Stuff Moms Say

I Miss The Village

Every day I go about my life: drive my children to and fro, make breakfast, lunch and dinner, and change my baby’s diapers in my four-walled house while the world buzzes around me busy and fast. My little plays on the floor and I watch him pluck toy after toy out of the large box in the corner of the room and although my life is rich with many things, I think about you because I miss the village.



I miss the village I never had. The one with mothers doing the washing side by side, clucking and laughing hysterically, tired in body but quick in spirit. We’d know each other so well: annoying one another from time to time, but never staying mad long because the truth is, we need each other.



The children would wake up early, as they tend to, and run outside, finding each other amongst the tall trees. They’d disappear into the field and forest for a day of play as we’d start our sacred work. We’d knead bread side by side, the littles at our feet, breasts, on our backs and in our arms. It would be impossible to tell whose children belonged to whom — we’d all attend to the group of toddling wee ones, check on the deeply breathing babies, wave little hands off of our floured table, pinch cheeks and kiss boo-boos.



The days would be full of conversation as we expertly flexed a muscle that has since gone weak: the art of listening. Quiet empathy in lieu of passive judgement, and when called for, gentle, sincere advice. In our village, our members are our estate and we build them up.



We’d laugh — too much and never enough at the same time. Whether it be stifled giggles overflowing out of covered mouths like a pot of water bubbling over or donkey brays loud enough to wake the children, we’d be skilled at finding the joy in the mundane.



We’d cry — never alone, but shoulder to shoulder over unborn children gone too soon or men who changed their minds. We’d stitch back the frayed edges of each other’s lives the best we could, wiping the tears off of each other’s cheeks. If any of us became lost in the darkness, we’d journey into the depths of her heart and pull her body back to shore.



When mealtime came we’d set the food out on long tables and the children would eat happily and hungrily, as they tend to when in the company of other small people. They’d talk about their adventures and, to their exaggerated disappointment, we’d make them take the younger children this time to teach them what we already know: we exist for each other.



When one of was feeling sick or needed extra rest from a long night up with a child, we’d swoop in and tend to your children as we would our own for as long as necessary — no need to even ask. You would drift off to a healing sleep with full confidence. We’d want you to be well because we’d know that we’re only as strong as our weakest member — and not only that, we’d love you, not with the sappy love of greeting cards, but with an appreciative love that has full knowledge of how your colors add to our patchwork.



You’d know me and I’d know you. I’d know your children, and you’d know mine. Not just on a surface level — favorite foods, games and such — but real, true knowledge of the soul that flickers behind their eyes. I’d trust them in your arms just as much as I’d trust them in mine. They’d respect you and heed your “no.”
And as our children grew up and out and our skin went paper thin, we’d keep making bread, sharing it with tea, stories of beautiful grandchildren, and how things used to be.



I miss that village of mothers that I’ve never had. The one we traded for homes that, despite being a stone’s throw, feel miles apart from each other. The one we traded for locked front doors, blinking devices and afternoons alone on the floor playing one-on-one with our little ones.



What gives me hope is that as I look at you from across the park with your own child in tow playing in her own corner of the sandbox, I can tell from your curious glance and shy smile that you miss it, too.



Maybe we’ll have it again. But for today, I’ll invite you and your little one over for tea. And maybe bread.



The Four Types of Mom-Somnia


The kids are finally sleep, why aren’t you?If you’re reading this at 2AM, or 4AM, staring into the dark wondering why you haven’t floated away to dreamland yet, you have it. Counting sheep doesn’t work. Tightly closing your eyes will just give you a headache. Staring daggers at your husband who manages to fall into a deep sleep the second his head hits the pillow won’t help either but it’s still recommended.You have a case of Mom-somnia.The Four Causes of Mom-somnia1. Endless Worrying Nobody tells you how much of being a mom involves imaging all of the terrible things that could happen at anytime to the person you care most about in the world. We are literally thinking about this all the time. Why do you think we have our carseats inspected and cut grapes?Moms are always worried but it reaches new heights during nighttime when we finally have a quiet minute to ourselves. A typical mom-somniac’s worries:

  • If your kid’s cough is really just a cough or some terrible incurable disease (thanks Google)
  • The state of the entire world you brought your kid into. (thanks 24-hour news cycle)
  • If your spouse still loves you because he was snippy at dinner. Ok, maybe you were snippy first and he was snippy back but that’s not the point
  • Your own health and what if something happened to you and OMG THE CHILDREN!!!

2. The Never Ending To Do List 

Being a mom is kind of like being an air traffic controller. All of your tasks and the emotional state of everyone in your family are constantly on your radar and you develop small ulcers trying to keep them from colliding.


People with mom-somnia have a little yapping dog on their shoulder that randomly whispers To Dos into their ear just as they’re getting sleepy.


“You forgot to send in the summer camp forms,” the annoying but smart Yorkshire Terrier barks. “Camp is going to fill up and then you’ll lose your mind trying to keep them busy with crappy crafts for three months.”


“You need to soak the crock pot.”


“Your cell phone bill was due yesterday.”


“Ready to plan another birthday party?”


“Did you take your birth control?”


“Front door locked?”


“Stove off?”


The dog doesn’t know when to shut up. No sleep for you.



3. Being Afraid to Fall Asleep

No, you’re not 12 years old and didn’t just watch The Nightmare of Elm Street. You’re a mom of a teething toddler or 7-year old who can’t mange to get his own 2AM cup of water. Children can sense when their parents have finally achieved deep sleep and usually take that moment to violently snap them out of it.


The feeling of waking up suddenly to a child’s scream after you’ve just drifted off is pretty much hell on Earth.


So there you are in bed, eyes open because you know the second they close you’ll have an explosive diaper to change or small person’s back to rub while they beg for a string cheese.

4. Just Enjoying the SilenceThis form of mom-somnia is self-induced. After a day of meeting everyone else’s needs there are few things as delicious as a silent, dark house. It’s like a vacation. A spa, minus all of the steam and fresh towels.
You get to sip your tea (Long Island Iced Tea, of course), watch non-animated television shows, eat without hands grabbing at your food, lie down without having anyone jump on your chest, and breathe.
It feels downright luxurious. Even at midnight. I mean, who doesn’t love Facebook creeping on exes, taking BuzzFeed quizzes and doing it all with a giant bowl of chips in their lap?
Yeah you know you’ll pay for it tomorrow.
But that’s what coffee was invented for.


Thoughts Moms Have While Making Dinner

Why am I even cooking? They hate everything I make anyway.

I should buy organic meat. I wonder how many chemicals are in this crap. I read somewhere that meat with antibiotics makes kids go through puberty earlier. As if we need more meltdowns around here. I guess it doesn’t really matter since I’ll have to bribe and threaten them to eat more than three bites.

I should serve a vegetable of some kind…do apple slices count? Apples are almost vegetables. I mean, they’re produce. Maybe broccoli. Is broccoli cooked in the microwave even healthy or does the radiation cancel out the vitamins? Peas. They won’t eat them but I least I tried. I think I can have some in the freezer. Microwaved peas counts.

I’m so sick of making dinner. I can’t believe I have to do this until they’re 18. How do I spend so much money on groceries when they don’t even eat? I wonder what excuse they’ll come up for why my food is inedible tonight. Too spicy even though the only spice I used is literally salt? Too hot? Because blowing on your own food would be too difficult, right? Too much food? Because 1/3 of a cup of meat, vegetables and pasta is quite the feast.

Do toddlers all decide that crying at the feet of their parents is best done during dinner? I’d love to hold you but doing so while draining boiling hot pasta isn’t exactly ideal. I’ve tripped over this child three times in the past half hour, once while holding a chopping knife. Cooking around here feels like an episode of The Amazing Race and the prize is dirty dishes.

Why do they always beg for scraps while I’m cooking but look at the finished meal like it’s a vomit salad with vomit dressing topped with vomit croutons?

One of these days I’m just going to throw white bread, peanut butter, and jelly on the table and tell them to fend for themselves.

There’s the phone again. No, this isn’t a good time. 5PM is never a good time. How do they not know that by now?

Before kids I thought dinner was supposed to be family time. Now I know it’s the final stand before bedtime.

I’m exhausted. Are moms supposed to be this tired? Mothers on paper towel commercials always look so full of energy in their white jeans and 3/4 sleeve tops. Stupid white jeans. What kind of mom would wear white jeans? A mom who is being paid to pretend one paper towel is enough to clean up an entire jug of spilled Kool-Aid, that’s who.

I feel like I’m on an episode of Chopped. I’d like to see the people on Chopped try to make food with kids telling them that it “smells weird” and “I don’t like that” every three seconds. And then have the judges refuse to taste the food because “it looks weird.” And then of course those same judges would proclaim their hunger five minutes before bedtime.

If these kids comes into the kitchen begging for a snack one more time I’m going to lose my mind. Are they really asking me to stop making food so that I can ruin their already barely there appetite? Because that makes sense. Yes, let me put making dinner on pause to give you a bowl of cereal so you can reject the food I’m making even faster. What do they think I’m doing in here? Crossword puzzles? Kitchen yoga?

I wonder when they’ll start asking “what’s for dessert.” This ain’t a damn bakery, dessert is whatever you can find. Do they think I’m Betty Crocker? Look, I pin desserts, I don’t make them.

It would be nice to have one family meal where nobody cried but I know that’s asking a lot. Or maybe a meal where the baby doesn’t chuck his meal across the room like this is some kind of cafeteria food fight.

Well, I guess dinner is ready. Here goes nothing. I should have ordered pizza.



My Daughter Loves Pink And Princesses. She’s Still A Badass

I know you’ve noticed it. How recently it’s considered lame for little girls to wear pink from head to toe and love princesses.

For some reason as we started declaring it wonderful that girls play with action figures and boys wear their sister’s clothes if they want, we started believing that girls who strut the grocery store runway in Disney gowns, show up at the park in an Ariel dress or want to have princess birthday parties aren’t as smart, original, athletic, or independent as their Iron Man costume wearing girlfriends.I’m here to tell you that’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.

If you’re quick to cheer on a 5 year-old girl who loves Minecraft Legos but think a kindergartner who rocks Cinderella outfits is self-esteem deficient, you’re an idiot. You’ve completely missed the point of what parents have been fighting for: the right for their kids to use their imaginations the way THEY want to.

If you’re embarrassed because your 6 year-old wants to have a Princess Sofia birthday party instead of some cool, edgy superhero theme so that you can show your friends how progressive you are, you’re not really progressive at all. Being truly open minded means letting your kids be who THEY are not who will make you look cool on Facebook.

If you pat your friends on the back because their let their son wear dresses to first grade but steer your daughter away from Frozen costumes because they’re too mainstream, you’re full of crap. Why is it ok for little boys to be who they want, but not little girls unless it follows the trend of being off-trend?

“Princesses teach girls to be weak and dependent on men.” Says who? I played with Barbies as a child but never wanted to be her. I just loved cutting her hair. Saying that being princess obsessed will make little girls grow up to be anything but strong women is like saying that playing with My Little Ponys will turn them into future horse trainers.

I’m tired of commercials like the Goldiebox one that ran a few years ago where little girls are paid to proclaim they’re so over being princesses as if that makes them smarter than the rest. If a girl isn’t into princesses, that’s fine, but stop acting as if that makes her more intelligent than those who are. I don’t appreciate the message that liking pink, tulle tutus, dollar store tiaras, or fairy wings makes my daughter any less badass than other little girls because I assure you, she is the fierce, opinionated, and 100% herself. And she can get halfway up a tree wearing an ankle length Merida costume.

So the next time you see a girl child walking down the sidewalk in pink shoes, pink tights, a mini ballgown, costume jewelry, a crown and an Elsa wig to top it off, don’t you dare give her a sideways look because she might be my kid and I’ll give you one right back.

Dear Perfect Mom I Wanted To Be


Dear Perfect Mom I Wanted To Be,

You’re probably really disappointed in me. Look around. The house is a mess. I know you thought I’d be the type of mom who would never have toys covering her living room floor. Right now my family room looks like a cross between Target’s toy aisle and a laundromat but with more crumbs. Sorry.

Look at my kitchen. I know the plan was to be the type of mom who never went to bed with dirty dishes in the sink, but after cooking, convincing the kids to eat, giving them baths, and finally getting them into bed, I’m tired. Anyway, some of those pans need to soak.

Look at me. I always said I’d be the kind of mom who would eat right, take care of herself, and never wear the same stretch pants and t-shirts day in and day out, but what can I say…I don’t have a lot of time to think about fashion. I spend my days chasing a toddler who is surprisingly fast- skinny jeans, skimpy designer tank tops that can’t contain my *cough* ample mom boobs, and heels just aren’t practical. No, I don’t look like those celebrity moms you see picking up their kids at preschool looking perfectly dressed down but dressed up at the same time. I look more like a yoga instructor who doesn’t actually do any yoga. Oh that stain, I think my kid wiped his nose on my pants. Change over a bit of snot, are you kidding?

Look, Perfect Mom I Wanted To Be, we had a lot of plans. My kids were going to be expertly disciplined and would never have meltdowns in public or walk out of the house wearing two different shoes. I was never going to yell. I was going to go grocery shopping several times a week at farmer’s markets and make meals straight from the Food Network. I was going to wash, fold, and put away laundry every day so that it would never get out of control. I was going to be perfect.

We had a lot of ideas, but life got in the way.

My living room is full of toys because happy kids live here. My kitchen sink is full of dishes because fed people live here. I’m wearing head to toe frayed 100% stretch cotton because I found my worth in who I am, not just what I look like. And these clothes are damn comfortable. It’s like walking around in a blanket. You should try it.

Sorry to disappoint you, but things are a lot better than they look. I learned that motherhood isn’t about projecting an image but being with the people who make my messy, crazy, and exhausting life complete. It’s hard to see the love in the mess from so high up on that high horse. Come down and have a look. You might like what you see.

xo Me

Motherhood, Tips

10 Reasons Why Dinner Time Is Actually The Worst

I feel the dread rise up every day at around 3PM. Dinner time is coming. Before I became a mom I thought my family’s evening meal would look like one of those Hamburger Helper commercials.

You’ve seen them: the mom slowly places a casserole dish in the middle of the table. The children’s eyes grow wide with delight as they hold their forks and knives, poised and ready in each hand. The husband licks his lips and looks up adoringly at his wife for browning meat and mixing it with a $2 box of pasta and a pouch of questionable spices.That’s how dinner was going to be. Everyone would come to the table hungry. Everyone would appreciate my meals. Everyone would eat while talking and laughing about their day.

Yeah right.

10 Reasons Why Dinner Time Is Actually The Worst

1. You have to make it. This sounds easy to enough but considering that 5PM is when children are all on the brink of hunger-fueled insanity and exhausted, this is next to impossible. Small children and babies want to be held while you throw lasagna into a 400 degree oven. Older kids beg for snacks and swipe ingredients when you’re not looking. There will always be someone crying at your feet or tripping you with their body while lying like a starfish in the middle of the kitchen.

2. My husband comes back from work tired and needing a moment to himself before jumping into home life. I get it, I truly do, but that “moment” needs to hurry up and be over because I can’t wrangle children and cook at the same time.

3. I never know what to make. How many times can I make spaghetti or cook chicken breasts? I want to try new recipes but straying from the same old meals increases the risk of rejection so no.

4. By the time dinner is actually done my children’s hunger has morphed into anger that they’re being required to eat. They no longer know how to put food into their mouths unless I keep barking orders throughout the meal.

5. Then comes the nitpicking. “This is too hot.” “I don’t like these spices.” “What is this?” What is this? It’s called rice. Remember, those small white grains that you loved last week? Oh and those “spices” are butter and salt. Your food is too hot? Have you considered blowing or waiting? No? Too hard?

6. I can’t sit down and just eat. I have to jump up every 5-6 seconds getting something for someone. A different fork. A smaller spoon for said rice. More water. Who spilled their milk? Another napkin. I’m not sure why I even make a plate for myself. It’d be smarter to just eat over the garbage disposal, shoveling food into my face, when the meal is done.

7. Dinner takes forever. I always find myself sitting alone with the child who is eating the slowest and probably hoping I’ll just say, “Ok, screw it” and throw their food in the trash. I’m not a mom anymore, I’m a probation officer and my job is to supervise you until you stop stalling and take those last five bites.

8. “What’s for dessert?” “How many bites?” “I dropped’ my food!” By dropped do you mean conveniently let your broccoli fall to the floor? No worries, I have more. Dessert? Dessert is the fruit in your lunchbox that you didn’t eat. As for how many bites, I’ll let you know when you’re done.

9. Poop. Why does someone always have to poop during dinner? And why does that someone always need me to help them?

10. The dreaded “I’m hungry” that a child has the nerve to say 5 minutes before bedtime. You can ignore it and send them to bed knowing that they’ll probably wake up at 4:00 begging for sustenance or give in and hand them a string cheese. Neither one will make you feel good about yourself.

Cooking for a family with young kids is a pretty thankless job. I do it because they need to eat and I want them to be somewhat healthy. That said, I’m losing my mind. If you need me, I’ll be drinking wine in the kitchen.


Dear Mommy, Thank you

Dear Mommy,

I don’t think I’ve ever said this before, but thank you. Thank you for carrying me inside you for 40, no, 41 weeks. I know it wasn’t easy. You were sick. Really sick. And you still went to work, sneaking away to toss your cookies in a stall several times a day. One time you thew up in the car. That wasn’t pretty. You still can’t look at chicken breast the same way. You were so tired but didn’t want to show it because you were worried about your job. You cried a lot.

Thank you.

The day you had me was hard. I could feel how scared you were that something bad would happen. You mind was racing, hoping everything would go as planned. As the pain clutched your body again and again, refusing to let go even though you begged, you cried, wondering if this would last forever. You were afraid but you kept talking to me, telling me that you wanted to see me.

When I showed up you gently touched my face. I could tell you were tired, sore, and broken, but you still smiled and me like I made you forget about everything but my eyes.

Thank you.

Those early days were hard. I didn’t sleep like other babies. As I screamed in the dark you held me. I felt your warm tears fall as you rocked me back and forth. The only light was that of the moon and you sang with your shaky voice and patted me on the back until I finally got comfortable enough to close my eyes and let myself go heavy against you. We did this over and over. More times than I can count. During the day your eyes looked heavy, your face blotchy and exhausted, but every time you looked at me your eyes sparkled like I was your greatest treasure.

Thank you.

Life hasn’t gotten much easier. Sometimes I get so angry at a world where so many things don’t make sense. I scream. I hit. I throw things and laugh. You catch me when I fall. You sit with me and whisper the pages of books into my ears. You take me places and show me corners of this giant planet. You tell me the names for everything around me. You crouch down and pick up the meal I tossed down from my highchair. Sometimes you get angry and tired, and it’s my turn to meet you where you are. I snuggle against you and lay my head down on your chest and you look at me like we’re meeting for the first time.

Thank you for being someone I feel safe enough to let my emotions fall where they lay. Thank you for rubbing my back in the dark until my mind quiets enough to relax into sleep. Thank you for helping me feel safe where there are so many unknowns. Thank you for being mine.

I love you.



Dear Mom of The Difficult Kid

Dear Mom of the Difficult Kid,

I know you feel judged.While the other children are laughing, yours is crying.

While the other children are playing, yours is tantruming.

While the other children are holding hands running through the park giggling amongst the dandelions, yours is hiding behind your knees, clutching your pants for dear life, begging to go home.

While the other kids are listening, yours just tried to hit you. In public. Again.

Strangers are full of stern advice. “All that child needs is a good spanking.” “Looks like someone needs to learn some respect!”

Friends give you a sad smile and politely look away while you try to talk your little one down from the edge once again.

You feel a failure at the one thing you’d give anything to excel at.

You feel like the entire world is pointing at you and shaking their heads.

You’re scared for the future.

You walk through life hand in hand with a child whom you love more than life but wish, even if it’s just a quiet wish from the smallest corner of your heart, that you could somehow make everything just a bit easier.

But you keep trying. You keep going to the park even though you know how the outing will end. You keep teaching. You keep hugging. You keep guiding. Because even though it’s hard, above all else, your child is yours.

Yours to keep. Yours to love. Forever.

Don’t waste your time imagining what other people are thinking. Don’t waste your days looking longingly at other children who seem so easy, or wondering what if this and what if that.

Maybe, just maybe, you and your child were paired for a reason that will only reveal itself once they’re grown and the sidewalk meltdowns are distant memories; thin and faded like old photographs.

Until then, keep trying. Keep teaching. Keep mothering.

You’re amazing.

xo Another Mom of a Difficult Kid


Motherhood, Tips

A Toddler’s Food Diary  

A Toddler’s Food Diary


– Milk

– Three small bites of the oatmeal I gestured to and made monkey sounds at until my mom made it. The rest of it is currently in the sink.

– Six Tic Tacs that mommy gave me so that I’d be quiet during an episode of Orphan Black.

-Three Cheerios found between the couch cushions.

– Half of a string cheese.


– The scent of one banana.

-1/8th a square of toilet paper.

– What may have been a raisin.

– The liquid from a baby wipe (sucked it out while she was in the bathroom).

– 3-4 pieces of hardened debris from last night’s dinner. Found it in my highchair.


– 12-15 grains of rice

– Tablespoon of shredded chicken

– 1/3 of a carrot stick

– Half of a bread crust found in the trash

– Milk

– My own tears/snot



– Four crackers (I crushed the fifth one and sprinkled it into her bra)

– A bunch of halved grapes

– More couch snacks. I think it was an apple chip.

– The dust between buttons on the remote

– One pump of lotion


– Nothing

Before Bed

– 6 gallons of my own bath water


Motherhood, Tips

The Two Step Trick To Getting An Amazing Post-Baby Body  

So you just had a baby. Congrats! Now before you get too comfortable, you should know that celebrities generally take between 10-15 seconds to lose all of their baby weight so you’re already behind schedule.

Remember, the goal is to remove all traces that you were ever pregnant from your body as quickly as you can. Nevermind that you just made a human. That’s nice and all, but the real miracle here is how fast you’re going to shed that weight.Yes, yes, we know your body might be in some pain right now and you may be healing from surgery or a tough labor but you’re not going to let a few genital stitches get in the way of being a MILF, are you?

Yes, your organs are trying to resettle themselves back in their original positions after being pushed around by your baby’s growing body, but that doesn’t mean you can’t hit the gym in between feedings.

Yes, your hormones are all over the place and you may be feeling overwhelmed but you know what will turn that frown upside down? Being a size 0-6.

You’re not eating for two, anymore. Oh you’re breastfeeding? Good. That burns calories. Eat just enough to make milk for the baby and not a cracker more.

You know what’s even more sad than women who neglect and abuse their kids? Women who have muffin tops. Your baby will be so proud of you once you can wear confidently wear a bikini. Taking great care of a newborn is noble and all but what about crop tops? Imagine the selfies.

Now, put your baby on the floor for a second and sit down because I’m about to tell you the two step trick to getting an amazing post baby body. Billions of women around the world use it. It’s 100% free, 100% painless, and is 100% easy. It works every single time for every woman who has ever tried it.

The results are incredible.

Are you ready?

Ok here it is.

The two step trick to getting an amazing post-baby body is to first, have a baby. Then go look in a mirror. Do you have a body? Good.

You now have an amazing post-baby body.

Because what you did was amazing.

You had a baby.


Now go be together.