We don’t have a home phone. Not many people do, these days. But I have been thinking about what we would do if something happened to me and I became incapacitated while I was alone with the girls. Would they know how to get help? So, I thought it was time we had a good discussion about 911. About the instances we may need to call. About how to unlock mommy’s phone and call 911. About how to Facetime daddy and grandma on their iPads if they need a grown-up and mommy is sick. I give them the run down and begin quizzing them. “Okay, what if mommy is sleeping and you can’t wake me up?”, I asked them. “Call 911 for the emergency helpers”, my 5yo proudly says. “Good work”, I tell her. “Now what if I fall and I have a majorly big owie but I can still talk?” “Call Daddy and Grams on my iPad and bring you your phone!”, my 5yo states. My youngest nods along with this decision. “Smart choice, girls”, I tell them. “Last one. What if mommy falls down the stairs and isn’t talking?” “GO TO THE PANTRY AND EAT SNACKS!!!”, my toddler happily yells. Cool. Happy Sunday. 🔴 This Bento: Yumbox Original in Blue Fish
I was reading the girls a bedtime story tonight (naturally one that had 8650 pages) and I accidentally and with malicious intent skipped a few pages in the middle. After reading for another minute or two, my 5yo says “mommy you missed some pages!”. I told her that I hadn’t (rookie move). She insisted I had. I said “how do you know? You can’t even read!” – and she looks at me deadass in the eyes and says “well obviously neither can you because this story makes no sense”. Shots fired. I am not okay. I am raising a tiny version of myself and I need help. 🔴 This Bento: Yumbox Original in Blue Fish
Let’s talk authenticity for a hot minute. I was approached recently by a pretty large company, wanting to work together. They would pay me (in actual cash dollars) and in return I would promote and use their product in my photos. Only problem? I don’t like their product. I’ve used it. Wasn’t a fan. So….I turned it down. I’m not exactly raking in the dough with my Instagram hobby but I still turned it down. And that’s because I vowed that I will NEVER trade authenticity for approval. I think the most valuable thing I have is your trust in me and I don’t take that lightly. From day 1, I promised to only share things with you (especially ones I’ll profit from) that I truly like/use/believe in. And even further, I would always focus on small, local, handmade shops because I believe quality goods are a dying breed. It’s important to me to know where my belongings come from if I can help it. I really do choose all my sponsors and partnerships and collaborators mindfully – making sure that I believe in the maker and their products so you will too. Would it be easy to partner with every company that asks (and there are a lot), and in turn maybe make a living wage myself? LOL sure. There are tons of super successful IG influencers that do that daily and I respect their hustle immensely. It is just not me or my jam. I don’t want to trade money and likes and followers and exposure and social media growth for my authenticity. If people don’t trust me, believe in my word, than I have nothing. I started this account 9 months ago – never dreaming that my hustle would net me the success I’ve had – and I don’t take it for granted. I’m not tooting my own horn here, I’m really just trying to convey how important I feel it is to be myself in a world where everyone is trying to be like someone else ❤ This Bento – Yumbox Original in Bijoux Purple (lunch for me!)
2 mini cucumbers, halved & scooped out
french baguette slices
tuna salad topped with Everything But The Bagel seasoning
raspberries, blackberries, mandarin orange segments, and dried apricots
Don’t you even, for one single solitary second, come on my page to check my lunch inspiration, and feel bad about yourself. Don’t do it.
Nothing separates us. I am NOT a better parent because I cut fruit into shapes and arrange it in a bento box. You are NOT a bad parent if all your budget allows for is bologna sandwiches in a ziploc bag, or your kid refuses to eat anything except for pepperoni sticks. At the end of the day, every single one us is just trying to do our best to raise KIND womb trophies. That’s it. Here’s a helpful list:
What makes someone a good parent?
Offering your child food in regular intervals (if they actually eat it is another story but really, not your forking problem)
Worrying about being a good parent
Loving your child
What makes someone a bad parent?
Not feeding your child(ren)
Not loving your child at least sometimes
Like anyone, I have good days and not-as-good days. I have organic rainbow pasta with expensive cheese and fresh vegetable days and “leftover A&W chicken strips & packaged snacks” sorta days. I yell at my kids. I have to apologize to my kids. I get frustrated and often feel like I’m one forking tantrum away from an atomic meltdown. I send my kids to bed when I’m angry and then tip-toe back in with tears in my eyes to kiss them 500x. I know you do the same.
So if you have a wicked Internet worthy lunch today, huge fist bump to you. If you only managed the bare minimum, I hear lemon lollipops can ward off scurvy and also great work putting in the effort you’re able to. I love you all.
If toddlers waking up at 2:15am screaming at the top their lungs that their “legs are spicy” sounds like a super fun thing, then definitely go ahead and have kids. Turns out it’s actually forking hard to explain the concept of pins and needles in the middle of the night to a 2.5yo whose acting like an octupus being murdered in cold blood. In related news, today might be the day I learn if Starbucks will fill a bubba keg with espresso. Stay tuned.
If a story about my preschooler asking what tampons are and me having to explain it under duress makes you feel uncomfortable – don’t have kids please and scroll on by this post.
My daughter came outta the bathroom today and asked me what the box of tampons on top of the toilet were for. My husband walks by muttering, “nope nope nope nope” so I knew I was going to battle solo. I had a raging headache so I asked her if we could talk about it later. She’s super insistent at that point though so I try to go for it.
Now, we are pretty open with the girls. We use proper names and processes, and try to explain everything in the most age appropriate way we can think of. I also want her to know she can come to me with any questions (big or small), and never be shamed or lied to. I think transparency is one of the best gifts I can give her as a mother.
So I just tell her all girls (yes, I am aware of the conflicts here regarding gender, but that will be another honest conversation for another day) have a uterus in their belly, and that’s where babies grow. And if no baby comes to your uterus that month, then the uterus sheds a bit of it’s lining and blood and it comes out of the vagina. I explain that this process typically happens every month. The tampons are one way we can collect the blood in our vagina and then we dispose of them.
You guys. She looked so forking horrified. “There’s BLOODS in your ‘gina?” – *she shakes her head and scoffs* – “Why can’t you just tell your uterus there are no babies coming and to not bleed?,” she says, wringing her hands (LMAO which might be the greatest untold truth of all time). “Every month? Like 30 sleeps? And it keeps coming? Can the doctors help?”
And so now we’re re-doing our financial plan to adjust how much money we set aside for therapy because I just gave my preschooler menstruation anxiety. DON’T ASK QUESTIONS YOU’RE NOT PREPARED TO HEAR THE ANSWERS TO, KID. Rule 1 in life.
This Bento: Yumbox Panino in Neptune Blue
cucumbers, celery, carrots, & red peppers
sundried tomato wraps with garden vegetable cream cheese, honey ham, lettuce, and shredded cheese
There are a lot of ways I feel unequipped to be a parent, but no more so than today. My 4.5 year old crawled into my lap after school today. Snuggling on me, rubbing her cheeks on my leg. Then, she looks up at me with big doe eyes and says, “Mama, I want a toy vagina for Christmas.” (OKAY WHAT). My brain immediately kicks up a seizure inducing strobe light of red flags but I need to figure out why my preschooler wants a toy vagina. A TOY VAGINA.
So I ask her why she wants one with a thick coating of suspicion I cannot mask in my voice. She shrugs – “Because I can’t see my own vagina and I wanna know what they look like”, she says matter-of-factly.
Okay, I think. She’s interested in human anatomy. That’s cool. Not suspish at all. Reasonable and age appropriate. Maybe there is a female anatomical medical model or book I can get her.
“What colour of vagina toys are there, mommy?”, she asks.
PRO TIP. DON’T GOOGLE THIS. I hope I don’t die soon because whoever has to go thru my google search history will be sorry.
“I want a black one”, she says. I ask why, since she wanted a vagina toy that looks like hers so she can know what her own looks like. The only black thing about my daughter is the shadow from her pasty white ass when the sun hits her. She deadass looks at me with a stone cold stare and says, “I can’t even see mine, how am I supposed to know it’s not black?
What. The. Forking. Vagina. Monologues. Am. I. Gonna. Do?