If this tiny, guileless thought could make me feel so great, why can't we train our children to say things that will make us feel hipper, younger and smarter?
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When you walk into a Starbucks it's a little like entering another country. Some of the language is "Italianish" and the rest is completely fabricated.
I am EXACTLY the parent I swore I would never be... Are you?
I wasn't in NYC yesterday when Trojan's vibrator giveaway caused total mayhem, but I did witness this mad rush for free sex swag first hand at the BlogHer conference.
I mean, I could probably narrow it down, like they taught you to do in SAT prep, but anything with the same grooming, coloring and general size could be mine. How sad is that?
On my way to see Magic Mike with my besties, all I could think was, are we the only ones rushing out to see this peep show... and how hard up does this make us?
It's sleepaway camp season and everyone is getting their calls from the kiddos. I've found a pattern: I desperately want to strangle my husband after each call.
Sending the kids to camp is supposed to be this delightfully awesome time of freedom and reprieve, but it's not for me.
At a baseball game recently, a mom friend and I were having a bout of witty banter that went terribly, horribly, irrefutably awry.
You know how whenever you're feeling a little big for your britches, you'll get an earth-shatteringly embarrassing flashback that puts you right back in your place?
The ER that she went to said her daughter had a simple cold. They made her feel neurotic. They made her feel overprotective and ignorant.
If the flowers came from a mini-mart at the gas station, he might as well have bought you a bouquet of Slim Jims.
In the blink of an eye, I went from 20 to nearly 40. If you're nearing, turning or past the big 4-0, here's one for you...
Mommas, do yourselves a favor, throw out those, "spice it up" pieces and top 10 lists. Don't be too concerned about the quantity of the sex you're having as long as your having some.
"Why can't you be more like Christian Grey?" I whined, in the same way my daughter asks things like, "Why you can't be more like Jessie's mom? She keeps ice cream cones in her house."
When I'm uncomfortable I use exaggerated humor to fill conversational gaps. It's like an oddly misplaced stand-up routine which can become painful to watch. This was one of those nights.
Love Words With Friends? If more than half of the items below describe YOU, I'll see you in WWFAA.
Yesterday, while trying to dress my daughter's Barbie in a stunning pair of black and silver lamé jeans, I realized they weren't going over her thighs. WTF? Had she borrowed a pair from Skipper?
"My name is JennyFromTheBlog91 and I'm a flash sale addict."
Why can't our hubby's be more like Christian Grey? If they were, would we want them? I wonder what they'd be like after a few years of marriage and a couple of children?
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