This is not political. This is personal. You see these two faces? These are the faces behind the Affordable Care Act (aka Obamacare). That’s right. My sweet kids Zoey and Holden are on Obamacare. And so are me and my husband. And I am scared shitless right now.
Years ago before Obamacare, we applied for health insurance. And guess how long it took us to get it? Six months. SIX. One hundred and eighty days of waiting to see if we would be eligible to get healthcare. And not for free. Not subsidized. We waited six months to see if a healthcare plan would accept us so we could pay full price for it.
(Based on a true story)
ME: Holden, what do you want for breakfast?
ME: You can’t have nothing. Do you want some toast?
HOLDEN: I’m not hungry.
ME: You’ll be hungry later at school. How about a banana?
HOLDEN: I’m NOT hungry!!
ME: You can’t NOT eat something (does that even make sense?).
Okay, so I just bumped into this other mom from my daughter’s school and we started chatting. Hmmmm, what should I call her, lemme seeeee, how about Muffy McPerfectpants? Anyways, Muffy and I are chatting (she’s going on and on and on about the homemade gingerbread houses they made last night and I’m going on and on and on about how I can’t stop drinking eggnog straight from the container) when she politely asks me what we are doing for the holidays.
ME: Enh, not much. Just wearing my fat pants all day long and letting the kids have as much iPad as humanly possible so we don’t go insane.
I did something stupid. I mean I do stupid stuff all the time, but this one makes me look like a total idiot. It all started the other morning when I was running around like a chicken with my head cut off trying to get the rugrats out the door for school.
ME: Did you brush your teeth yet?! Is your backpack packed?!! Zoey, stop playing with toys!!! If I see you touch that toy again, I’m going to throw it in the trash!!
F me. Yes, I know those probably aren’t the classiest words to start a post with, but I really can’t think of two better words to describe the shitstorm that I brought upon my house this weekend. Are you ready for this tragedy?
So on Saturday night we went out with friends to a Mexican joint, and I don’t know about you, but when I go to a Mexican joint, I drink. A lot. The menu said peach mango strawberry margarita, and I was like, yummmmmmmmmm, I’ll have THAT.
WAITRESS: Which one?
This is a post I started to write a few months ago, but never got the chance to finish. Who knows, maybe someone interrupted me or maybe I sneezed and wet my pants and had to go do another load of laundry. Anyways, I finally got a chance to come back and finish it, and this seems like the perfect week to share it. Thanksgiving week. It is a great reminder of all the things that were true earlier this year and still true right now. So here goes. The post I wrote a few months ago but finally finished today:
America F’ing rocks. Sure, I know there are serious problems here and not everything is all hunky dory by a long stretch, but there are like a thousand times a week that I’m telling my kids they’re lucky they live here. And here are ten of them.
Dear hubby, as much as I lovvvvve you and really don’t want to change you at all, I would like to humbly BEG you to change a few of your pooping habits. Here goes.
1. If you poop, flush twice. Don’t think twice, FLUSH twice. Because your poops, my dear, are man poops, and you should be proud that your poops are so manly that they need to be flushed two times. Own that MAN poop.
2. If a little of your poo sticks to the bowl, please take care of it. I know you think your poo spots “magically” disappear after a few flushes, but the only reason they go away is because yours F’ing truly wads up an entire roll of toilet paper and squeamishly wipes them off the side of the bowl. And then I scrub my hands so much with soap you can literally see my bones.
1. I’d rather wear elastic waistband pants. And I don’t mean yoga pants that suck you in in all the right places. I mean pants that let you sag, droop, jiggle, ripple, expand and be comfortable in all the wrong places.
2. I’d rather keep eating chocolate and pizza and my kids’ leftover French fries. Even if it means I look like a hormonal teenager who got a facial in a deep fryer. Priorities, people.
3. I only wear ugly flats and sneakers. Because honestly, if I wanted to hurt my feet, I would just walk around my house barefoot and step on Legos.