the smell of my desperation has become a stench

Pay attention, this one’s complicated

Several months ago when we had Coco fixed the vet sent us home with a packet of information that included a giant red piece of paper covered in a warning about how important it was to make sure that the dog did not lick her own wound. They even gave us a tiny plastic cone to put around her neck just in case she fixated on it, and on the drive home Jon wondered out loud, “They didn’t say anything about whether or not it was okay for anyone else to lick her wound.”

“By anyone else, do you mean Chuck?” I asked hopefully.

“By anyone I mean anyone. What are they implying by the absence of that stipulation?”

“They are implying that they trust you have two brain cells to rub together.”

It was around this time that I brought up the subject of edamame on this website, and many readers suggested that we put together an instructional video on how we cook and eat them. And we shot some footage that night, we certainly did, but other things have occupied our attention since then — SILHOUETTE OF MICHAEL PHELPS’ ABDOMEN, BREAST STROKE, BREAST STROKE, BREAST STROKE — and Jon was all, this is entirely unfair, it’s not like Kate Walsh got dressed up in a tiny bikini and gyrated her perfectly toned body through a pool every night for a week, ON INTERNATIONAL TELEVISION, and he drew up a letter to the Universe and called it several names that I don’t think Harvey Keitel would agree to say out loud in a movie.

So while I was watching every single minute of the swimming portion of the Olympics Jon edited all the footage together and we finally have ourselves a video. He wants you to note a few things before viewing, however:

1. His hair is post nap.

2. His hair and Coco’s hair: matching.

3. My pronunciation of “Jon” is something he hears about 30 times an hour, thus he has developed selective hearing. I call it willfully ignoring me.

4. Leta had a very minor meltdown involving the snap-out portion of her princess magnets; not the magnets themselves, the snap-out holder thingy which he mended with tape. During editing he cut out the footage of us both standing over the pot of boiling water wondering aloud whether or not the sound of our daughter wailing in the other room is what people would refer to as neglect.

5. Behold: mind-blowing special effects. If you blink you’ll miss the part where I run screaming from the house because his hair looks like this.

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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