Headphones & Hormones

They've outgrown the highchairs, they can't hear a word you say, and you don't know whose hormones are worse, yours or theirs. Here's my take on parenting teens as a perimenopausal single mom in 2025.

  • Baby Gift Do’s and Don’ts, or Why New Parents Can Buy Their Own Diapers

    I love the heck out of my sweet babies, but I don’t want any more of them. I’m done. As much fun as it is to make bottles all day and lose sleep and go broke and have no life at all, I think I’ll pass on number three. Gosh, I hope I haven’t just jinxed myself. What’s today’s date, anyway….?

    Unlike me, the majority of my friends know how to use birth control properly. So while I’ve been up to my elbows in dirty diapers for over five years now, most of them are relatively new to it or haven’t even begun their adventures in permanent babysitting yet. Like many people my age, I find myself frequenting baby showers all year long.

    Since I’m not planning to have any more kids, the whole baby thing is going to be a distant memory soon. So I’m putting my two cents in on baby gifts now while I still know what I’m talking about. Who knows? In a few years maybe they’ll invent a changing table that actually changes the freaking baby for you. Then obviously all of my gift suggestions will be obsolete. Until that day comes, however, refer to the list below for my two cents worth of the five best baby gift “do’s” and five worst baby gifts “don’ts.”

    Disclaimer: if you ever purchased a gift featured on my “don’ts” list for me, then I apologize in advance for this reality check. I did give pause before writing this blog because I don’t want to come off unappreciative or bratty to anyone. But I think people expect (and deserve) only the most brutal honesty from my blogs. So sorry, I gotta give the people what they want!

    Truthfully, I barely even still remember who got me what. I may not have even known to begin with. Pregnancy brain + a baby shower spent distractedly opening a smorgasbord of baby gifts while suppressing the urge to scarf down every plate of food in the room and then lie down on the nearest couch to take a long nap = how on earth am I going to write a bunch of personalized thank you cards after this? Brutal honesty, remember…..

    Can I go eat now?
    Can I go eat now?

    Conversely, if you ever purchased any of the gifts off the “do’s” list for me, please disregard my last statement. I totally remember everything. Loved the gift; thanks, um, whoever you are!

    Also, you’ll notice I haven’t listed any large or expensive gifts. If there’s a $400 car seat or rocking chair or baby monitor on a registry and you’re the proud grandma-to-be, it’s kind of a no-brainer. Go ahead and whip out that AmEx, granny. It’s spoiling time.

    Baby Gift Don’ts:

    1. Bath Robes – Yes, they are cute. Sometimes the hoods are shaped like little duck beaks or crocodile mouths, and they come with little green and yellow matching fuzzy slippers. Adorable, right? Wrong. Because a baby can’t look cute in something he NEVER wears. Nobody uses those stupid robes! Like any sane person is going to shove some wiggling, slippery infant into an annoying terrycloth robe thingy with arms and slippers and a damn tie around the waist, when you can just throw a towel around him and get it the hell over with.

    2. Handmade Blankets – It’s about the sentiment, and I do get that. You’ve poured blood, sweat, and several hours of soap opera watching or subway riding into knitting the perfect, colorful, homemade baby blanket for someone’s little bundle of joy. But I have some bad news for you, Martha Stewart. You could have saved yourself a lot of time and carpal tunnel syndrome by simply marching into a Babies R Us and grabbing a package of brightly colored onesies. Because, unlike your slightly itchy blanket, those onesies will actually be worn regularly. And no one is going to feel like shit throwing them out when they’re no longer being used.

    I know it sounds harsh, and occasionally you do get one you really like. Even I have ONE that I love from an old coworker whose sweet grandmother knitted my son a blanket that matched the colors of my then-deployed husband’s cammies. It would be a cold day in hell before I ever got rid of that blanket. See? I do have a heart. But seriously, don’t make a blanket for anyone. It’s really not likely to tug on anyone’s heartstrings (unless their husband is away at war or something).

    3. Wrong Season/Size Baby Clothes – Little D was born at the beginning of the winter, after we had a particularly cold and snowy winter the year before. So it was no surprise that I received several snowsuits before I had her. By several, I mean FIVE. It ended up being one of the warmest winters on record here in NYC and we saw not a single inch of snow that whole year.

    But I actually liked the snowsuits; they were cute and Little D did wear some of them. What I found strange was the fact that one of the snowsuits I received was a size 6-9 months. I was due at the end of November, so six months later was….. April. Nine months later…. July. Didn’t need to be a math genius to figure out that the baby wasn’t going to need a thick, fleece snowsuit at the end of spring.

    For the record, I ended up donating all of those snowsuits to Hurricane Sandy victims. There’s that I heart I told you about again!

    4. Infant shoes – Fact: infants don’t walk. Fact (sort of): most infants don’t like having shoes on their feet anyway. Baby shoes are good for pictures, for the first ten minutes of a party, or maybe for a trip to grandma’s house. And also for ending up in the lost-and-found at shopping malls. But that’s it. Besides, there is not a pair of shoes on earth that is cuter than a pair of tiny baby feet. Free those little piggies, I say!

    5. Diapers – I know a box of diapers seems like the most practical gift ever. Babies need LOTS AND LOTS of diapers, right? How can you go wrong? Aren’t they little shit machines? Perhaps, but no baby needs multiple mega-super-giant boxes of newborn diapers. Even if a baby really poops ten times a day for their whole first month of life, that’s still only about 300 diapers. Those huge newborn diaper boxes can contain over 200 diapers each (there’s that pesky math again). Don’t ever buy anyone newborn diapers. Or even size one or size two, for that matter. Actually, just don’t buy diapers at all. Babies outgrow their diapers faster than you can say “I changed the last one, babe!” Leave the diaper-buying to the people who know how big their kid’s ass really is, and go buy a boppy pillow or something instead.

    Baby Gift Do’s:

    1. Sippy Cups – Seems so simple and easy to buy sippy cups as a gift, or at least as an add-on to a gift. Yet people rarely seem to do it. Kids use sippy cups much longer than baby bottles. I admit that Little M is five and still uses them. You might think that’s a bad idea, but I think my couch has less orange juice stains than yours. So there. Now go buy someone a sippy cup.

    And make sure it’s Disney, because they always have only two pieces to wash. You’re welcome, if you didn’t know that little tidbit of info already.

    2. Books/Toys/DVD’s – This is another one I don’t see enough of. The mom-to-be will receive at least five of those little play mats or gyms or whatever Fisher Price is calling them these days, but the baby will probably spend fifteen total minutes laying like a blob on the floor and staring blankly up at the spinning octopus light or flapping butterfly wings before space in the house gets tight and the useless things end up in storage for the next kid to never use. Save the $75 they audaciously charge for a glorified floor mat and buy some Little Einstein toys that the baby will actually enjoy playing with eventually.

    Books are great too. It might shock you because I rarely give myself an ounce of credit as a decent parent, but I am a huge advocate of introducing books as early as possible. My baby shower for Little D was actually book-themed. I’m kind of a book nerd. Well, I was before I had kids (and this blog) and had time to read, as well as the ability to get through a whole page without falling asleep immediately. But I think books are straight up awesome and kids should always have a bunch of them at home. I definitely don’t read to my kids as often as I should (and there goes my parenting credit), but I do know that it’s pretty helpful when you do.

    Oh, and DVD’s also make really good gifts. I love me some Laurie Berkner, she is the true baby whisperer. If you’ve never heard of her and have a baby around that occasionally needs some shutting up, check her out. She’s like musical Benadryl for babies.

    3. Baby Wipes – Diapers are a no-no, but baby wipes are a yes-yes. I’m not telling you to go gift-wrap a box of baby wipes or anything, but if you do I can promise that your gift will be more useful than about 80% of the other shit the mom-to-be will get at her shower. Just add the wipes to your gift or toss them in the wishing well. Or screw it, buy a giant box at Costco and wrap it up after all. She won’t be disappointed. It’s impossible to have too many baby wipes; see here for more of my thoughts on that.

    4. Quality Thermometer – This is another underrated item that will be used over and over again for years to come. No mom should ever be without a really great thermometer. Kids are germy little virus-transmitters who get sick like a hundred times per year. If the thermometer on the registry is not the best model in the store, go ahead and buy her the better one anyway. She can just return the shitty one. In my experience, crappy thermometers are always breaking or giving the wrong temperature when you really need them to be accurate. Mom-to-be will thank you someday when her kid’s head feels so hot you could bake a casserole on it.

    5. Pajamas – I am one pajama-lovin’ mama. I’m a firm believer that pajamas are always a perfect gift for anybody, young or old. And babies? Are in pajamas ALL THE TIME. I mean, if it were socially acceptable to walk around in footie pajamas, wouldn’t you wear them all the time too? Sure, it’s fun to dress the baby up in one of her 2,000 adorable outfits just to run to the pharmacy for more diaper cream and Diet Coke, but those pj’s are just going right back on within ten minutes of coming home. Basically, pajamas are cheaper than regular clothes and will be used wayyyyy more; it’s a total win-win.

    So there you have it, my baby gift do’s and don’ts list. Do you agree? Disagree? Think I missed something? Are pissed because you gave me a handmade baby blanket once? Leave a comment and let me know!

  • You Are Not Alone

    The one comment I seem to get most from people since I’ve started this little writing adventure not too long ago is “your blogs make me feel like I’m not alone.”

    So first, I want to say a gigantic THANK YOU to everyone for your awesome feedback and kindness. Words cannot express how much I appreciate you all taking a few minutes once or twice a week to actually read the insane crap I have to say. Imagine that! I can barely even get my own family to listen to me when I’m screaming at the top of my lungs for them to get their butts to the damn dinner table. And you wonderful people do it voluntarily! I love you guys. Seriously, I do. I hope that you’ll continue to support me and help my silly little blog keep growing and improving every day!

    But, more importantly, what I really want you all to know is that no, you are not alone. Not at all. Not one bit.

    If I’ve learned ANYTHING since becoming a mom, it’s that while motherhood requires you finally put on your big girl pants and grow the hell up, like immediately, it also unavoidably makes you a little bonkers. Actually, it makes you a lot bonkers. How can it not? Face it, you probably won’t even have a minute alone to pee for at least ten years. Who wouldn’t go nuts? So no, you are definitely not alone….

    If you have, on more than one occasion, told your child that the car was “broken” so you couldn’t make it to the park that day, you should know you aren’t alone.

    If you’ve also told him that the Play Doh had gone missing, or that you were all out of finger paint, or that the supermarket wasn’t selling his favorite flavor of ice cream that week, then you are not alone.

    If you have ever purposely spent thirty minutes sitting on the bathroom floor, pretending you ate some questionable sushi, playing Candy Crush or reading It Sucked and Then I Cried; How I Had a Baby, a Breakdown, and a Much Needed Margarita on your Kindle, then you are not alone.

    If it’s three a.m. and the baby is crying, and you know there’s either a Hershey surprise in her diaper or a bottle needs to made ASAP, but you kinda just roll over and pretend not to hear anything in a silent little battle of wills with your husband to see who will get up first, you are not alone.

    If you always end up getting up first anyway, you are not alone.

    If you are beginning to wonder if your husband isn’t just pretending to be asleep, you are not alone.

    If you’ve ever seen a mom or dad on one of your kids’ shows reading a book to their child and thought “I really should be doing that right now, instead of just letting him watch this shit on TV” but then you just kept letting him watch that shit on TV, you are not alone.

    If you ever worried that since you don’t buy every organic, pesticide free, gluten free, dairy free, vegan-friendly, nitrate free, ultra-expensive, cardboard-tasting food in the health-food supermarket or whatever, you are slowing killing and possibly causing brain/growth/social/developmental/behavioral damage to everyone, then you are most definitely not alone.

    If you’ve ever been sad that you couldn’t afford to give your child the best birthday party ever, or the most Christmas presents, or the vacation of a lifetime, then you’re not alone.

    If you’re not at all comforted by the people who tell you it’s better for them not to be spoiled by that kind of stuff, you are not alone.

    If you’ve ever forgotten to finish up the last few doses of that annoying ten-day antibiotic your kid’s been taking for her third damn ear infection this year, you are not alone.

    If you ever caught yourself watching SpongeBob after your child has gone to bed for the night because you haven’t changed the channel in four hours, you’re not alone.

    If you find yourself wondering, at least ten times a day, what the hell it is that you are doing wrong, because you KNOW you are doing something (maybe everything) wrong, then you are not alone.

    If you thought it would get easier as they got older, but it hasn’t and now you’re sure that it’s only getting harder by the minute, you are not alone.

    If you’ve ever screamed at your kid in public, then received death stares from everyone within earshot and went home feeling like the biggest piece of shit on two feet, then you are not alone.

    If you ever actually felt bad for your child because they are stuck forever with YOU as a parent, then you are not alone.

    But if you tell yourself that you are trying your best… but then wonder if that’s even really true, then you are not alone.

    If you ever found yourself tearing up while going through adorable old pictures of your child as a newborn and suddenly felt like you maybe wanted to have another one, but then five minutes later you found your kid in the bathroom holding an empty bottle of baby powder in one hand and an unraveled roll of toilet paper in the other, the whole room a sea of white, and then almost reached into your own body and tied your tubes yourself… Then you are not alone.

    If you’ve ever wondered if antidepressants really work, or if you know for a fact that they do (or don’t), then you are not alone.

    If you’ve ever looked at the clock and saw that it was 3 p.m. and you haven’t even brushed your teeth yet, nor changed out of your pajamas, nor showered (that week), then you’re not alone.

    If you’ve ever looked at the calendar and realized you haven’t even left the house in four days, you are not alone.

    If lately your face has touched not a single drop of makeup, nor have your feet seen a shoe fancier than a flip flop in several months; and if you consider wearing leggings or jeans of any sort to be “dressing up,” then you are not alone.

    If you are not even embarrassed to admit the last four facts to anyone who will listen– especially if that means you will get to engage in actual adult conversation with another human being who is old enough to buy a bottle of wine you can both drown your sorrows in together, then you are not alone.

    If, despite the fact that you’ve nodded your head in agreement to at least half of these, you still wouldn’t change a single thing, then you actually might be alone.

    Because I think we all can admit that we have regrets, and make mistakes, and we all have at least a few things we would have done differently, if given half the chance.

    But if you still know that, no matter what, you’d totally run in front of a speeding truck for your children without hesitation, and if you didn’t think it was possible but somehow you love those crazy kids even more today than you did yesterday, and you will love them even more than THAT tomorrow, then you are not alone.

    And if your life is permanently one big hectic ball of insanity and unpredictability and boredom and stress and hardship and anxiety, and having kids is a thousand times harder than you ever imagined it to be but still you wouldn’t change a single hair on their beautiful little bodies, then you are NOT alone.

    And you never will be 😉

  • The Epic Dinner Fail

    9 a.m. I really want to make something awesome for dinner tonight. My family rocks, they deserve a great meal. I’ll make a big pot of sauce! And spaghetti! And chicken cutlet parmesan! With meatballs! And garlic bread! And a really nice salad on the side, so we all get our greens of course. You know, I rock as a mom. I really do.

    10 a.m. I can’t wait to start cooking. Shit, wait. I have no chop meat. But meatballs are Little M’s favorite. Okay, no problem. I’ll just go to the store and pick some up after I finish the dishes.

    10:30 a.m. I actually need a shower first. I’ll go out and get the chop meat after.

    11 a.m. I just remembered we have no lettuce either. I can grab some when I get the chop meat. Eh, who am I kidding? My kids wouldn’t touch a piece of lettuce if it were dipped in chocolate and covered with sprinkles. But I’ll still get the chop meat, Little M really likes meatballs.

    11:30 a.m. Lunch time! I’ll go out and get the chop meat after I make the kids’ lunch.

    12. p.m. Oh, Little D fell asleep. I’m not waking her up just to go to the store. I’ll go out and get the chop meat after she gets up.

    1 p.m. Hmm. Don’t think I have time to get the chop meat now. The kids have doctor’s appointments in a little bit. I can always swing by the supermarket on the way home. Yep, that’s what I’ll do.

    2 p.m. Why is this stupid office always crowded? A thousand doctors in the damn practice, and yet none of them are ever here. Where are they? What are they doing? Do they all specialize in pediatric neurosurgery on the side? And why won’t this snot-covered little boy sneeze on his own mother? Ick.

    3 p.m. I should be on my way home by now. My beautiful dinner won’t cook itself. And if I have to shove one more tongue depressor at Little D in a feeble attempt to distract her from trying to run out the door, I’m going to stab someone with a dirty needle from the big red biohazard box. Am I ever getting the hell out of here??

    4. p.m. Jeez, I thought that would never end. Oh look, it’s the supermarket! Imagine me dragging these miserable kids in there right now for freaking MEATBALLS? HA! Bye supermarket!

    4:15 p.m. Um, so I just spent two hours listening to one kid beg me every five minutes to go home so he could play Wii while trying desperately to keep the other from crawling around on the filthy, germ-infested, doctor’s office floor. And I’m pretty sure I’m already showing signs of having swine flu. As awesome as breading, frying, and slapping a pound of cheese on a bunch of chicken cutlets sounds right about now, I think I’ll pass. Spaghetti will do just fine.

    4:20 p.m. You know what? I really think I need a glass of wine first. I deserve it after that hellish afternoon. Bottle opener, where are you??

    4:30 p.m. Mmm… That was a really good glass of wine. I should just have one glass. I’m probably just going to feel really tired if I have any more. But it was just so damn good. Ah, what the hell? One more glass, and then I’ll start to cook.

    5:00 p.m. Ok just ONE MORE GLASS. I swear!

    5:30 p.m. Wait. What was I planning to make for dinner again?

    5:45 p.m. Hi, can I have a large pie with mushrooms, pepperoni and extra cheese?

  • Summer Bummer: Wake Me Up When September Begins

    Before all of you summer-lovers roll your eyes and go back to getting your tan on or whatever, hear me out.  Why?  Because sometimes I’m hilarious.  Not because you’re going to agree or anything.  You probably won’t.

    So I am no fan of the summer.  Sun, sand, surf… Blah blah blah.  None of it really rings my bell.  See here for my thoughts on summer vacation and here for my thoughts on the beach.  The thing I hate most about summer is that it is so damn HOT.  I actually get anxiety attacks from feeling overheated (don’t believe me? Go ask the doctor who prescribed me FOUR Xanex a day.  No I don’t take it all, but it wouldn’t be illegal if I did).  I just don’t do heat.  It’s not for me.

    I know I seem a little cynical about summer (and a lot of other things too, I suppose).  But I promise I’ll be happier once the weather cools down.  Well, except for in the dead of winter when it snows a lot and I’m stuck in the house with two insanely bored kids while Big M works back-to-back twelve-hour shifts with no days off, and I die a little more inside with each new flake of falling snow….

    But we’ll cross that blog when we come to it.

    For now, summer is the one on my shit list.  Here are twelve reasons why this season gotsta GO.

    1. You know that feeling when you just want to stay in your pj’s all day and be a big bum?  Maybe you drank a little too much last night, or you’re just in a crappy mood for some reason, or you were up until 3 a.m. watching reruns of WEEDS.  In January, go ahead and rock those pj’s til the sun goes down.  No one cares. In July? Hello, guilt!  You are a shitty mom, a shitty human being, and you should probably relocate to Antarctica until you’ve grasped the importance of daily Vitamin D intake for you and your family.
    2. Some dickhead mosquito just bit me on the bottom of my foot.  I smashed him, and now he’s a dead dickhead.  But my foot is still itchy.
    3. Little M starts a full day of kindergarten in September. A FULL DAY.  Six hours a day, five days a week.  You do the math.  Comes out to one happy freaking mommy.
    4. If that stupid ice cream truck creeps down my block after 8 p.m. one more time, there will be a new reason for calling him Mr. Softee. One that involves my foot and his little creamsicle.
    5. Leg shaving.  Summer: occurs once every other day or so.  Winter: occurs once every other month or so.
    6. When the weather cools off I get to stuff my feet into little boot-shaped pillows and joyfully wear them with almost every article of clothing I own.  They’re called Uggs, and I don’t care if men think “Ugg” is short for “ugly”.  My extremely cozy feet and I respectfully disagree.
    7. Ain’t no traffic like summertime traffic, cuz summertime traffic don’t stop.  Case in point.  This little clusterfuck took place somewhere near the entrance to the Staten Island Expressway during rush hour on a sunny August afternoon.  The kids slept off all the energy expelled at the beach in the hour and a half that it took to drive a whopping ten miles to our house—and then they stayed up til 11 p.m.traffic
    8. I’m so over cleaning sand out of my car.  And my kids’ butts.  And other places…
    9. You might think your little Spanx-brand tankini was the best two hundred bucks you ever spent, but there isn’t enough control-top polyester in the world to hide that gut.  You know what might?  A big, thick, sweater.  Just saying.
    10. Pumpkins are a superfood.  Hot dogs and hamburgers are not.
    11. Fall TV.  Because I no longer give a shit how much “talent” America has.
    12. Frizzy is NOT the new flirty.  There is nothing flirtatious about looking like you used your SteamVac to style your hair.  Unless you chemically straighten or live in some warm, zero-humidity paradise, the safety ponytail gets old sometime around mid-August.

  • So What Do You DO All Day?

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    I’m a stay-at-home mom, an occupation which, by the very nature of its poorly chosen name, implies that I merely STAY AT HOME all day.

    Fellow SAHM’s, is that hilarious or what?

    I think that in order for a person to be dumb enough to even ask me that question, they must be imagining that perhaps I am doing what THEY would be doing if they were staying home all day– like painting my nails or washing my car or catching up on the last season of True Blood or whatever.

    And it makes total sense, really.

    Because my nails ARE painted.  I had a mani/pedi before a wedding back in June and haven’t gotten around to removing the bits and pieces of leftover polish yet. So yep, the nails are painted.

    And my car?  Freshly washed.  I mean, it rained this weekend, right?  Nothing chips away at bird shit like torrential downpours!

    And you KNOW I’m all caught up on my True Blood.  That’s the one with the vampire who counts the numbers on Sesame Street, right?  Haha, I’m joking!  I can’t even pretend that watching a True Blood marathon in the middle of the day wouldn’t give my children nightmares until 2015, so you got me there.

    To the idiot who is stupid enough to ask me that question, we’ll call you Jackass from here on out: I want you to know that what YOU do during your free time is completely different from what I do in my free time.

    You know how I know that? Because, unlike you, I DON’T HAVE ANY FREE FUCKING TIME.

    Jackass, my day begins not whenever I choose, nor simply when I wake up. Nor does it begin even after a nearby alarm goes off that I can bash with my fist in order to enjoy ten more blissful minutes of restful sleep.  My day begins whenever my children decide it’s time for me to get up, usually by poking me in the face or smacking me in the head or screaming in my ear until my eyes have opened fully.  I then rise from bed and change the first of many diapers for the day, cook the first of many meals for the day, answer the first of many random questions of the day, and referee the first of many fights for the day.  I then painstakingly get my children and myself dressed and out the door with less than a minute to spare, drop one child off at school or day camp, or maybe soccer practice if it’s a weekend, then proceed to drag the other along with me on my daily errands, praying that she will let me get at least one thing done before she throws a total shitfit and tries to eject herself from a shopping cart or a stroller or maybe even a moving vehicle.

    I then return home and take advantage of her nap time by doing some awesome dishes, a chore that’s nearly impossible to do when my daughter is awake because she gets such a kick out of removing the plates and silverware (knives, in particular) from the bottom rack of the dishwasher whenever it is open.  If I’m lucky enough for her to still be asleep once I’m finished with the dishes I can then fold up some awesome laundry, another chore that’s difficult to do when she is awake because she likes to steal and unfold clothes when I’m not looking and then hide them away in various spots around the house.

    Once this is done I make lunch for her and then usually choke down my own lunch while standing over the sink.  After lunch, we go pick up my son and spend the remainder of the afternoon breaking up fights, handing out snacks, setting up activities to divert them from killing one another, and fielding some more endless random questions.  Oh, and in between all of that I attempt to clean the house and prepare dinner for everyone, too.

    On really fun days we spend the afternoon at the park, where I perform this really cool magic trick of splitting myself in half so that I can easily chase both children around the hot, crowded playground while they run at full speed in opposite directions.

    After dinner is finished and all cleaned up, the next hour is spent scrubbing little asses and feet in the bathtub and then getting everyone pj’d up and ready for bed. Which is a joke, really, because bedtime is always just a game of “who can stay up the latest?” This is a game I lose more often than not.

    Once everyone is finally asleep I’m usually pretty exhausted and so I head off to bed myself.  Then I wake up and repeat a similar process the next day.

    Even if the next day is Saturday.

    Or Sunday.

    Or Christmas.

    Sorry, “me time.” I guess we can try again another time.

    Oh, Jackass.  Come on, now. I’m totally kidding around.  My life really IS as simple you think it is.  In fact, you should come over and hang out one day to see firsthand just how I slothfully I lie on  my couch all day, inhaling Bon-Bons Peggy Bundy style, drinking bottles of Cabernet and ordering new tank tops online with my Macy’s credit card.

    See for yourself how my children sit quietly in separate corners of the house, feeding themselves healthy food and entertaining themselves with educational activities throughout the day.

    Watch in awe as the pots and pans magically arrange themselves on the stove, and the food flies right out of the refrigerator and chops itself up on the cutting board, all to be cooked by osmosis.

    Watch, my dear Jackass, as the laundry leaps from its basket directly into the washing machine, and from there into the dryer, even taking the fabric sheets with it as it goes.

    Be mystified at how *POOF* groceries just materialize in my cabinets and fridge, literally forming out of thin air and neatly stocking themselves in the shelves right before your very eyes.

    See my amazing dog use his opposable thumbs to refill his very own water bowl all day long, and then witness my vacuum cleaner plug itself right into wall and begin to remove smashed up Cheerios from the carpet fibers all on its own.

    And after that, you can go ahead and hop back in your time machine and return to 1925, when it was typical to openly assume that a mother’s job (working, stay-at-home, and everything in between) made her ANYTHING less than a fucking superhero.

    I really think you need to go call your own mom right now and tell her she’s amazing.  Do it.

    But first, did you have anything else you wanted to ask me?

    Didn’t think so.

    Jackass.