the smell of my desperation has become a stench

Why you don’t want me to watch your kids

While attending a wedding by myself on Saturday night (Jon was off terrorizing innocent woodland creatures with his clogs), I stood behind two adolescent boys in the buffet line. Both of them turned their noses up at the endless variety of sushi laid out in beautiful, color-coordinated designs. By the time they had made it to the middle of the table neither of them had put anything on their plates, and then one of them saw a huge bowl of wasabi. He nudged his friend, pointed at the green mass and asked, “What is that?”

The other boy’s body relaxed with a huge sigh of relief, and then he said, “Dude! They’ve got guacamole! I love this stuff!”

And because my insides are as black as the jam underneath Satan’s toenails I didn’t stop him from scooping a baseball-sized portion onto his plate.

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.

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