Ummm…hello?
Welcome to my first blog post! I’ll try to keep these short and sweet in an effort to connect with you all and hopefully make you giggle a little. Let’s call them short blogs, or slogs. Slog is a bit of a misnomer, but this is my blog and I can do whatever I want, ok?
I like to describe myself as follows: If Elle Woods and Kristin Wiig had a baby, I would be that baby. I am a lady lawyer who happens to have an arsenal of wigs and costumes in my closet for the sole purpose of ideating idiotic characters and trying to make people laugh. I think psychiatrists call it split personalities? Or, it could be your run of the mill two-faced Gemini situation. There are truly two sides of me. My right side is the intellectual, academic, rule-follower side, and my left side is the fun-loving, entertaining and jazz-hands side.
I prefer to be self-deprecating and realer-than-real on the internet versus displaying the only 5 minutes in a 24-hour period where I actually have my shit together. At the end of the day, I’m just me and refuse to apologize for it. So, you should just be you and refuse to apologize for it too. Life is so much better that way.
I’m 41 years old and still cannot fucking believe that (P.S. I swear a LOT, so if that makes you feel uncomfortable, then this Slog might not be for you.) Feels like yesterday I was slamming a Kudos bar and Squeeze-It after school, watching Days of Our Lives and hoping Marlena didn’t get possessed by the devil, AGAIN. And if you’re asking yourself, “But when she was watching Days of our Lives, was she also putting the finishing touches on her hemp necklace for the Lilith Fair?” I say to you: DUH YES. Where my 90’s kids at?? Sarah McLachlan ALL.THE.WAY.
I’m going to make a statement here and say that the 90s were so fucking lit, and we didn’t even know it. Even dial-up internet was lit. Hear me out. Dial-up gave us just enough access to the World Wide Web, (as we patiently waited somewhere around nine years to download something), and we avoided online bullying, obnoxious social media standards and unfettered access to online garbage! Until, of course, the GD phone rang and you had to start the nine-year download all over again. But hey, no one was sliding into our DMs to tell us that we were a piece of shit.
Anywayyyyy, here we are 20 + years later, and I’m married and a mother of 3 girls (ages 18, 11 and 7). Two of them came out of my butthole and the oldest did not. I am a stepmom. I hate the word “step” and prefer “bonus,” but that’s for another post. The important thing is that I love this girl like she came out of my butthole, and how our relationship started doesn’t matter. What matters is that she’s my daughter – by blood, butthole or not.
Of all the things I’ve done in my life, becoming a mother is by far the best. Motherhood is sweet and painful and hilarious and awful, all at the same time. For example, my youngest, Virginia, used to routinely rip off her diaper and smear shit all over her crib and wall. It looked like a feces murder scene when we would get her up from her nap. She did this so often that we started to duct tape her diaper on. The hilarity and pain of motherhood is palpable. When you become a parent, you’ll never use the phrase, “Ummm, hello?” more in your life. This phrase is usually precipitated by walking into the kitchen, only to spot the fridge wide open, the T.V. on, the cupboards ransacked and one or more tiny humans staring out the window telling you they’re bored and asking for a snack. Cool beans!
So let’s get started on this journey together (to quote the cringiest but most addicting show on television, “The Bachelor”). Don’t forget to take a minute for yourself, take a knee, and know that you’re not alone. And ignore Trish’s post with her husband Todd on the beach in Cancun with their three children under 6 in matching swimsuits doing a perfect boomerang jump looking like they’re having the time of their fucking lives. Trish went through hell to get to Cancun. HELL. The snacks, the packing, the fighting, the bathroom trips, the strollers, the sippy cups, getting the stroller through security, Todd being an idiot and accidentally packing his knife and quickly being escorted into a separate security area while Trish woman-handles the three children screaming for more snacks. These things happen to Trish, but Trish does not document these things, ok? And Todd is gonna be cock-blocked for days. Poor Todd.
