My 14 year old daughter, Gianna, is kind of awkward when meeting new people. She doesn’t flourish in situations where she has to go outside her shell and talk to people she really doesn’t know. Odd, because her confidence is 100%. Like she knows her shit doesn’t stink. But, when faced with meeting new people, she’s blindsided and uncomfortable. I get it.

It’s “the Snack House.” If your house was the snack house, you probably had a bunch of friends, mainly because they were using you to get access to the snacks. Not hating, just the truth. Kids are drawn to the snack house. They can’t help it. My house is not the snack house.

At what point, as a parent, do you throw in the towel and decide you need outside help? How do you decide that it’s gotten to the point that you aren’t equipped to deal with? I’m not asking for a friend. I’m asking for me.

Living in a community has its pros and cons. However, lately, I feel like the cons are winning and I would seriously consider hauling ass someplace else if our girls wouldn’t care. Why am I wanting to leave? A few reasons. And, yes, I will detail them here. Enjoy!

Being a teenager is hard. Along with all the responsibilities and expectations, you also have a raging set of hormones. Making your skin break out, making you cry because you can’t find your other shoe, making you feel like YOU basically have no control over YOU anymore.

My hands are purple and I don’t know how to get the color off. It’s all because I’m a sucker for guilt and Evie was primed and ready to pee on my counter.

I was standing in line the other day, waiting to go inside to watch Scarlett’s cheer showcase. We were outside and I had just eaten dinner about 30 minutes prior. Standing there, in the crowd, I realized … I had to fart. So I did. I thought it would be relatively quiet and easy to cover the noise given the crowd. Wrong. It made a sound. Not a loud, ripping sound or anything like that. But, a sound nonetheless. Did anyone hear? I casually glance back like the chicken in the picture above and from my peripheral vision, I think…

I walked downstairs the other night to tell the girls it was time for bed. As I made my way into the kitchen, I overheard the TV show they were watching. In the span of 15 seconds the show talked about porn, sex, and threesomes.

It seems like a lot of parents out there agonize over how to tell their children about the hard truths in life. I don’t get this. This fear of talking about adult topics, about your history, or about things that are taboo/sad/scary. For me, it’s simple really. I just tell them the truth. I am as honest and descriptive as I can be, based on their age and understanding of course.

If you don’t care to hear more about milk, boobs, and the agony I’ve been in for the past month or so, carry on. If you want to commiserate with me and talk about milk supply and clogged ducts, keep on reading friends.