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Jesus Rises and Crap Falls Onto My Chest (Week 5)

parenting

3.25.13

Last night went something like this:

Mommy: [Daddy], did you know babies have growth spurts at about this time?

Daddy: Oh yeah?

Mommy: Yeah. Babies cry a lot during them. But not ours, right? He barely cries. We’re so lucky. So so lucky.

Daddy made a sleep sound in agreement.

You, on the other hand, as if on cue, flashed your baby blues open and, get this, started wailing. You, wailing. Wailing. And wailing.Read more »

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Let’s Talk Poop, Placentas, and Precious People (Week 2)

parenting

3.4.13-3.10.13

This week is getting lumped together, Little Man, because I can’t even discern a day from another. Don’t get me wrong, unlike in sleep-deprived college days, the AMs and PMs blurring together has never been such a perfect thing.

Mommy and Daddy have parked out on the couch that we bought a few months back. After five years of marriage and over a decade together, probably it was time we got our first piece of furniture somewhere other than Craigslist or your grandparents’ shed. Expensive sofa got covered with waterproof pads, quilts, and more blankets because, what do you know, babies spit up. And mommy levels ice cream to face and completely misses. Hole in chin what?Read more »

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Social Mom

green mom

Even though all the house lights are on,

Garage door open, and blinds pulled high,

I punch the air to “If You Wanna Be My Lover”

And let my balloon belly and utters fly

After all, this is why

I bought the house in the sticks,

So I wouldn’t have to deal with

Loud basses and strange little pricks.

I hate the sound of the interstate;

I hate Wal Mart so much I might burn it;

I hate having to look people in the eye,

So I decided to become a hermit.

Ambrosial are the sound of the leaves in the wind,

The squawking geese, the trickling creek.

Out here, in middle of nowhere,

I can dance, fart, or take a girl-squatting leak.

But there you are, crunching up my driveway,

So I say pretty four-letter words

And throw myself

Into the room with a lot of cat turds.

Sure, you can knock on the door,

But can’t you hear, above the Spice Girls, the shower?

And don’t you know I might be breastfeeding?

That’s right, people. Girl power.

FedEx, just chuck the expensive package out your window.

My dogs will carry it miles into the woods anyway.

Mrs. Nearest Neighbor, you’re such a good person,

But I just want to be weird and naked and alone, okay?

If a serial killer escaped from the prison on route A,

Thanks for the 411, but I have an AK by the door,

A three-legged Chihuahua who snacks on coyotes,

And a disposition not unlike a rabid boar.

It’s not that I’m against being social,

It’s just that my washer’s on the fritz,

My cat just hacked up a large creature,

And you do not want to smell my pits.

So consider this me doing you a favor

By not answering the door

Shoot me an email or give me a ring

So I can simply push ignore.

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