Fork Maria Shriver.*

Dear Darlings,

Today Maria Shriver told me to stop yelling. I mean not her exactly. Her website or something. It was some article that popped up in my news feed about how to stop screeching because we all hate it and feel so guilty doing it and it’s terrible for our kids. There were like five steps to follow on how to help yourself become less frazzled and stop screaming at your children. I read every word, waiting for the miracle solution. And all the steps essentially said: Take care of yourself! Get some time alone, get some sleep, eat healthy food, make your mental health a priority etc. etc. etc. Fill your cup!

Maria - you are a genius. I completely and totally agree with you. But see, when it comes to time for ourselves, some of us are just shit out of luck.

Trust me, I WANT TO SO BAD.

But a lot of us have jobs and kids and very little help or partners with jobs and very little help and a lot of other responsibilities like cleaning and cooking and cleaning and laundry and meetings and cleaning and pets and carpools and cleaning. And the only time alone we are getting is when our children aren't sleeping and the only healthy food we are eating is potatoes in the form of chips that are being shoved into our faces while standing up in a closet so that our kids can't try to steal them from us and we have NO HELP and NO TIME FOR TIME ALONE.

And therefore, this morning, this fucking horrible Monday morning, I yelled. A lot. It was like I had a weekend hangover from gulping down all of the shared, all-day parenting. And then I woke up to being alone again with kids and they were yelling and I was yelling and everything was abysmal. And then I read Ms. Shriver’s words of wisdom and wanted to gouge both Maria and myself in the eye with one of the dirty forks I had to clean.

So then I said fuck this shit. And I gave in. I didn’t pick up any of the mass destruction. I didn’t clean. I didn’t cook. (In fact, I barely fed anyone.) I didn’t work. I didn’t make anybody put on real clothes. I gave you, my precious, greedy children, all of the time. I played all of the stupid games. I repeated all of the dumb ass things you wanted me to say in the exact way you wanted me to say it within the exact timing that you wanted. I sang the “Ghostbusters” theme song just so you could yell “Ghost! Bu-sters!” during the chorus. And I took you to the store and bought you all of the crap. All of the bunny crackers and all of the yogurt pretzels and even the four dollar kombucha I knew you’d only drink three sips of. And thus everyone was happy and I single-handedly solved the yelling problem. Then I drank all of the wine.

Y'all this is positive parenting at its finest. Because at the end of the day, your cups were full and at least one of mine was.

Yes way, Rosé.

Yes way, Rosé.


*I don’t completely mean this. I actually love and respect the former First Lady of California. But today I was just like whoa lady. Not today. Not. Today.