There’s panic and also beauty in this time of quarantine. Our lives are forever changed, as they were by 9/11, and we’ll see the best and worst of humanity.
I spent the first 50 years of my life waiting to be just like my dad, but I never did. Well, at least I thought I never did.
Since we are all stuck inside for what will probably seem like eleventy billion years, it’s best we all stock up on Girl Scout Cookies! And wine.
Everyone can have their “sky-diving” and “tattooing” bucket list. I’m good over here with my non-inked skin with my feet on the ground, thanks.
Hyperemesis Gravidarum is not morning sickness. It’s a soul-crushing level of sick that makes you resent all happy pregnant pregnant people everywhere.
Fart cannons, a relentless urine smell in the bathroom, and vomit sounds for fun. This is the soundtrack of my life as I raise two boys.
Seriously, some of us aren’t huggers. Can we just do a meaningful eye-hug or a wave? Also, can we not say “Oh, you’re not a hugger”? No, Cathy, I’m not.
I hope my kids someday appreciate all the things I did for them, but are also grateful for all the things I didn’t do as well.