I heard about a tumblr page called “Women Against Feminism,” so I decided to check it out to see what could possibly even be going on there. It is written by people who clearly do not know what the word “feminism” means. It really makes my blood boil. My inner monologue is like, “Why are all these freakin’ idiots allowed to post things on the internet, GAWD!” (In a Napoleon Dynamite voice). Then, “I feel like I’m taking crazy pills!” (In a Mugatu from Zoolander voice). My brain defaults to comedic movie voices when I get angry. This has to be some sort of weird defense mechanism.
I need Play-Doh for my son’s birthday party, and can’t find anywhere that sells it in Williamsburg or Greenpoint. Of course I can think of like 9 places to get hand-carved organic wooden mustache blocks, but nowhere to just get regular Play-Doh. I would ask my mom friends but they would just all tell me to make my own, and then I would have to stab them.
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.”
“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.”
“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.”
“I love you so much and know I should be enjoyiiiiiiing these precious moments like everyone says after their kids are growwwwwwwn.”
“But people who say that probably haven’t spent half their dayyyyyy being kicked in the face by a baby gorillaaaaaa.”
-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.
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?”
“And some people are artists and some are real people.”
“What? Honey, artists are real people.”