An unfiltered fire hose of flaming condemnation

To the rescue

My father and stepmother gave both Jon and me cards with a little bit of cash tucked inside for our recent birthdays. They signed my card, “Love you.” Jon’s card was signed with, “Thanks for being who you are. Also, have we told you lately just how grateful we are you took one for the team? I mean, we know how hard it must be, and the fact that you continue to put up with it shows just how amazing you really are. There was a time when we thought she’d die alone, deserved to die alone, and then you came along and made it so that we didn’t have to field those late night phone calls. You truly have a place reserved for you in heaven.”

Okay, maybe it was just that first sentence, but I know exactly what my dad is trying to say when he doesn’t say it. And when people ask me if my parents like Jon, I’m all, like Jon? Hmm. How do I put this? They think Jesus sent him.

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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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