Maybe you guys have seen the Reddit/Imgur/HuffPo piece about the Mom’s cartoon rendering of the contents of her brain. It struck a chord with a lot of people- and for good reason. Most women have a gazillion things on their minds at any given time, and if you add the “Mom” layer, it’s an especially confusing and special jumble of thoughts. So to that end, I wrote out roughly a quarter of the phrases that worked their way through my brain from last night at 6pm to early, early this morning.
Yes, only a quarter of my thoughts are recorded here.
The other three quarters are comprised of polarizing political stances, bizarre physical awarenesses, and a general mishmash of Not Safe For Work speech. Enjoy.
My brain, last night:
Why is it always almost dinnertime? What am I trying to prove with all of these “ingredients?”
Exactly one year ago this weekend I was holding my Dad’s hand, wondering how strong all parties needed to be for this “hospice” deal. I…am so ill-equipped to deal with the contents of my brain and heart right now.
I should probably rearrange the dining room tomorrow.
Wiiiiiiiine.
Coffffffffeeeeeee.
(No, wine.)
Is anyone really happy, like ever? (Shut up, hippie.)
People say that even when you don’t want to workout you still should- because endorphins and physical activity and other nonsense. But people are frequently stupid because I came home on Tuesday night soaked from the rain, and “endorphins” didn’t stop me from “still hating everything.”
WHY DOES EVERYTHING COST SO MUCH MONEY ALL THE TIME.
Suzy will suck her thumb until she’s 46.
I’m pretty sure that binge-watching the entire series of Highlander isn’t exactly what Pinterest means by “crafting your goals on a vision board.” But that’s my goal. My kids are asleep, they’ve eaten something, and my happiest place involves visions of watching Highlander under blankets.
Why does the trash smell like that? What’s in there that shouldn’t be? You know what? No. Whatever it is, it’s too late for that thing. It’s being thrown out, sight unseen.
Suzy really, really needs to stop calling her change purse her “dime bag.”
Bean cat has a double ear infection. No one has given him his ear drops. They’re being nicely chilled in the back of the fridge, however.
Why do toddlers even need to wear socks?
I can’t believe I volunteered to buy preschool Valentine prizes. What, do I think there’s a medal awarded to whomever buys the largest volume of Dollar Tree trinkets?
(Wait, is there a medal? I’ve definitely bought enough tiny erasers to be nominated, I guarantee it.)
This neighborhood is so loud and gross and full of dirty, loud, gross things. (If we ever move I will cry myself to sleep.)
I have killed this gardenia plant, I’ve just killed it to death by alternating neglect and over-love. I can’t believe I’m allowed to take care of children.
The way Nora designed that Valentine for her classmate proves that I’ve inspired a love of art and fanciness and friendship and maybe- just maybe– I’m a good Mom.
Everyone’s going to leave me and I’ll be alone because I never speak patiently to anyone, ever.
Only you understand me, icy patch heart.
This is the best article anyone’s ever written concerning children’s theatre. I’m sending it in immediately. Good Lord, I’m great at my job.
I GUARANTEE THERE WERE AT LEAST FIVE TYPOS IN THAT ARTICLE.
I am drowning in laundry. I don’t even know this many people to necessitate this many pairs of underwear.
Guiltguiltguiltguiltguilt.
I want Nora’s name to be drawn at the Patriot-palooza so badly this month. So badly. Every month she sits there so patiently, waiting for each class to pick amongst the red tickets awarded for good citizenship. Every month she doesn’t get picked. I know. I know. I know. But her quiet- sad- hopefulness each month (even the knowledge of it), breaks my heart. I know. I know. I know.
Why is that thing sticky. I am not even kidding, you guys.
OHMYGOD SOMEONE PLEASE PICK NORA’S NAME THIS MONTH.
Why is it always 9:15pm? I should go to bed. I’m totally not going to bed.
Poor Jasper.
I should totally text P.J. to see where he is in the house and he’ll come and hold my hand and maybe I’ll convince him that bingeing Highlander is the funnest idea…
Sh*t sh*t sh*t that interview’s due tomorrow!
(No, it’s due on Monday.)
Hellllllllo, anxiety adrenaline!
Why is it always 2:03am?
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