the smell of my desperation has become a stench


Number of pregnant, stress pimples that have sprouted on my forehead since Friday night: 4

Description of alien being trying to escape those pregnant, stress pimples: green, scaly, with an amphibious disposition

Number of 50W halogen spot lights we installed in the kitchen ceiling yesterday: 8

Number of lights after which I wanted to give up, sit down and cry: 1

Hours spent patching, sanding, priming, and painting the walls: 30

Number of times I gave up, sat down and cried while patching, sanding, priming, and painting the walls: Once every 30 minutes

Number of times in the last four days I used the excuse If there ever was a day when I should be able to eat french fries and not feel guilty, today is that day: Once

Number of days in the last 34 weeks I have used that excuse: Over 200

Number of trips to Home Depot in the last four days: Once each day

Average amount of money spent on each trip to Home Depot: WAY TOO FUCKING MUCH

Things that would have been more enjoyable than the last four days of the kitchen remodel: 1) A root canal without anesthesia 2) Labor without epidural 3) Hemorrhoids

Average number of calories burned per day, per person: 3,500

Average number of calories consumed each day: 2,500 for Jon; 7,000 for me since I’m burning calories for two

What the look on Chuck’s face said when Jon began sawing chunks of lathe and plaster out of the wall: HOLY FUCKING SHIT

Number of times Jon had to tell me to stop wiping up the dust because there was just more dust coming: Like, way too many

Color of boogers: black

Number of times Jon said Motherfucker! while I was talking to my mother on the phone: Once

Number of times Jon apologized for dropping the Queen Mother within earshot of my mother: Once

Number of times it was necessary for Jon to apologize to my mother: None, considering the words I have dropped and bodily functions I have performed in front of his entire family

Number of washings it took to get all the primer out of my hair: 16

Just how cute my husband looked when he crawled into the attic in that protective suit with those protective goggles: Oh my God.

Heather B. Armstrong

Hi. I’m Heather B. Armstrong, and this used to be called mommy blogging. But then they started calling it Influencer Marketing: hashtag ad, hashtag sponsored, hashtag you know you want me to slap your product on my kid and exploit her for millions and millions of dollars. That’s how this shit works. Now? Well… sit back, buckle up, and enjoy the ride.

read more