What Are You Writing?

Every. Single. Time.

I can be one of the most elegant poets (at times) and still haven’t seemed to master the English language enough for every day conversation – especially when that conversation turns around to my writing. Instantly I transform into this blubbering, stumbling, hem-hauling fool who stares off into the distance while turning a very unflattering shade of fire-engine red.

It’s pathetic.

Tell me I’m not alone! Does this happen to you? Are you actually good at speaking to people about your writing? If so, what’s your secret? If not…it’s okay. We were never the “cool kids” anyway.

Shared on Pinterest, here.

The 5 Stages of Co-Sleeping

I never tried co-sleeping with my older children. I was very scheduled, and so were they. I was terrified to let them in the bed with me. I don’t know what started it with my youngest, except I was clinging to every aspect of his infant stages knowing he was going to be my last. I’m not proclaiming that one way is right or better. All I know is that I’m on step four and I’m too exhausted to ponder the greater values of sleep systems for babies.

Excuse me while I drown my woes in coffee. . .

1. The first few weeks – Your boob is like. . .right there.

You’re nursing and he’s happily latching on every two hours on the dot. You, however, wake up every fifteen minutes to watch his chest and make sure he’s breathing, that there is nothing near his face, that he’s not too close to your pillow, that your husband hasn’t rolled over on top of him…You get zero sleep.

2. The next two months – Utter exhaustion.

Creative Commons: Lawrence Sinclair
Creative Commons: Lawrence Sinclair

You find that you’ve passed out for three hours at a time, only waking when he does to eat. Initial panic sets in and you feel around the bed to make sure he hasn’t magically disappeared. You check to make sure he’s breathing…while he’s screaming for a bottle. As you’re feeding him you think, Why the hell am I doing this? Then he falls asleep in your arms, and the crib seems so far away, and so you lay down for just a minute…

 3. Months three to six – Sharing sweat.

You wake every four hours with one side of your body drenched in sweat. He’s drenched in sweat. You change clothes, feed him, and lay down with your personal mini heater…which just plain sucks in June, July, and August.

4. Months six to twelve – Good luck, you brave, brave woman.

He can roll. He can crawl. He can use you as his personal jungle gym. You’ll find his preferred sleep position is draped across your body like the heaviest, sweatiest, drool-covered blanket ever. He will wake up long enough to burp in your face, kick you in the crotch, and then pass back out in a pile of the drool that’s collecting in your cleavage (or what’s left of your cleavage, because c’mon, darling, you nursed…we all know better). You look at the crib and realize somewhere over the last year it has transformed from that adorably decorated thing you posted all over Facebook to the world’s most expensive clothes hamper.

5. One year and up – Good God.

I’m sorry.

The Top 19 Reasons I’m Not Writing Today

1. My son woke up at 4 am to be fed and so I’m still tired.

2. There’s laundry piled up high enough to be a safety hazard.

3. Half a pot of coffee isn’t enough.

4. My favorite pen ran out of ink.

5. I don’t have a typewriter like all the “real” writers use.

6. This round of Crossy Road isn’t going to play itself.

7. If I don’t get these pictures downloaded and sorted on Flickr, I’ll lose everything.

8. One. More. Tweet.

9. I’m just browsing Pinterest for recipes.

10. I’m hungry.

11. I think I lost my cat in the laundry room.

12. I’m bored with my room. I should move my furniture.

13. I’m tired.

Source: www.dumpaday.com
Source: http://www.dumpaday.com

14. I’ve spent the last five months speaking to a baby for the majority of my day and have forgotten basic grammar.

15. Lemon cupcakes. Someone has to make them. And eat them.

16. Children.

17. Periods.

18. Husbands.

19. I. Just. Don’t. Want. To.

When Are You Evicting that Baby?

1509069_893607897324302_6571898719524823997_nI have no idea! But maybe you do?

It’s time for a new contest and at 30 weeks, what’s more fun than a round of Guess the Due Date!

So here’s all the stuff I’m sure you are going to ask about my pregnancy:

– The doc’s predict he will be here January 22nd.

– This is my third full term pregnancy.

– I have a history of going into labor a couple of weeks early.

Got your guess ready? Good, because the winners will get a free e-Book copy of the book, Loving in Shadow, by Ashlyn Kingsley (my pen name). One person will win the chance to receive a copy of my children’s book, The T-Rex That Ruined My Day.

How can you win?

The 5 closest guesses will win copies of Loving in Shadow.

The top (one) guess will receive the book, The T-Rex That Ruined My Day.

To leave your guess – just leave a comment with the date you choose! 




To Watch Him Love

I went through a year of horrendous online dating before I met the man who became my husband. I wasn’t exactly a poster girl for the most eligible bachelorette, but none of my hold-ups were much excuse for the sort of men I met. I was 24 years old and a full time student. I worked part time, lived with my parents, was divorced, and had two children under the age of five. I’m not an unattractive woman, but men weren’t exactly beating down my door to date me. More so, I knew that I needed a companion, not just a boyfriend.

I couldn’t seem to even meet a normal, down to earth man. Things became enough of a joke around the house that my mother would sit up at night and wait for me to get home, collapse on her bed and giggle while sharing all the terrible details of my odd nights out.

There was the man who was allergic to everything. I gave him an innocent kiss after our date, forgetting that I had eaten a piece of chicken, and almost killed him.

Then there was the guy who asked me to hold his belt while in the mall so I wouldn’t get lost.

The man who took the menu out of my hand and ordered food for me like I was three.

The guy who took me to a movie and proceeded to move down to the front row where there was only one open seat to “see better,” leaving me alone.

The man who figured out where I worked and spent an hour walking around the store trying out different women’s lotions before finally admitting he was one of the men I had denied a date request from on an online site.

The guy who took me shopping and then proceeded to tell me how I should dress.

The gentleman who stripped naked in his parent’s living room while I used their restroom.

The dude who attempted to suffocate me on my parent’s couch.

By the time I got around to talking to Mak, I was pretty wary of dates. A whole year of these kinds of dates will do that to a woman. I had a whole safety set-up – complete with emergency friend phone calls lined up and pepper spray.

Mak invited me over for dinner. I had such a good time that I ended up coming home and looking him up on Google and the case search program to see if he had some shady criminal past hiding. There had to be something wrong, considering my past history with online dating. He had a speeding ticket. That was it. Needless to say, I was impressed.

The next morning we had a quick conversation.

“I’m not really interested in playing around,” he said. “I like you. Let’s make this serious.”

If any other man I’d gone on a date with had said that to me I’d have gone running for the hills.

“Okay,” I said.

I don’t know why. I’d hate to chalk it up to some sort of fate thing, but maybe part of me knew he wasn’t a psycho killer. Maybe there was some deeper connection. Maybe I was just really brave.

Within a few weeks he had met my children and included them in our outings.

541497_397525856932511_2036391058_nA few months later was Easter and I was scrawling ‘I love you’ onto an egg and hiding it in the fridge.

“Go get the orange egg out of the fridge,” I told him.

He got up and I heard the fridge door open. After a moment it closed again and he came back to the couch.


“Well…” I started.

“Well what?” He asked.

“What did you think?” I asked. It was the first time I’d attempted to tell the man I loved him and he was being completely stubborn about the whole thing.

“It’s cute,” he said.

“And…” I lead him.

“I love you, too,” he said. “You know that.”

By the end of the year he had moved in. We were blessed in our relationship. There hadn’t been many of the big challenging moments. His father passed a few weeks before our wedding, but it was expected, and while we mourned it hadn’t surprised us. Their relationship had been so strained, for so long. It was the first time though that I ever saw him cry – a moment that I think is imprinted in my memory. There is something about seeing a strong man mourn, something heartbreaking and frightening and so real it hurts that one simply doesn’t forget it.

I remember standing by his father’s bed. He sat in a chair across the room from me. I went to him, but he didn’t reach for me. I stepped back – gave him space. I didn’t know how to handle his grief. He took a few moments to himself and I watched him. I watched the years, the pain, the neglect from that relationship wash away. For those few moments there was love.

There hadn’t been many of those bring-you-to-your-knees moments. We didn’t even really fight or argue. We were thankful to have found a companion in one another that shared a similar sense of humor. Laughter got us through any time things seemed to be getting dark.

He stepped into the role of father as if it were all he’d ever known. It was never a look-at-me exercise, but came naturally. There was a gaping hole in our little family25248_108453875839712_7044406_n and he saw it, stepped into it, and never looked back. It was in the quiet way he made that transition that still never fails to amaze me.

He has a silent strength in him. A code of ethics that can’t be argued or even discussed. They simply are.

Perhaps it’s because of his quiet nature that people find him intimidating. Combining that with the sleeves of tattoos and long dark hair, it’s quite understandable. However, anyone watching him drink tea from a tiny porcelain cup with my daughter would realize how wrong they are.

Four years after that first date and I was talking to my brother in California, planning his trip home to visit.

“When is he coming home?” Mak asked.

“The end of June,” I said.

“Good,” he said. “We’ll get married then.”

Proposal. Date set. End of discussion.

I had a month to get everything planned and ready.

I love you, too. You know that.

After our wedding we decided to have a baby. A few short months later and I was excitedly waving those little pink lines around in the air. We were so excited we told everyone.

We were at his mother’s for a belated Thanksgiving dinner when I started miscarrying. My husband had the kids in the car while I stood white knuckled on the phone with the emergency room and watched my father-in-law toss the kids’ toys into their book bags. Hours and many tests later the doctor gave us the news.

“There’s no heartbeat.”

I’d known when I saw her face. I’d been crying since she came into the room. I looked across the room at my husband. I expected him to get up, to come to me. The doctor left and he still sat there for a few moments. In that space between us I watched him break, hit his emotional knees, mourn, and grieve. I watched him as he cared for himself and then he came to me. He put himself behind and cared for me.

For the following days he held me while I cried and found whatever ways he could to make me smile. We found laughter in the darkest moments. We suffered. We healed.

We spent months talking back and forth about whether or not to try again. The entire process had frightened him so badly. I learned to appreciate what pregnancy can do to a man. It’s a terrifying situation, especially for one who tends to like to be in control of things. There is no control with pregnancy.

He couldn’t see what was happening inside my body.

He couldn’t control what was happening.

He couldn’t stop me from being in pain, from hurting.

All he could do was be there and hope that I would heal.

“I’m not sure we should try again,” Mak said.

We were lying in bed, the lights off and waiting for one or both of us to become too tired to keep talking.

481829_525481010803661_775093643_n“We’ve got a girl and a boy,” he started. “You know? Maybe that’s enough.”

“You don’t want one of your own?” I asked.

“They are my own,” he said.

A few nights later we were repeating this whole thing again. It was like a record skipping, playing backwards, flinging all over the place. I never knew where we’d end up.

“We could try again,” he said.

“We’re not doing anything to stop it from happening,” I answered.

“If it does, it does,” he’d agree.

Three months of this back and forth indecision plagued us.

Finally he said, “I don’t think we should try again.”

“I’m pregnant,” I said.

We collapsed against one another laughing. For weeks we were quiet. We were so careful not to tell people too early. We went to each appointment with our heart in our throats. Every test was a negative, dangerous thing. Every symptom I had was cause to worry. We struggled to find joy.

Mak kept warning me not to get my hopes up.

I kept countering that he needed to not think so negatively.

We flew past each other, both of us on separate ends of our own emotional roller-coasters.

“Are you happy about the baby?” I finally asked him.

“Of course,” he said. “You know that.”

I love you, too. You know that.

I am five months pregnant today. A few weeks ago we went to the doctor and we got to hear the heartbeat. The tiny whomp whomp whomp sound filled the room. I was942205_603602919658136_1585711832_n laid back on the bed watching my husband. He didn’t stand up and come to me. For a few moments, he sat there and smiled. I watched him in this moment of joy and excitement and relief. I watched him take that moment for himself and then he came to me.

He kisses me every morning before he leaves for work. He tells me he loves me before we fall asleep. He doesn’t have to say that he loves me. I know he does. All I need are those few moments, where there is space between us and I have the chance to really see my husband. It is in those moments that I get to watch him love.

Mutant Babies and Free Stuff

Yesterday I had an appointment with the doctor for an ultrasound and blood work and all those wonderful things.


Yeah…it basically went like that.

babyBy the end of it though, we got to see baby and find out that everything looks good. Baby is healthy and active and looking just right for 12 weeks.

I showed the husband the pictures and he laughed and said it still looks like a mutant. I told him that he wouldn’t be very pretty stuck in water for that long either.

Silly man.

In his defense, the 3D images of the baby were relatively frightening (hence why I am not posting them). Baby will be beautiful…in a few more months when it gets here and we can dry it off and dress it and such things.


You want me to be one of those women who “Ooo” and “Aahh” over little grey film of something I still need help deciphering as to what part is what of this amazingly ever-changing little being?

That’s not me.

I’m not even the happy pregnant type.

I’m the…give me my baby and let me get on with the mommy thing type.

It drives me nuts to keep saying “baby.”

I’m ready to say a name. And we’ve got names picked out. So let’s have some fun with this, since I can’t find out for six more weeks if this is a baby Lily or a baby Tommy.

I want you to guess!

Leave your guess in the comments below and in six more weeks all those who guessed right will win a free ebook copy of my newest book, Perjury.



The Curse of the BFF

This is my very first time writing a guest post. Also, I am PMSing like a rage monster. (But I’m still cuter than Edward Norton, Eric Bana and Mark Ruffalo combined.)

*whewf* Now that THAT’S out of the way…

I feel the need to say that I love friendship.



I’m super cheesy that way. Finding — and then subsequently hanging out with — people that make you feel like you’re not the only weirdo on the planet is cash money. Men and Women in Community instead of Competition is powerful. As long as your common denominator isn’t bullying other people or loving the Biebs, then FRIENDSHIP HO!

However, I have a problem with the title “BFF,” Best Friends Forever. I see it all over the place, mostly amongst 13 year olds whose feelings about anything last approximately 2 weeks.

Now, maybe it’s just me, but being a good friend is a marathon. Not just a wedding, but a marriage. You have to be IN IT TO WIN IT, and you can’t be the only one in the relationship who feels that way, you darling little Golden Retriever of Loyalty, you!



If you ARE, then you have no cash money. You have slavery. And, chances are, they like it.

And if you’re under the title of BFF with that person from the time you’re pre-pubescent, it’s way easier to lie and rationalize yourself into adulthood about who they really are.

bffOn the scale of Best Friends Forever, from You Make Me Happy To Be Alive to  BFF? All You Do Is Make Me Say “EFF EFF EFF”, I’ve had them all.

I’ve learned that sometimes people are assbutts, and sometimes I’m an assbutt, and sometimes you realize that what you wanted in a BFF at 13 is not what you want at 25.

People change, and I’ve found that women change a LOT in particular. This doesn’t have to be a bad thing. But ladies, let’s be honest, sometimes it is.

How can we make it better? How can we be a true BFF that stands the test of time? I mean, I get it, not everybody is meant to be BFFs. There are levels of friendship that start at acquaintance and work their way into depth.

But we can still be nice about it.

Here are some Valuable Lessons Life Has Taught Me Like The Heartless Bitch She (Sometimes) Is.

1. Don’t Hold Grudges



No matter the amount of time you have been friends, one of you is going to mess up eventually. Don’t be surprised or shocked, because, friend, I just gave you the heads up.

If they say they’re sorry, forgive them and move on.

If they DON’T say they’re sorry, you should probably still forgive them and move on because you deserve more than to be held captive by bitterness. **However, if they have a habit of not apologizing even when they know they’ve effed up, consider that this might not be the best quality in a BFF**

And if they’ve said they are sorry, and you’ve said that you forgive them but you haven’t really cause you never know when you might need to bring it up at some distant point in the future to make them feel bad, then guess who is the naughty BFF? YOU, sweetie. DON’T BE A GRAVE DIGGER.

2.  Be There For the Big and Little Stuff

As much as you possibly can.

Some friends are only interested in drama. Unless you’ve got something BIG going down, talk to somebody else. Their shoes are like “What extra mile?”



Excuse me. Being there for someone means that even if their little story about the nightmare they had 3 days ago is boring you to tears, you’re gonna listen. You’re gonna put your arm around them and say, “That sucks. Good thing dreams aren’t real.”

THAT will get you much further than THIS.



Big stuff is important too. Engagements, weddings, babies, funerals, break-ups, the list goes on. I’ve done my best to be present at every single one of those events in my friend’s lives. It matters to me.

Dear friends traveled from all over North America to be a part of my wedding, but one of them who couldn’t be there is still mad and won’t talk to me because I got married anyway. Apparently, I forgot that that day was about her. Don’t be her.



3. Don’t Let Your Personality Burn Bridges

I’m weird. I’m an extrovert who thrives on people but still needs alone time every once in awhile. I have friends who are like that as well — I also have friends who just never. get. tired. of. partying.



and others who only want to see me in their computer.



At first, I thought introverts hated me, but now that I’ve matured *a little* I see that it’s not about ME, and it takes all kinds of kinds to make a world.

That being said, can I make a suggestion?

a.) If you are painfully shy or introverted but you love your friends, please try to tell them or show them in some way, at least once a week. It doesn’t have to be face to face. It doesn’t have to be a big long speech. Just let them know you care, because they can’t read your mind and you wouldn’t want that anyway. I know it can be really exhausting talking to people, but a little really will go a long way.

b.) Likewise, extroverts? Be cool, dayum. I know you’re a social butterfly and you gotta flap those wings and BE FREE GIRL, but ya know what is also cool? Making rooted, lasting connections with fewer people. Remembering them. Being intentional and meaningful rather than being perceived as flaky and superficial.

4.  Chicks Before Dicks



New love. We know how spine-tingly, tummy-full-of-butterflies, and full-abandoney that makes us. It is so easy to jump with both feet into a new relationship, where you’re so consumed with each other that this other person is the only one that matters and how did you ever live without them before?

(I probably shouldn’t only say “chicks before dicks” when referring to relationships; I know that there’s more to the relationship spectrum that just guy/girl. It just sounded clever, aight?)

Either way, it’s not cool to abandon your group of friends for months at a time while you surrender to a haze of Eat, Significant Other, Sleep (?), Repeat. It’s healthy to maintain all of your relationships with balance. What happens if you break up? (OMG, I’m TOTALLY NOT SAYING you would EVER) You think you can just saunter back in on your friends’ lives as though you didn’t just ignore every phone call, text and email they sent you over the past 6 months? It’s shallow and selfish to assume that they will just pick up where you left off.

Or maybe your Love is Eternal and you’ll be together for 50 years until you die.

At some point, you’re still gonna need some friends.

5. Do The Elsa and Let It Go



If you find yourself in a relationship where you’re being forgotten, undermined, gossiped about, mistreated, given the run-around, and ignored — it’s time to cut ties and say goodbye.

It’s gonna feel like a break-up AKA suckage to the max. Tears, stress-eating and thinking of them every time you hear what was once your favorite song.

I know. I’m in the middle of a break-up right now. I lost a decade-long friend 2 years ago, and occasionally, I’m still tortured by memories of her in dreams AND waking. We had *some* good times, mostly when she was single. But even then, she always had to be better and prettier and more noticed than me. She was rarely honest with me about her true feelings, so I was always left guessing.

After the debacle of her not being able to come to, or be in, my wedding (Her exact words were, “Maybe one day I’ll be able to forgive you.”), the camel’s back was broken. I decided I deserved better, and I let her go. Just quietly; there was no big argument or fallout, only silence.

She’s basically my source for this entire post.

If you’ve had a shitty friend, I’m sorry. You deserve better, and Better Will Come.

If you’ve been a shitty friend, I’m sorry for that too, and it’s not too late to change.

I think the problem can be boiled down to two opposing sides of the attitude spectrum.

“I’m better than everyone”……………………………………………….”Everyone is better than me.”

If you join ranks with someone because their life is “sad” enough that they make you feel better about yourself, it’s not going to last.

If you join ranks with someone because you’re jealous of how amazing they are, and you can’t stop comparing yourself to them so you only get close just to be able to imitate them, it’s not going to last.

The root of both of those philosophies is that you really think it’s all about you.

And friendship can’t survive when you’re just looking out for Number One.

reflect and give


Why don’t we commit to: celebrating the successes of our friends, recognizing that comparison is the thief of joy, and to loving others the way that we love ourselves?

Other women may have put me down and held me back, but I will not continue the cycle because all they did was teach me what not to do.

If enough of us do this, then maybe the BFF can be redeemed.



Told ya I was cheesy.


Processed with VSCOcam with c1 presetHola! I’m Carly Butler Hutton, or rather, Button. I’m a birth doula, cupcake maker, ex-illegal immigrant, and I’m the newest cool person you know. Gimme a shout, eh? 🙂 Carly Hutton blogs over at Growing Butterfly, tweets @carlymbutton, Instagrams @carlymbutton and Facebooks as “Carly Button Loves.”

How to Be a Man – For My Son

Awhile back I wrote a post for my daughter: Life Hacks for My DaughterI was struck by the unfairness of that. I mean, here I am, a mother of two wonderful children, and I only dedicate a post to my daughter.

I mean, surely there are some “life hacks” out there for boys…ones I would want to share with my son.

But I’m a woman.

I don’t have the necessary equipment to figure out what is hack-worthy when you’re a grown up of the male variety.

What the hell do I do? I thought. Then it hit me. Quite literally. The front screen door slammed in my face, almost knocking me off the steps, as my son’s tiny feet went racing across the kitchen floor and out of view. I may not have life hacks for my son, but I have some serious advice on how to be a man I won’t be afraid of passing along to some unsuspecting woman some day.

1. Hold the door



Chivalry is not dead…it just seems most of the world is too busy being sucked into their own world to notice manners any more. There’s something to be said for a guy who will hold a door open, carry groceries, pull a chair out from the table…You know…nice things. And this isn’t one of those things that is only appropriate for that cute girl who finally decided to let you take her on a date. This is for everyone. It’s kind-of one of those Don’t Be a Jackass things.

2. Learn to Cook…Something



It really isn’t rocket science. I put the same thing in the list for my daughter. It really is important to learn to cook at least one meal right. There are few better ways to impress a woman, than offering to cook her dinner. It’s even better…if it’s edible. So practice. Get it right. And wow her.

Worst case scenario, find a really good down-home kind-of cooking place around your neighborhood, order out, put the food in bowls, a bunch of dishes in the sink, and hide the take-out containers. Yeah, it’s lying, but it’s the thought that counts. Just keep in mind that later in life when you wife needs a break and it’s your turn to cook…you may regret this more expensive option.

3. Grooming. Yeah…



I’m not saying beards are bad, or mustaches…okay, well maybe mustaches. And sideburns. But hey, however you want to rock it. The point is, if the fur on your face contains enough crumbs to feed you for a month should you get stranded on some desert island…we’ve got a problem. Yes, you’re a guy. Yes, the sweaty, grimy, working-hard-with-his-hands, grease stain on his cheek, red rag in his pocket, motorcycle exhaust stinking guy is pretty darn sexy. BUT…that dude isn’t getting laid until he’s showered. Clean yourself up.

4. Self-Control…to a point (And here’s where I’ll probably piss a few of you off)

images (1)


Your father gave me “One”. One chance to slug him as hard as I wanted. One time to be angry enough that I wanted to hit him. I get ONE for the entirety of our relationship. That means I have to save it. Why? Because I’m a firm believer in the idea that if a woman has enough nuts to slug you, you’ve got ever right to hit her back.

Hold on ladies. Calm your shit.

That being said, HOWEVER…Dude you know chances are you are stronger than her. You can probably restrain her. You could pluck her and make her cry. So should you haul off and punch her lights out like you would Bubba at the bar for making fun of your mullet…No. But ladies, it’s not okay to hit a guy either. Seriously. Violence is wrong, regardless of what kind of genitalia you have.

5. Learn to Clean

download (1)


One day you are going to invite some young lady to your house with every intention of getting laid. Seriously, by the time you’ve got your own place I’m pretty sure 90% of the blood flow in your body will be headed straight for your pants. No one…let me repeat…NO ONE wants to walk into your hazmat bedroom. No one wants to hover over your toilet to pee. All the chores I’ve been asking you to do…they were for a reason.

6. Hands Off!



You are not Michael Jackson. You don’t see women walking around with their hands shoved down their pants. And don’t give me that adjusting bullshit line. It looks gross and I no longer want to shake your hand. Stop it.

7. You Are the Handy Man



At some point in your life, and probably quite often, someone is going to ask you to fix something. It may not be a woman, but it’s going to happen. It is sort of this expectation that we have for men. I’m sorry. I mean, here I am fighting for gender equality and I still think your father should be the only one to change my oil and no, I don’t want to learn how to do it, thank you very much. Learn how to fix stuff, because, god forbid, if your father goes before me, I’m sure I’ll need your handy skills at some point.

8. You Are Not a Robot

download (2)


Where ever this idea came from that men shouldn’t show emotion…it’s bullshit. You are a human being. You feel things. That doesn’t mean that I want you blubbering all over the place, because seriously…I don’t do that. Do I? No…not normally. It’s hormones, okay?! I have an excuse!

The point is…own up to how you feel. You don’t need to hide it or pretend it doesn’t exist. Own it.

Finally, I included this on your sister’s list and you get it, too.

9. One day…

But before you ever consider some life-long venture with a woman, consider these things:

– Sex sucks the first time.

– Sex sometimes sucks the first couple of times. There’s a reason one-night stands normally stay that way. It takes a bit of time to actually learn one another well enough to have amazing sex.

– That didn’t apply to your father and I…and yes, we were a one-night stand turned marriage. And yes he did use a cheesy line, but for god’s sake…don’t do that. Seriously.

– Your father and I are NOT the role model in this situation.

– All the sex stuff aside, if they aren’t the kind of woman you’d want to introduce to me…best to just let that one go.

– If they don’t treat you the way you see me treat your father, run.

– If they cheat on you, they will do it again. If you’re the guy they cheated on someone with, they’ll cheat on you, too.

– Beware of female emotions, for they cling fast and hard enough that not even Lava soap can remove them. Seriously, you don’t want to be labeled as a player/heart-breaker.

Most importantly…

– If you can’t laugh with them, lose them.

– If you can’t laugh at them, trip them.


On a more serious note, if you have a moment to check this out, do so. It’s not a long video, but was incredibly touching and made me really think about how I talk to my son, the words I use, and the kind of man I really want him to be.

Herstory Lesson: Be yourself, I’ve love you no matter what. It’s in the contract…



Twenty-One Things I Irrationally Hate – My Version

I saw this post yesterday from the hilarious Tipsy Lit and knew that I wanted to do this. I’m in just the right kind of mood to talk about the things I irrationally hate. I’m not sure if my list will live up to Tipsy’s (which left me cackling and nodding my head like, “You understand me on such a deep level it could be spiritual.”), but I’m going to give it a shot. So here we go.

#22 Did I say snow? Fuck snow. And #23 Snow Days. No more of you. Go away now.
#22 Did I say snow? Fuck snow. And #23 Snow Days. No more of you. Go away now.

1. My husband’s underwear, which are cooler than mine.

2. Skinny jeans. . .I’m not a size 0, so they suck.

3. Companies that I used to buy from but now aren’t carrying my size and switched to only making skinny jeans. Assholes.

4. Kristen Stewart. She played Bella. I hate Bella, but that isn’t an irrational hate.

5. The notifications that make my phone ding from Instagram and I can’t figure out how to turn that shit off.

6. Snow.

7. The three seconds of buzzing before the tattoo gun actually makes contact with skin.

8. Statuses that are pictures of food.

9. Really good selfies. I can’t take them. I don’t like them when I see them.

10. Condiments. Except ketchup. Sometimes ketchup.

11. My phone dinging every two seconds and how the fuck do I turn this off?!

12. People who call me back to back to back and make me feel bad for leaving my phone on the desk when I went to go piss and missed their phone call.

13. When someone texts back “K”. Last word much?

14. Learning that the correct grammatical form of the ellipsis is dot space dot space dot space. I want to just do it quick again…No spaces.

15. People who feel the need to pet/touch me when they talk to me.

16. When the husband won’t choose what I’m going to make for dinner. I’m not a make-the-decisions kind-of person.

17. DIY crap on Pintrest. Ain’t nobody got time for that. I mean, I have time to pin it all, but it’s not ever really going to happen.

18. Whenever someone asks me what I do all day.

19. The girl in high school who had the same shirt as me and said she needed to burn hers so we wouldn’t look alike. Yeah. You. Bite me.

20. When I think I’ve hit the pinnacle of my writing with some new piece and the first person who reads it is like, “Yeah, it’s okay. I liked that other one better.” Stroke my ego, dammit.

21. BabiesRUs

Herstory Lesson: A little hate never hurt anybody. . .except your phone. Don’t throw your phone just because it won’t stop beeping.



Not a Punk Rocker

What about you? Have an irrational hate list? Want to share? Link in the comments!

My Crowning Achievement – Or Basically How Life Kicks My Ass on the Regular

For those of you who have commented/messaged/called me, I am getting back to the Crockpot story soon. It will probably be in weekly installments. Not because I particularly want to draw the story out and torture you, but because let’s face it. . .this was not an easy time in my life and going back to write about it puts me into a dark, dark place.

And I don’t always need to put myself in dark places.

Sometimes, life in all its wonders, puts me there all on its own.

Not sometimes. . .often. . .normally. Entirely too damn much.

Life doesn’t push me one step back; it sends me back to the very beginning of the dance.

I should have know how yesterday was going to go after getting the phone call that told me that we weren’t going to be able to get my uncle into the nursing home. So we are back to the drawing board of trying to find a suitable, safe environment that is capable of taking care of him.


Life likes to make what should be a simple task something that consumes hours of my day.

I should have known after that hectic morning that going to go to a dealership and work on getting a car was a bad idea. I should have known better. Really. Instead, I hauled my butt down there and prepared for what I thought should be simple.

The husband and I had already spoken to our salesman the day before.

We knew exactly what vehicle we were going to look at.

We did not want to look at any other vehicles.

We knew the sale.

We knew our credit scores.

We knew the Blue Book value.

We knew exactly what we would put down and what we could pay.

Easy, right? So while the husband slept, I went down there and got to work with the salesman.

“You can pretend you are hearing my voice, but I am speaking for my husband,” I told him. He brought me back a deal that was not at all what the husband had said.


Life gives me morons like some kind of demented life sprinkles.

I pushed the paper back and again explained, for the last time, that this was the deal we would make. End of story. He asked if I wanted to call my husband and run the deal past him, and I attempted to make sure that he understood that the husband was sleeping and waking him for something I already knew he wasn’t going to agree to was akin to suicide.

He brought me another deal that was not what we wanted and asked me to call my husband.


I sent him back with a barely concealed eyeroll.

Life gives me moments of triumph as a sort of tease.

We got the deal. He handed over a paper that had lower numbers on it then what I had said. I was ecstatic. I was elated. I had conquered the car dealership on my own. . .with no big, bad man support. . .and I got a better deal then my husband had thought possible. I took my time taking that paper from him, as if I were still considering it.


Did I mention life gives me idiots?

After five hours of being there the van was half mine. It wouldn’t officially be mine until we got it home and the husband signed the paperwork. The salesman drove the van, with all the papers in tow, and followed me home. I called the husband and woke him as we were getting ready to pull in the driveway, so he could come out and see my crowning achievement. I was so stinking proud of myself, I couldn’t stand me.


The husband comes outside, in his pajamas and long hair all over the place looking like some metalhead after a long night raging. The kids piled to the doorway, my mom came outside. I pulled in and the van pulled in behind me. I got out of the car and turned around as my mother said:

“The van is smoking.”

The van was smoking. Billowing, spewing smoke from the tires.


The husband was angry. The husband started spewing his own smoke in the form of words I was glad the kids were far enough away to not hear. The man kept saying that there was an issue with the emergency brake. It was sticking. He’d noticed it as we left the dealership, but thought it would get better.

So he drove it 18 miles messed up.

The husband was beyond angry and for my own personal safety, I just backed up.


My crowning achievement was spewing smoke.

My trophy was stinking up a storm.

He thought they’d screwed me over. He thought they had taken advantage of his wife.

No, hunny.

They just gave me a moron to work with.

So the van sat there, with the salesman inside while he waited for a tow truck to come get it so they could fix whatever is wrong and then try to sell it to us again.

My dad came home and saw the man in the van.

I told him I bought a salesman today.

He didn’t believe me that this idiot had actually been my salesman.

When he finally was gone, the husband had a long talk with me about the list of demands if they wanted us to consider taking this thing off their lot. It’s a long list. I’m going to tell them again that I am speaking for my husband, except I’ll probably use less profanity. They should consider themselves lucky at this point.

Life kicks my ass. 



Herstory Lesson: If it seems like something good is happening, hold on. It may be fine. . .but shit might get real, real fast.