The highs and lows of parenting and real estate.

Laundry is a problem. fun. is not.

Last Saturday – 

Me: So… next week is going to be bad…

Jason: Ha. What, like worse than this week? *snort*

Me: Um, yes. Fairly considerably.

Jason: What?! Are you serious? How could the schedule of next week possibly be worse than this week? We barely survived as it is!

Me: I know. And I don’t want to ruin your day, so I won’t go over it in detail, but I just wanted you to be prepared.

Jason: What were we thinking with this whole having children and lives and working and trying to stay in shape and letting our kids have lives and activities and birthdays bullshit? It clearly isn’t a sane lifestyle model.

Me: I agree. It was sincerely poor planning on our part.



This was my two youngest children’s room this morning when I went in to find laundry to wash.

My instinct is to tell them I refuse to wash any more of their clothing until they can take 3.8 seconds to put it in the goddamn dirty laundry basket and another 2.1 seconds to shut the mother-bleeping drawers. (Like, for reals, who, WHO, is so overtaxed in life it’s just too much effort to shut the drawer he just opened? I bet the POTUS and Ryan Seacrest close their own fucking drawers and they both seem super busy.)

I’m worried the incentive might backfire, however, and they’ll both just be thrilled they’re allowed to leave their wardrobes on the floor AND each wear his favorite shirt every single goddamn day because mom won’t have stolen it to wash.

I’m at a loss.


Jason and I went to the fun. concert Tuesday night at Comerica Theater. This is all I have to say about that:

Dear Teenagers,

Stop bogarting fun. Nate isn’t singing about you or your lives. Have you listened to the words? His intended audience is the mid-30s wife and mother who understands the pain of life and struggle to succeed. Not a hipster 15 year old whose mom dropped him, his best friend and his best friend’s girl friend off downtown and picked them back up after the show.

I mean, really. Carry On? Is clearly about the torture and misery of 2 a.m. feedings. Just listen to the first three lines:

Well I woke up to the sound of silence
And cries were cutting like knives in a fist fight
And I found you with a bottle of wine

It’s like he was sitting in my house watching. He probably even knows about that time in the early-2000’s when we didn’t have cable, and one night Ben wouldn’t sleep THE ENTIRE NIGHT so I was force to watch The Roseanne Bar Talk Show while sobbing uncontrollably for like 6 hours. Jason found me with a bottle of wine that morning, too.

The point is, this music is not for you, Teenagers. I don’t know what the hell you were all doing at the concert the other night, but move along and find yourself a band that is more age-appropriate (although stay away from those post-Disney stars, also. That’s just generally good advice).


fun.’s intended fan

My outfit selfie from fun. It’s possible my children learned their laundry habits from me. BUT I SHUT MY DRAWERS GODDAMNIT.

The selfie I took in the drink line at the concert to send to my Facebook friends who were mocking me for Facebooking the concert and trying to guess when I would start posting selfies. I’m going to start a new hashtag called #unflatteringphotoFriday. Want to join me?

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