To my son who wants a bigger house

 

Dear Holden,

We are rich. With happiness. No, I know that’s not what you meant when you looked at the new house two doors down from us and said you wish we had THAT house. Duh, I mean look at it. It’s like three or four stories with a three-car garage, practically has turrets, and it’s MASSIVE. Its bonus rooms have bonus rooms.

I see a house like that and I get heart palpitations thinking about what the utility bills must be, but I know people who build houses like that don’t have to worry about utility bills. And if they do they can just sell their Tesla or their Louis Vuitton luggage or rent out a room in the East wing.

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The OTHER reasons you might want to breastfeed

 

Dear woman who’s deciding whether or not to breastfeed,

So here’s the thing. I don’t give a rat’s butt what you choose. It’s none of my business whether you decide to feed your little poop machine via silicone nipples or skin nipples. You’re gonna bond with your baby no matter what and they’re gonna be a-okay if you give them formula. But before you decide, there are actually a few other reasons to breastfeed you might not have thought of, reasons I liked doing it.

Let’s start with the most obvious one. It’s FREE. I mean call me a cheapskate, but I’m the woman who likes to brag when she gets something for half price at TJ Maxx. Check out my breastmilk. It was 100% off and I got it from God. Plus, I feel like starting your babies out on free beverages is a great way to teach them to appreciate the important things in life, like complimentary drinks and free samples at Costco.

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Friendship requests suck donkey balls and should go away

There it is. Sitting there. That blank line. With two of the most annoying words in the history of popularity. Friendship request. Yup, I was filling out the camp forms last night and there was that line staring up at me. And it says it has to be reciprocal. Oh shit, I better make that totally uncomfortable phone call to Betty McBoopypants and ask her if our kids can request each other. I feel like I’m in the 9th grade again asking a boy to go with me to Homecoming.

ME: Hi Betty, so I have a question. Do you maybe want to write down our girls for the camp friendship request?

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Hallelujah, there is a God, I’m not preggers!!!!

OMG, so last week I was scared. Shitless. My period was two days late. Not really but stupid February only has 28 days and it threw me all off. And for 48 hours I was convinced I was preggers. For the first 47 hours I panicked, but by the 48th hour I had convinced myself that having a third baby was going to be a wonderful miracle. I went to bed smiling and thinking about our new family, but alas, I woke up in the morning cramping and spotting… and screaming hallelujah from the rooftops.

ME: I’m not pregnant!! I’m not pregnant!!! Hallelujah, I’m not pregnant!!!

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It’s official, my daughter has started raiding my closet, grrrr (you could win a $250 shopping spree!!!)

Zoey is pissed. Pisssssssssed. I got to order a bunch of stuff from thredUP (the most badass online consignment store!) and I only bought stuff for myself and I didn’t get anything for her. How dare I think about myself for the first time in seven years!!

And now she is insisting that I share it all with her. “Uhhhhh, no, it won’t fit you.” But she’s claiming it doesn’t matter and that it’ll look great on her anyway. I’m like duhh, because everything looks great on a cute seven-year-old girl. Seriously, I can order her 9,000 pairs of jeans online and every single one of them will look good. Grrrr, it’s not fair.

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LuLaRoe leggings, bwhahahaha, look what happened when my hubby put them on

 

Dear friend who sells LuLaRoe leggings (or is it LuluRa or LoLaRu, I can’t F’ing remember),

You’re smart. You know better than to ask me to host one of your parties. But the other day you were even more brilliant than I knew. You had leggings with scary clowns on them and for some reason you thought my hubby and I would each like a pair. HIGH-larious!!!  Well, I thought they were hilarious, but I knew there was no way in hell my hubby was going to put them on. After all, they’re A. tight leggings and B. they have scary clowns all over them.

But much to my surprise I took them home and my hubby was like whatever, I’ll try them. Wha-WHAT?!! Color me shocked. Anyways, what ensued after he put them on had me soiling my own scary clown leggings I was laughing so hard.

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The thing every girl should know BEFORE she gets her period

So the other day I was having a girls’ day with my daughter Zoey and we were in the restroom together and she saw the tampon machine on the wall and asked me what it was (she sees anything with a coin slot and automatically thinks treats are gonna come out). Because I was totally unprepared, I panicked and failed miserably at explaining to her what a period is.

ME: Uhhh, that’s a tampon. When you get older, you’re gonna start bleeding out of your you-know-what and, ummm, that’s what you use to stop the blood.

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What I REALLY F’ing want on my next vacation

Now that we have kids, vacations are not vacations anymore. They’re basically just a way to spend nine million dollars to be trapped inside a small metal capsule with two douchenuggets for hours only to arrive in a faraway land where the beds are smaller and sleep sucks donkey butt and I eat so much that my clothes don’t fit and I just need another vacation after my vacation. But for some reason every year I have amnesia and book one. Anyways, this is what I REALLY F’ing want on my next vacation:

1. I want my hubby to do all the packing. I’m happy to help out by writing a shitload of post-it notes that remind him not to forget important stuff like bathing suits and to leave me the F alone.

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How to turn your kid into a total wussy in ten easy steps

1. When you play any game, never ever keep score. If someone’s a winner, someone else has to be a loser, and you don’t want to teach your kid how to be a loser, do you? Losing in Chutes and Ladders has been known to cause a lifetime of failed marriages and binge eating.

2. If someone says even the smallest mean thing to your kid at school, call the principal immediately and demand they do something about the bullying or you’re going to call your lawyer. The best way to teach your kid to stand up for himself is to fight his fights for him.

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I hate big thighs and I cannot lie, you other sisters might deny

Swish swish swish. What is that noise? Swish swish swish swish, WHAT is that??? Oh, wait a sec, I know. It’s my thighs. Awwwesome. Yup, my thighs make a noise when I walk. And if you don’t know WTF I’m talking about, please stop reading this now because you must be one of those women whose thighs have never touched before.

Like once I had this cute pair of black linen pants that I wore almost every day after I was preggers and I LOVED them (translation: they were the only pants that fit without squeezing my gallbladder up into my esophagus). And then one day I took them out of my closet and put them on and I must have bent over for some reason and that’s when I saw it. Nooooooooo. Two gaping holes, one on each thigh, up by the crotch. Eww, isn’t crotch like the worst word on earth? Moist crotch. There, I just made it worse. But I digress.

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