There’s a big ol’ bag of CRAZY that stays open in this house. In theory, it’s my parent-ly responsibility to try and close it every once in a while. But I’m not entirely convinced that’s possible. I may be worse than the kids.

THE ROO is a beautiful young lady who likes to kiss boys in school. That’s just one of the many, many genetic markers she inherited from me. I found this out because while I was out of town, she shared this information with my mother. Mom told her that wasn’t a good idea. I told her it was fine, as long as she didn’t get caught. She’s the most fabulous girl I’ve ever known.

THE WEE MAN has only recently left the fold of my protective wing, which he’ll probably pick out on a Rorschach test some day. This boy is a total weirdo. He’s utterly self-confident, to the point that he’ll wear hair bows with his Spider-Man costume. Or maybe he’s just a fabulous queen in the making. Either way, he’s perfect.

I am allegedly in charge. The deadlines and stress of a journalism/PR career were peaceful nap times I miss compared to this parenting marathon I’m huffing through. It’s the greatest, hardest, most hilarious thing I’ve ever done. Every day I thank my kids for picking me to be their mom. But at the same time, I seriously question their judgment.


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