The Matter with Kids (#201)

I’m convinced that most American parents didn’t realize how much work raising a kid was when they decided to have one.

 If they did, we’d have a negative birthrate.

Having a child changes your life irrevocably, in that you will have at least eighteen years with no life. A good parent prioritizes their child’s needs, especially during infancy. They endure a constant state of deprivation: sleep deprivation, cleanliness deprivation, time deprivation, and quiet deprivation.

If you think I know this because my parents were such awesome role models, you must be a new reader. I had a front row seat to the shit show Too Many Children, in which an angry, stressed father lashed out at the kids he never wanted. My siblings and I grew up overly competitive, judgmental, and mean. We were terrible at relationships and had eating disorders.

So of course there was a sequel after my parents divorced and found new spouses: Let’s Have More Children and Fuck Them Up, Too.

As needy teenagers, we were pressed into service, caring for baby half-siblings. We learned how to change diapers, prepare bottles, clean up vomit, and identify everything from strep to roseola.

College, even with 18-21 credits a semester, felt like a vacation. No cooking. No childcare. Only my own laundry to fold.

And my vomit stain removal skills made me popular.

I knew how much work babies were. Which was why I’d hoped to be making more money than my husband when his biological clock started ticking. Then Andy could stay home with the baby he wanted. Just like my Judgmental Genius Doctor Sister and her husband, Georgia Boy.

But Andy’s clock started its final countdown while he made the money that paid our mortgage.

I tried to beat back that damned clock with a reality check.

“If we have a baby, there’s no more talk about quitting your job to run a Bed & Breakfast in New Hampshire,” I warned him. “Not for eighteen years or until I can make money. Babies need health insurance. You’ll have to max out your health care spending account. Baby proof the house. Turn the guest room into a nursery. Give up your dreams of making the extra fridge into a kegerator, even.”

“That’s okay,” Andy said. He hugged me and said dreamily, “A baby.”

I stepped out of the hug. “You know a baby is a screaming machine that only shuts down a few hours at a time, and spits out bodily fluids like the girl in The Exorcist, right? And you know we have to do it ourselves. Twenty-four seven. There’s no convenient grandparent to spirit the baby away on weekends or anything. My mom is dead. My other parental units are too far away.”

“Maybe my parents could come help—”

“Are you outta your goddamned mind?!” I shrieked. Normally I try to be diplomatic about Andy’s intrusive Chinese-American parents, but that kind of insanity had to be nipped in the bud. I chucked marital diplomacy under the bus and raised my voice several decibels. “Your parents treat me like a servant. They expect me to wait on them, how can I do that and take care of a baby?! Plus they nearly burned down our house on their last visit.”

Andy prudently opted not to pursue that tack. “Well, I can help. I can take 3 months of family leave.”

“Yeah, but it’s not paid leave, because the United States sucks,” I grumbled.

Andy, anticipating a delightful, three-month vacation from work — because he truly was clueless about babies — looked crushed. “We don’t have enough in our joint savings to cover that.”

“No. We don’t,” I agreed. Our lack of funds could have tabled all the baby talk. Only my husband looked so very sad. Also, I didn’t want to keep secrets that could be thrown in my face when Andy was fifty and moaning over mythical lost children. “I do, um, have some mutual funds that I could cash out,” I admitted with a sigh. “My grandparents started them when I was a baby. For college. I never used them all up.” Who knew getting a scholarship and graduating in three years would bite me in the ass a decade-and-a-half later?

“I married an heiress!” Andy crowed. He kept crowing as he calculated the fund’s value, which would cover our mortgage and bills for almost exactly three months. Then he gave me a side eye. “Hey. Wait a minute. What other assets have you been hiding from me? ”

“They also gave me 100 shares of Kroger stock.” My paternal grandfather had been a successful tax attorney. My grandmother methodically divested various assets when financially prudent, usually before December 31st.

“Wow. All this stuff you never told me about.”

“Ahem. That’s all pre-marriage stuff and you’re not entitled to it and what if you’d turned out to be a dick and cleaned out our bank accounts and ran off with someone from work?”

Andy gave a shout of laughter. “Have you seen the women I work with?”

“No, because your work is top-secret, I’m not allowed in the building, and it has no windows,” I reminded him. “And how very reassuring that you’re not sampling the work buffet because the food there is so unappetizing.”

“Oh, c’mon, honey. We’ve been together for 5 years. When were you gonna decide I wasn’t a dick?”

“After maybe eleven years, I guess. My dad lasted ten years a couple times.”

“Geez,” Andy said, but he wasn’t really upset. He knew all about Dad and also it’s hard to be upset when your wife makes thousands of dollars magically appear. “We could really do this! And I could stay home with our newborn, too!”

I tossed a Hail Mary. “Or we could take the money and start that B&B you sometimes talk about.”

“No,” Andy shook his head emphatically. “Too risky. Let’s stick to the plan. You keep writing, we have baby, I keep working, and we use the company’s health insurance.”

“Then this is YOUR idea, okay? I just want to make that clear up front. You are responsible. I never want to hear any complaints. No whining ever about how it wrecked your life, okay? No complaining about how much it all costs, or how you had to give up your dream of a B&B. You chose baby. You never get to go back. Every sleepless night, every trip to the Emergency Room, all the costs of whatever sport this kid plays, the higher education costs – this is on you.”

Andy shrugged and said, “That’s fine. I chose baby. Baby!” He swooped in for another hug. I didn’t dodge this one, though I merely stood in his embrace, rigid.

Andy whispered, “Not your dad, honey.”

And then I hugged him back.

The Boyfriend Thieves (#194)

Being an Amazonian brunette sandwiched between prettier, blonder, more petite sisters sucks. More than one guy ditched me after meeting my sisters.

Take the Boy Next Door. I pined after him for the entirety of seventh grade. He finally asked me to the last dance before school ended. Then Older Sister, who lived with Dad (I lived with our Mom) came for the summer. The Boy Next Door told me we were done, because he was in love with Older Sister. Continue reading The Boyfriend Thieves (#194)

Chocolate Thievery (#186)

A big family and not quite enough food can mess you up for life. My sisters and I learned to eat fast, hunching protectively over our plates. But no matter how fast we ate, Big Brother would finish first. Then he’d inevitably loom over us, asking, “Are you gonna eat that?”

If our mouths were too full to answer, he’d take that as a no.

Fork duels ensued. Continue reading Chocolate Thievery (#186)

An Atheist on Easter (#183)

Back when I was in high school in Virginia, an atheist was an anomaly. Christians were always asking me how I could possibly be an atheist. I had two flippant answers.

  1. “I was born on Black Saturday – you know, the day between Christ’s death and his resurrection. I’m doomed to be shut away from God’s light. It’s easier not to fight it.”
  2. “Well, my family used to be Catholic, but my great-grandfather was excommunicated.”

Continue reading An Atheist on Easter (#183)

Stocking Savior (#164)

My family collects college degrees. We have some BAs, a lot of BS, an MD, a JD, an MBA, a MSW, an MFA, and a Masters of Education. Big Brother added second MBA when he married. Judgmental Genius Doctor Sister married a second lawyer. I brought the most, though, when I added Andy — a Masters of Engineering AND a Masters in Cyber Security (so, HA, you Russian hackers, give up attacking my website already).

I think the only degree we missed was a PhD. Bummer. Continue reading Stocking Savior (#164)

The Election Junkie (#154)

Everyone wants the U.S. Election to be over – by whatever means necessary.

Mothers are tired of explaining to schoolchildren that “pussy” means something other than a cat. Millennials are tired of hearing that they’ve paid more in taxes in the last five years than Donald Trump has since 1991.

Everyone’s mad that the end of Daylight Savings means there’s a whole extra hour of election season before the U.S. votes on November 8th. Continue reading The Election Junkie (#154)

The Ups and Downs of a Dad (#137)

In honor of Father’s Day, I’ve compiled the following timeline for a few of the worst best moments and realizations that my a Dad with too many children might have experienced. Here they are, in chronological order:

Kids used to run down that staircase , grab the bannister, and swing over the last few steps, redirecting themselves toward the kitchen.
We used to run down the staircase, grab the bannister, and do an airborne 180 (thereby redirecting ourselves toward the kitchen).

Finally being able to afford a three-story house, complete with a lovely oak bannister along the stairs.

Rejoicing as there is now enough space for your growing family (i.e., you can stop fights by putting each kid in solitary confinement).

Spending a weekend cementing the once-lovely bannister back into place after your horde of children have repeatedly ripped it off the staircase. Continue reading The Ups and Downs of a Dad (#137)

Sunny Daze (#109)


My new, China-born mother-in-law had cornered me in the guest bedroom. She’d told her son that she wanted to have a talk with me about “woman” stuff. He couldn’t get out of the room fast enough. Possibly because Andy’s father had already subjected him to the “Ultimate Over-sharing Sex Talk, Given Fifteen Years Too Late.”

The original cover of Our Bodies, Ourselves. Courtesy of their awesome and useful website.

Well, if Sunny thought she was going to intimidate educate me with some superstitious old world sex misinformation, she thought wrong. Continue reading Sunny Daze (#109)

East Discovers the Joys of a Western Christmas (#104)

IMG_5112The year that Andy and I got engaged, he agreed to join my family in New Hampshire for Christmas. My family is huge and disjointed, however, so he would only be meeting three sisters and my Ex-Stepmother.

A week before Christmas, I spotted the ultimate in Yuletide perfection. A neon green headband with furry moose antlers that LIT UP with red and green lights. I pounced. That night, I showed Andy my prize.

He recoiled. “That’s hideous.” Continue reading East Discovers the Joys of a Western Christmas (#104)

Curfew (#102)

How late was your curfew?
How late was your curfew?

When Andy stayed with my family the Christmas before we got married, he was shocked by how late my Baby Sister came home. She was my last sibling in high school. Her boyfriend dropped her off about 1:31 AM. We, of course, were still awake, thanks to the three-hour time difference between LA and New Hampshire. Andy strained chicken stock while I frosted cream cheese sugar cookies. Baby Sister told us good-night and helped herself to a cookie on the way upstairs.

After she went up to bed, Andy said, “Isn’t it kind of late?” Continue reading Curfew (#102)