I’m Sorry I was Late (via Motherly)

I sat down and mapped out a life plan, and so far it looks like I will be late for approximately 15 more years.

I’m so excited about my newest post for Motherly, because, FOR REALZZZ.

Mornings before kids:

1. Get self ready.

2. Get self in car.

3. Go.

Mornings now:

1. Wake up children.

2. Go to the kitchen to start breakfast.

3. Hear no noise from children.

4. Holler at children every 30 seconds.

5. All appear, except one. Your future seems bright, you keep hollering.

6. You hear last child thrashing and grunting violently. This is the worst moment of his life.

7. Child finally emerges. It is unclear if he is human or zombie.

8. Child sits on couch.

9. Child becomes one with the couch.

10. You call frantically to them while making eggs: “Shoes!” “Hair!” “Clothes!”

11. Child stares into space.

Read more at Motherly…

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Mom Solidarity in Target

Yesterday at Target I stood in line behind a Mom with two screaming kids. One clung to her leg while the other, a brand new baby, wailed from her arms.

I am not used to being the one who is not the parent of the screaming child. This was uncharted territory.

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What do Stay at Home Moms DO all day?

While usually we are being quaint and adorable like a live Norman Rockwell painting, there are a few other things that get us from WHYGODWHY in the morning to Netflix-O’clock at night.

We clean things so they can be destroyed right exactly before you drop by. I don’t mean to brag, but my kids are capable of making my house a major health code violation in ten seconds flat. Sometimes I think about posting pictures of what my house looks like when it’s clean – just for reference.

Welcome to my home. Here is a picture of what my house looked like one time last week.  It could also look like this more often if I had 47 maids and manservants.

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The Leisurely Life of a Stay at Home Mom

Over the years I have had many observations made about my life with four kids. Usually it’s a “WOOOW you sure have your hands full”, “You are BUSY” or “I’m glad those are yours and not mine, hahahahaha”. (Not like an evil “haha” – more scared, like my fertility might be contagious.)

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