Venting Is Allowed

Venting Is Allowed

I recently wrote a post for Scary Mommy about a boy struggling with cancer. To raise awareness for the struggle sick children and their families face every day, his mother shared a heartbreaking photo of her son, bald, gaunt, and clearly in pain.

In the Facebook comments for the post, someone mentioned that the story reminded her that she should be grateful for what she has, instead of whining about what she doesn’t.

I get that, but I don’t think those two things are mutually exclusive. Venting is allowed. Especially for parents.

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Parenting Done Right

Parenting Done Right

Recently, I wrote about some of the positive things my son has inherited from me, mostly by dint of genetics and osmosis. Which is to say accidentally. Give or take The Beatles.

I don’t like to brag, which is why I’m going to do it again today! Only this time there’s nothing accidental about the things I’m going to discuss. Because these aren’t traits my son was handed down, or music I’ve indoctrinated him into. These are things I’ve done right as a parent, on purpose!

Because I am the greatest parent alive!

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Mother’s Day Made Easy With DIYZ

Mother’s Day Made Easy With DIYZ

Disclosure: This post is in collaboration with DIYZ. All opinions of apps and companies that help me complete DIY projects are my own.

When we moved to Raleigh in 2012, we bought a dining room table which came with a bench. But, the only bench the store had available was the display model. It wasn’t without some wear and tear, but we needed it. Obviously, a mere year and a half later, when we got back to Brooklyn, it broke.

The wood splintered on one of the legs and it was no longer stable enough to use. It seemed fixable, at least for someone who can fix things (read: not me), so we kept it in storage for when Mom and Buried got remarried.

To her chagrin, we’re still together, and the bench is still broken.

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My Mom Is Too Nice For Words

My Mom Is Too Nice For Words

I’ve written about my father before, but I’ve never really written about my mom. Not because there’s nothing to say, but because there’s too much to say. It’s scary to write about her! How can I do my mom justice? How can anyone?

I don’t know that I’d call myself a “mama’s boy” because I’m too much of a jerk for that – and every time I go home I revert to being a teenager again, which means I’m even less nice to everyone than normal, no matter how long I was in your womb! – but moms are pretty special, and it’s hard to capture every reason why. In the case of my mom, it’s particularly hard, because she’s so nice.

It’s hard to praise niceness. Niceness can seem bland. But there’s nothing bland about my mom.

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