Marriage: The Fine Art of Not Committing Murder

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“You look like a princess Mummy!” says the spawn.

I turn around and look at the spouse. Our eyes meet, and we burst out laughing.

She says this while I am squatting over a dead bug, inspecting it for vital signs using her blue polka dot flip flop. My pajama pants are hiked up and the bottom part is wet because I was mowing the lawn earlier (yes we have a backyard now…more on that another time), I’ve been cleaning, my hair hasn’t been washed in two days and in summary, the only princess I could possibly look like is Princess Fiona from Shrek after sunset.

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Moving a Dead Body

Many years ago, while walking through my university campus with a male friend on a starry, moonlit night, we passed by a dark, secluded spot. I leaned into him and whispered, “Damn. This would be a great spot to dump a dead body”.

In spite of, or possibly because of, my knowledge of prime dead body drop-off locations, that boy decided to spend the rest of his life with me. And to this day, he expresses his disbelief at that comment.

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We Are Raising a She-Hulk

Before my daughter was born and we didn’t know her gender, we used to refer to her as “it”. After she was born, the pronoun stuck and we began calling her “it” when we wanted to imply that she was acting like a beastly creature.

When she was down for a nap in her room, my husband would stick the baby monitor in my face and say, “It’s awake”.

When she would pee on me: “It hates you”.

When she would throw a tantrum: “It’s losing its shit”. Continue reading

Standing the Test of Time

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Time flies. Time is money. Time is of essence. Time is ticking. Sands of time. Time waits for no one. What time is it anyway?

We kill time. We make time. It can be a good time or a bad time. There is quality time, and there is a quantity of time. Time is a product, a tangible thing it seems.

And to raise a child is to understand the paradigm of time. Mainly because children are predisposed to give less of a shit about time then a bird with an imminent bowel movement does about your car. Continue reading

Imposter Monster

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All the colors of the rainbow in my hand

I am an accountant.

It’s an exhilarating and exciting job. Everyday, I have key decisions to make like what color to choose for my spreadsheet report. Which file folder do I use? Which color stickies do I select? It’s almost as unpredictable and creatively satisfying as being Beyoncé. Continue reading

The Second Class Citizens Foundation

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Creeping on my mom and spawn

You are the apple of your parents’ eyes. They love you unconditionally. They have tucked you in and kissed your boo-boos. They have ooh-ed and aah-ed at each one of your accomplishments. They love you more than they love anyone else. Continue reading