the smell of my desperation has become a stench

Summoning my roots

Yesterday I was snacking on some carrots (WHAT? Yes, I snack on carrots, it’s what all the gangstahs are doing) when Marlo asked if she could have one. Unfortunately, Coco has this radar that goes off in her head when Marlo is anywhere near food, it probably rings CRUMBS! CRUMBS! CRUMBS! and she will follow her around. Not to protect her like her breed is supposed to do, no. She does it for the chance TO STEAL FROM HER. Like a fox or a wolf or, you know, a domestic cat.

So I handed Marlo a carrot, and believe you me, I have heard the horror stories about carrots and kids and how carrots are the perfect shape and size to block off the air in a toddler’s throat. So I watch her every move when she’s holding a carrot so that in the off chance she sticks it in her mouth I can swat it out of her hand like a ninja. That’s my super power: swatting carrots. You can hire me for parties, preferably adult ones.

Why do I give her a carrot in the first place if I’m not going to let her eat it? BECAUSE I HAVE TO PRACTICE MY SUPERPOWER. Duh.

Sure enough, Coco appeared out of nowhere, and within seconds her snout was touching Marlo’s hand. So I got in her face and said, “I’m on flick you in the head, son.” In my most fierce and menacing Southern accent. I wouldn’t ever actually flick Coco in the head, no. It’s just the tone of my voice that let’s her know I mean business:

Right then Leta laughed and said, “Wow. You sounded EXACTLY like Grandmommy just then.”

HA! AWESOME. I called my mother, told her what had just happened, and concluded that she must come across as a fierce and menacing Southern force to her grandchildren. I could hear her waving her middle finger at me through the phone when she responded, “And I guess I’m going to read all about this on your website tomorrow?”

OH HELL YES.

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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