. If I tried hard to glaze over the grittiness of life, then I would not be speaking my truth. Some people are good at writing nicely. I’m good at writing honestly. And honestly, life is hard.

I only recently started referring to myself as a writer. When I say it out loud, it makes me weirdly and inappropriately emotional. My eyes well up and I choke a little, and then I feel stupid. Maybe eventually I’ll get used to saying it, but for now I just feel blessed to be able to back up that title with some pretty awesome accomplishments.

Buckle your seatbelts, bitches.




I’m going puke or cry or jump up and down. I really don’t know which one, or in which order it will happen, but I’m kind of beside myself right now … and my anxiety is manifesting in aggressive behavior towards my husband.

Please buy the book (you can get it here!) and give it a glowing review on Amazon!


The amazing and talented Toni Hammer (if you don’t know who she is, you should immediately familiarize yourself) wrote a piece wherein I blabbered on and on and she actually posted it on her website.

You simply must read it. Now! Click here!

Pinch me.

The One Where I Let My Family Off The Hook.

I feel like I have some explaining to do.

Recently, a new friend said to me “When I started reading your blog I thought you were going to be a certain way, but then I MET you and you are just so … poised. It surprised me.” You know what surprises me? Being called “poised.”

I have also had people expect me to be more “Tina Fey or Amy Poeler-like.” First of all, whoa. I wish I were Tina Fey or Amy Poeler-like. I am SUCH A HUGE FAN OF TINA FEY. She’s a hilarious writer (Bossypants is one of my favorite books) and entertaining to watch on television. I’m sure she is just as fun in person over coffee, not that I’m obsessing over that idea or anything. But I’m not like those ladies, I’m sorry to say. I’m not even all that funny in person. I just nod and smile a lot, and if you take that and add in the blonde hair, well … I’ve had many, many people mistake me for an idiot.

I write because my life is stressful and I struggle with it and mostly because I want other women to know it’s okay to admit that things are hard. I want to give and get solidarity.

Here is where I let my family off the hook.

I come from a very long, very southern line of conservative Christians, and none of them use the word “fuck.” Now that I’ve gone and gotten an essay published, and the title of it includes that word, I feel like I need to make sure everyone knows that I wasn’t raised to talk that way. Please don’t judge my parents or my grandparents and think someone didn’t do their job. I think they fear judgement, from you, from the church, from God … but I assure you, I have good moral character. I am grounded in how I was raised.

I write what I’m inspired to write. Some days it’s really heartfelt. Some days it’s really angry. I don’t feel like I need to make excuses for what I do, because I’m proud of it even though it makes my mother and grandmother and who knows who else cringe and wish I would just STOP TALKING ABOUT DRINKING AND STOP USING THAT LANGUAGE. Well … I could. But then I’d be lying, because while I was raised in a family who did not drink, I happen to really enjoy it.

If I were afraid of judgement, I’d use a pen name. This blog would be very motherhood is amazing and perfect, rather than my children are freaking psychotic.

Asher is three years old now. Do you know what that means? That means he loses it over everything. Do you remember what that’s like? No? You lucky bitch, you’ve blocked it out already. Well, it usually goes something like this, over and over and over throughout the day:

Me: Asher, it’s time to go! Do you want to wear your Crocs or your Pumas?


Me: Okay! Let’s get your Pumas.


Me: Okay! I’ll just help you if you ask me to.

Asher: (screaming unintelligibly)

Me: Do you want some help?


Me: (I get the Crocs)


Meanwhile, the “baby,” who is not a baby anymore but I still call her that, has dragged all of her clothes out of every drawer in her room and every pot and pan out onto the kitchen floor. And I can’t blame her, because the shoe drama was mind-numbing and she had to busy herself some kind of way. Good for her. All I want to do is scream “FUCK!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!” at the top of my lungs.

But I don’t.

I breathe. Sometimes I lose it, but mostly I breathe. I pick up the pots and I stay calm. I check myself so I don’t hurt anyone. And then later, when no one is bothering me, I write about it and I feel cleansed. That’s why I always say that writing is my therapy. The fact that anyone would want to read it never ceases to amaze me. Maybe I need an actual therapist, yes? I may look into that.

My upbringing has nothing to do with my writing. If I wanted to write about what it’s like to be raised so conservatively and discover the joy of a latte at age 21, I could. And I may. But not today.


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.”


It’s a little disorienting when you think to yourself, hey, I think I’ll try to do this thing and see what happens, you know, just for fun. And then THAT THING TOTALLY HAPPENS.

You guys. I’m in this book. You can pre-order it and read all about it by clicking HERE! Go on, I’ll wait.


I am incredibly humbled, excited, totally freaking out and terrified … but mostly EXCITED, to be a part of this project. The other writers that I’m being lumped together with are incredibly talented. I know this because I have creeper-stalked every last one of them, and every time I become Facebook “friends” with another one I scream like my feet are on fire.

Today while I am frantically trying to keep up with the social media explosion that is happening, feeling pretty effing PROUD TO BE A PART OF IT, my children will be busy keeping me in check with reality. Just now, Asher showed me a booger on the end of his finger and asked what he should do with it. I told him I’m going to be published. He wiped the booger on my pants.

Reality is not glamorous. But being published is totally glamorous, so I think I’ll just sit here for a few more minutes and enjoy this moment while the baby pounds on my door.

(Be sure to visit Scary Mommy to see exactly why I am so excited! You can find my name in the list of authors … ! Tell your friends! #scarymommythanksgiving)