When I picked up my daughter from camp today her teacher came over to talk to me. She said sadly, “She might be hungry, when it was lunchtime I asked where her sandwich was and she said it disappeared. Then a little boy stood up and it was stuck to his butt. She didn’t want to eat it after that.” I think she thought I would be upset, but I can’t stop laughing.

“Please don’t kick mommy in the faaaace, I really hate it, I’m sorry, I still love you thouuuuuuugh.”
*kick
“You’re just so big and strong, and I know it isn’t your faaaaaaault, but if you keep kicking me I’ll have to stop nursing you and I know that would be saaaaaad.”
*kick
“All my shirts and bras are ripped up from you pulling on theeeeeem, when you stop breastfeeding I’m going to dress so cute you have no ideaaaaaa.”
*kick
“I love you so much and know I should be enjoyiiiiiiing these precious moments like everyone says after their kids are growwwwwwwn.”
*kick
“But people who say that probably haven’t spent half their dayyyyyy being kicked in the face by a baby gorillaaaaaa.”
*kick
-My slightly passive-aggressive lullaby to my large 1 year-old son as I nurse him to sleep (sort of to the tune of Rock-a-Bye Baby)

My mom was the best. When I was growing up, she made home-cooked dinners for us every night. In an effort to be more like her, I invented a recipe! And this time it’s not just putting Truvia on strawberries like they do on the box. I call it the Mom Sandwich.
Directions:
Take all the crusts you just cut off your kid’s sandwich, and throw a piece of cheese in the middle. Microwave to taste.

When I get on the subway elevator I like to pretend I’m the elevator police. I think to myself, “Lady with a double stroller, ok go ahead. Slightly overweight guy in a business suit not carrying anything except a frappuchino, let’s move it along to the stairs there buddy. Homeless guy carrying all his possessions in two overfilled Duane Reade bags, come on in. Crazy yelling lady with only one bag, let me check the weight of that. Even crazies need exercise.”

As I was putting my daughter to bed she started talking about how people are different. She said, “Why don’t some people like blueberries and some do?”
“People just have different taste buds that make them like different things. There are lots of ways people are different. Some like cats and some like dogs…”
“Some have different color hair?”
“Yes, exactly.”
“And some people are artists and some are real people.”
“What? Honey, artists are real people.”
“OHHHHHHHHH.”

I was standing in line at Buffalo Exchange and a crazy guy was yelling in Spanish except for “FUCK YOU!” right before he grabbed a pair of vintage Nikes and ran out the door.
Sales girl- “Uhhh. He just stole.”
Sales guy- “Uh. Yeahhhhhh. He always does that.”

A group of Asian ladies, each about 4 feet tall, just got on the elevator with me. One looked up at me then said to another one, “You so small. Is awkward. She so tall.” The other one said, “Don’t state obvious!” Then they all giggled hysterically until we got out.