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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
I grew up with grocery store cake and cousins in the yard. It was fine.
Small party, yes. Full production, absolutely not.
My kid remembers the balloons and one cousin. I remember spending four hundred dollars.
We alternate party years and experience years. Nobody has called social services.
No. Cake at home counts. Childhood does not collapse without a rented bounce house.
And somehow half the guests leave before cake after you bought enough pizza for a dealership.