Yesterday morning the kids took mercy on me and didn’t stomp around this tiny house before 7AM, and when it was all said and done I slept for 14 straight hours. I have my theories as to why my body needed that kind of break from reality—PIANO CONCERTO FEDERATION IS FINALLY OVER AND THAT SHIT IS HARD ON DOTING MOTHERS–and by the time I walked into the kitchen Leta was hangry. HANG GREE. There was no “good morning” or “hello” or “thank you for the sacrifices you make on an hourly basis so that I might live a fulfilling life” or even a goddamn “sup”. I don’t even remember the first thing she said only that smoke poured out of her ears and nostrils as she growled it at me.
“She’s been waiting for you to wake up so that we can eat,” Marlo translated as she is fluent in Awful and Ungrateful Offspring.
I normally make the girls cinnamon rolls on the weekend mornings, but I didn’t understand why neither of them had grabbed a snack or perhaps started gnawing on their own arms. There were options, and I told both of them that they’d have to wait another 20 minutes or so for the oven to warm up plus cooking time. In the meantime, why not gnaw on your own arm?
Leta apologized for being so grumpy and walked over to the kitchen to fix herself a bowl of Honey Nut Cheerios HASTAG NOT SPONSORED. Wait, that’s not accurate. Because it wasn’t just one bowl. It was four bowls. One, two, three, FOUR bowls of cereal. And when the cinnamon rolls had finishing baking, she ate three of those. Do you know what it feels like to not only find a food that your picky child will eat but also witness her eating gobs and gobs of said food?
Actually. That’s too understated. This is more accurate.
Four bowls of Honey Nut Cheerios is common with that kid, and so every time I am at the grocery store—no matter why I am there—I grab a couple of boxes. I was telling this to a friend yesterday who scratched his head so hard that I could hear it through the phone. “Are you sitting down? Because what I’m about to tell you is going to blow your mind,” he said. “There’s this place called Costco.”
OH SHUT UP. Yes, I know. I live less than a mile from the biggest one in the world, remember? And last time I was there I realized, oh shit. I don’t have room in my house for a hundred rolls of toilet paper. I literally do not have room for bulk cereal in my house. Half of the countertop space in my kitchen is already occupied by food because I don’t even have a pantry. The other half is occupied by glasses full of my privileged white woman tears.
The point being… y’all. This isn’t even half of the number of books people have sent me since the last installment. You can’t see the floor in my office because it’s just stacks and stacks of books. I am donating the majority of them, but until then I have nowhere to put them. The floor of my office was a brilliant decision, though, because without fail every morning I walk in with my cup of coffee, trip over a stack that I tripped over the previous morning and have yet to re-stack, and am all WHY PEOPLE GOTTA BE READING WORDS.
What I Can Learn from the Incredible and Fantastic Life of Steve Jobs
What I Can Learn from the Incredible and Fantastic Life of Oprah Winfrey
E.T. the Extra-Terrestrial: The Classic Illustrated Storybook
Jane Eyre, by Charlotte Bronte: A KinderGuides Illustrated Learning Guide
The Odyssey, by Homer: A KinderGuides Illustrated Learning Guide
Pride and Prejudice, by Jane Austen: A KinderGuides Illustrated Learning Guide
That Inevitable Victorian Thing
Things Are What You Make of Them: Life Advice for Creatives
The Present Parent Handbook: 26 Simple Tools to Discover that This Moment, This Action, This Thought , This Feeling is Exactly Why I’m Here
The Kickass Single Mom: Be Financially Independent, Discover Your Sexiest Self, and Raise Fabulous, Happy Children
Emoji Phantom of the Opera: Epic Tales in Tiny Texts
The 6 Most Important Decisions You’ll Ever Make: A Guide for Teens
Amy the Red Panda Is Writing the Best Story in the World
Bunk 9’s Guide to Growing Up: Secrets, Tips, and Expert Advice on the Good, the Bad, and the Awkward
Start Where You Are: A Journal for Self-Exploration