The smell of ammonia—a holdover from when the cat was sick—is the first thing I notice, before the dust seeps into my nostrils, making my eyes itch. The door doesn’t fully open, blocked by boxes in the entryway. The piles of craft projects, winter coats, and litter are pushing out from the walls, trying to escape outside. I have to turn sideways to get into the hallway, to the foot-and-a-half kept clear of debris so people can pass to the kitchen or living room. The dining room, with a hanging lamp and large oak table, was long ago lost entirely to the clutter.
There’s too much stuff. It’s disgusting. I hate it here.
But it’s home. Keep reading »
This is the sweetest story: this little boy likes to wear princess clothes and that’s just fine with his mom. Cheryl Kilodavis has written a children’s book called My Princess Boy about how it’s OK for boys, like her son Dyson, to enjoy pretty dresses. It warms my dark, craggy heart. Some moms are the best. [My Princess Boy via Colorlines] Keep reading »
On the one hand: an adorable child rapper spitting rhymes about how guys need to stop checking out his hot mom. On the other: it’s slightly weird/creepy that a 12-year-old is admonishing a bunch of grown-ass men for gawking at his mother. You decide. [Astronomical Kid
] Keep reading »
Moms are often the keepers’ of family wisdom, the family archivists and key family storytellers. Moms are also often chock-full of secrets. That’s why you should try and take advantage of your mother’s sage words and ask her everything you can.
The folks over at Real Simple came up with a handy list of must-ask questions… Keep reading »
It had been a bleak year. I started taking anti-depressants and was slowly putting on weight, as the side effects had warned. This alone was not a problem: guys always told me I was a little too skinny and that I had a bony butt, so I actually enjoyed having a juicy badonkadonk for the first time in my life. But as I packed on more pounds on my slender frame, my clothes stopped fitting. J.Crew skinny jeans? Couldn’t wear ‘em anymore. Vintage mini-dress? So tight it ripped. Silk blouse? My upper arms no longer fit without gnarly pit stains. I had to chuck tons of panties that now squeezed uncomfortably around my new butt. Not surprisingly, I started to get a little neurotic (and vain) and seriously considered ditching my happy pills in the hopes that I’d get my zippy ol’ metabolism back.
Then my 26th birthday arrived. My boyfriend was out of town on a business trip and left a birthday present waiting for me on our bed. I ripped the paper off and saw a box from one of New York City’s fanciest lingerie stores: inside was an adorable black and pink bra and panties set from Betsey Johnson. He did his sizing-homework in advance: the panties fit my rotund butt, the bra did not pinch my shoulders. And something immediately clicked: I am attractive no matter what size I wear. Sexy lingerie comes in all sizes! I realized I didn’t have to fit into my existing clothes to be sexy; I could still look sexy in sizes that fit me properly.
These days, I’m OK with my weight. But there’s one person who’s not — my mom. Keep reading »