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I would really like to know when my last nerve became community property. Because everybody in this house is using it. At the same time.
Some traditions are beautiful. Some traditions are just things nobody had the nerve to stop doing. There is a difference. Every family has one. A
“Mom, where’s my charger?” I don’t know. That answer seems to upset people. Like I’m being difficult on purpose. Like there is a large control
At some point motherhood got a production department. I don’t know when. Maybe Pinterest did it. Maybe Instagram. Maybe we did it to ourselves because
Forty three unread messages and somehow none of them were urgent.
Helpful gesture or one more weird house rule nobody agreed on?
Mom rants, petty arguments, family bullshit, polls and the stories worth sending to the group chat.
MOM.WTF
Sometimes the garbage bag needs witness protection.
I toss obvious trash. Anything sentimental gets a conversation.
My kid remembered a plastic spider he had ignored for two years.
I use a quarantine box. If nobody asks for it in a month, goodbye.
Broken toys and dried markers, yes. Beloved weird rock, proceed carefully.
The quarantine box has saved me from several tiny courtroom dramas.